#Anyways moral of the story do NOT separate them they will set things on fire unintentionally !!

[darlingcloudie-9]

oough………. my babies………….. i care for them very much 🌸

[eldritchamy]

fine fine FINE ill sign. what the hell is uneiverse about? one moment youre talking gay vampires killing mob bosses and the next youre talking tiers of angels/deities going so high our universe is imperceptible. i have no idea how these combine but im so curious as to how

Pleasure doing business with you, I'll take good care of that soul. Now that you've paid a fair price, let's live up to my end of the bargain, shall we?

"The Uneiverse" isn't really about anything, it's just a setting. The term is derived from the fact that the story I want to write primarily takes place on a world called Une. And Une exists in a multiverse a lot like a cross between DND's Cosmic Wheel and MTG's endless planes in the Blind Eternities. Think a layered multiverse (like the "Outer Planes" in DND which consist of the various celestial and fiendish planes, and others, and the "Inner Planes" consisting of the Feywild and the Shadowfell and the Prime Material plane. Imagine a system like this but based on something closer to MTG's color pie instead of the Alignment Chart), except instead of having only ONE Prime Material Plane, there are endless realms existing on the same LAYER of the universe that would be considered Prime Material Planes (the "Inner Realms" if you've seen me mention it in tags).

The TL;DR is that the multiverse exists in layers as the elements of creation were divided into smaller and more complicated pieces, which interact and intersect and recombine into much more complicated things. There are levels of existence (at the level of the Cosmic Progenitors and up) for which matter and physicality aren't really a thing anymore, but what you would think of as the physical, material existence of the multiverse begins with the Prime Spheres. These are the pure elements, the most basic ingredients of creation. There are currently SIX Prime Spheres (I'm strongly considering making it eight), each with both an element and an aspect, and each with an Outer God tied to its nature. These elements exist as opposite pairs (currently 3 sets, but I'd like to make it 4).

I won't give you the names of the Spheres (even though they're really cool, just with the ever-growing threat of AI data mining, I'd rather not put the names out there to get scraped), but I can give you the color pairs:

White is Sky/Air/Heaven and Order Blue is Water/the Abyss and Equilibrium/Flow Black is Shadow and Death* Null (represented as purple) is Vacuum and Entropy Red is Fire and Passion/Will Green is Earth and Life

The opposite pairs are White/Null, Blue/Red, Black/Green

*A while back in some tags, maybe the first post I ever tagged as Uneiverse-related, I think I mentioned the goddess aligned to Black, and how she feels that thinking of her as the "god of death" is a crude and small way of putting it, almost bordering on insult from how limited a perspective it is. Eternity thinks of herself as the veil between what is known and what is lost, the moment of transition between life and renewal, the thing you most fear but can least run from, the god of all things ever known and every secret taken to the grave, the infinite night that exists in the blink of an eye, the process of transition and "recycling" one stage of existence into another, she is every soul at the moment between what it was and what it will become, she is all things lost and what all things are destined to find, etc etc. My colors are not a perfect translation of what the colors represent in MTG. My version of black is more like what MTG would think of as Blue/Black multicolor.

Also, none of the elements are "evil" or malevolent. They just exist. If creation is pure light, the Prime Spheres are the distinct colors you would see when it's separated by a prism. They have no moral value to them. They are simply the ingredients of existence.

But anyway, I needed a shorthand term for that multiverse, and so I named it the Uneiverse. Seemed fitting.

But now to answer your question properly...

The STORY arises from a single concept of two characters that I came up with way back in like 2017. The initial concept was little more than a vibe: a warlock and a druid, or black magic and green magic witches, who live together in a little cottage that combines their magical styles. They had sentient, literal "spider plants" as an eco-friendly alternative to pesticides, paperweights that look like skulls with glowing eyes, etc. They each had a cat familiar: one a ghostly, spectral black shadow cat and the other quite possibly a cat shaped clump of sentient moss. The cats recently had kittens that sprouted mushrooms and gave off luminous spores when they purr or bounce around the house causing mischief. Outside the glamour that hides their cottage they keep something like a chia pet that's shaped like a skull, as an inside joke.

I called these characters Doom and Bloom.

Years later, I ended up joining my first DND campaign (still ongoing), and adapted these characters for it. So Doom and Bloom became Ash and Aria. I play Ash as a shadow-themed subclass ("Nightshade") of the Witch class I homebrewed for 5e. Aria Vernus is her wife, a Woodborn witch.

Here's where shit gets fucky.

In my ceaseless hunger to worldbuild harder, I spent the weeks in the lead up to our first session crafting myself a backstory for Ash. It ended up being like 12,000 words and Ash wasn't even born yet. If that's any indication of how the rest of this went. I had basically created a backstory for her MOTHER, Lailah.

I can give you the DND version of it as a summary.

Lailah was a Monadic Deva in Elysium. They are the strongest angels physically, and the most attuned to the neutral aspect of the Good alignments: they won't knowingly deal with Evil beings, but they are the most likely to peacefully interact with Neutral ones. Thirty years ago, there was a war in the Outer Planes and the Nine Hells were attacking the heavens. Lailah was an IMMENSELY powerful divine warrior (mechanically, she's a CR 10ish creature with at least 16 class levels in Zealot Barbarian and 2 in Fighter, and she has a custom Artifact level weapon so she's ABSURD) who laid waste to the Hells' forces. Until one day she found a succubus hiding in Elysium, and was about to kill her but realized the succubus made no move to fight back. This got her curious. The succubus explained that she wanted no part of the war, she only used the chaos surrounding it to make her escape from the violence and backstabbing and politics of the hells, and just wanted to get away from the conflict. Lailah was unable to kill a being she could see was not evil, and instead she listened and began to sympathize. What are now succubi used to be angels themselves, called Eros, and were made to bring love to mortals. But you cannot touch a life without it touching you back. And the gods felt that the touch of mortals had changed the Eros from what they were created to be, and they became beings ruled by passion rather than order, so they were cast out from the heavens and became Succubi.

You can see how quickly I started diverging from DND lore into building my own mythology for everything.

Anyway, Lailah and the succubus became briefly entangled, and the more Lailah learned about the succubus' past, the more it troubled her that it sounded like she had been wronged. The Eros were created for a purpose, and then punished for carrying it out. And in the moment Lailah began to wonder if it was the gods themselves who were wrong, she was burned herself and fell from Elysium. She was cast out and landed in Malbolge as an Erinyes. There she met another Erinyes who had been waiting for her. A former Movanic Deva from Arborea who had the gift of second sight (and I have a LOT of mythology developed around the nature of time and fate and the relationship between potential and possibility and branching timelines because of this character) and knew she had to fall herself in order to help Lailah raise her daughter.

Surprise! Lailah's pregnant. So Lailah spent the next ~4 years with this other fallen angel in the Nine Hells, where her little ember of hope in the darkness was born, and she named the ember Ash.

Eventually Lailah and Ash were able to leave, and they ended up in a wild, untamed forest in a forgotten corner of Ravnica. Ash grew up in the woods where she met another little tiefling from the druid village nearby, and they became best friends. So Ash and Aria have known each other their whole lives.

For reasons I left open to my DM, Lailah went missing when Ash was 15. She and Aria couldn't get help from the druids and made their own plans to go to the city on their own, and they ended up making a home there. Ash became a leather worker and Aria primarily works in animal rehab. They live in a big tree that Aria grew herself into a living home, with their two familiars (Hades and Persephone), their familiars' kittens, and a rotating cast of animals. Hannah the Possum has become an infamous side character in campaign for sneaking away from her babies to steal peanut butter and other treats from the cupboards.

Anyway, the campaign itself involves our characters joining a transguild organization that helps mediate inter-guild conflicts on Ravnica and work as ambassadors to visitors from other planes, because in our version of Ravnica a lot of permanent planar portals have been opening up in recent times (we're about 5 years after the War of the Spark in the MTG timeline, which is INCREDIBLE because it means our DM accidentally predicted the Omenpaths in the post-March of the Machines story several years in advance, and that's FAR from the only time she's been ahead of Magic Story). We're also dealing with the fact that the players have started sparking, because it turns out we're all (except possibly Ash) Planeswalkers. Ash, being a full blooded magical creature descended from two fallen angels from the Outer Planes, may have an innate inherited ability to traverse planes without a spark, but that remains to be discovered in game.

As part of writing Ash's backstory, I created additional backstory for Aria. She was part of her own adventuring party 5-6 years ago, and her group became widely known, feared, and respected for handling jobs beyond the ability of most adventuring groups. And I basically backstoried a whole other campaign into existence, culminating in that group actually taking part in the War of the Spark by fighting Bontu, one of the god eternals. I could spend another 6,000 words on a play by play but the tl;dr is that my tieflings are polyamorous and Aria was in a relationship with a newly sparked Planeswalker at the time, and she watched that partner die in front of her when Bontu harvested her spark. Aria went into a blind rage, used Shapechange to turn herself into a gold dragon, and then had a kaiju battle with a zombie god while the rest of her team scrambled to keep her, and themselves, alive. Fen (Arcana cleric) came up with the idea to pin Bontu down with Immovable rods, and the two martial classes in the party had to get close to help do it. One of those was Cass, a dhampir soulknife rogue/shadow monk who was born on Fiora but made her way to Ravnica by way of Dominaria sometime before The Great Mending made planar travel inaccessible to non-planeswalkers. Cass had to bite Bontu for a boost of strength (because she's Dex based), but in the chaos Bontu also managed to grab HER, which created an unusual feedback loop where the Elderspell tried to pull the soul out of her body, but since she was resurrected by extraordinarily powerful necromancy (which is how she became a vampire, after she was murdered on the night of her arranged wedding), her soul is a bit more stuck to her body than most, so by feeding on Bontu's blood, she actually managed to survive long enough for Aria to make Bontu let go, leaving Cass with a "dislocated" soul and, in the process of siphoning Bontu's essence, she accidentally acquired one of the stolen sparks (most likely that of Aria's lover). Because the Immortal Sun was on at the time, and her soul was not quite right, that spark didn't activate until a week or so later.

AAAAAAAAAAANYWAY, I'm obsessed with vampires so obviously Cass was my favorite character that I made for Aria's backstory party, so I ended up giving Cass her own backstory, wherein she was born to a failing mob family as the only one who could produce an heir, but she was too gay and moody (and psionic) to be okay with that, so her father plotted with the father of her arranged husband to have her killed. Her maidservant (who she was in love with), Gisella Bathori, overheard them laughing about it on the night of the wedding and tried to save her, but was fatally stabbed in the process. Ella used her dying breath to carve a sigil into the floor - a very powerful sigil based in the magic of creation itself, which rearranges the energy of the Prime Spheres into intent, and with a little blood (okay a LOT of blood, much of it her own), she begged the universe to "not let Cassandra die". So Cass wakes up in the back of a truck before her killers can dump her body, and long story short she kills a guy, goes home and finds Ella's body, fails to understand how the sigil worked, and then kills all of the people who just got to her house (the other two men who helped kill her plus a lawmaster and finally her father) before cleaning herself up, taking some essentials and valuables, kicking one of the bodies for good measure, and running away forever. She spends the next few days hunting down the rest of both families before escaping the city and finding her way to Dominaria (and ultimately Ravnica).

So Cass is my backstory character's backstory character. And I LOVE her. Also, when Cass kicked that last body? she shuffled some blood around and triggered the sigil again without knowing it. So unbeknownst to her, Ella ALSO got raised as a vampire. And she didn't find out about it until her spark activated 122 years later and she ended up back on Fiora.

SO.

Obviously. I backstoried pretty fucking hard. And got really attached to these characters. And what basically happened is I started developing this alternate version of my characters' story that ran parallel to (but significantly diverged from) the campaign. So I had this running in my head for a while and was calling it "story mode" for like "this is how these characters and their stories would work if they existed ENTIRELY inside my own mythology and worldbuilding instead of playing within the mechanics and narrative structure of a DND campaign" and eventually that started spinning faster and faster until it developed its own magnetosphere and became a whole world. And then a multiverse for that world to fit in.

Lailah in Story Mode was not a Deva, she was a Brachiel: an angel of storm and lightning, which falls under the "Emanations" (middle) tier in my angelology (as did the Eros). Eternity may address Ash as a "Daughter of Emanations". And while Ash might come off as having a little bit of a "half angel half devil" vibe at first, strictly speaking what she actually is is a BORN fallen angel, a being caught somewhere between two Prime elements, and ends up self-actualizing as a secret, third thing, because nothing born can live forever and while she is biologically pure fallen angel, she was not CREATED through divine means as angels were, she was born as a mortal. She's a little bit complicated because she looks like one thing (the equivalent of a tiefling) but that's not really what she is, and what she really is is a lot harder to explain in a neat and digestible way. Which is why I've said in tags that she kinda comes off as baby's first OC if you only know the elevator pitch (her parents were an angel and a succubus) but the reality is a lot more complicated in a much more interesting way that's not super easy to explain unless you're telling it to a person who already wants to listen.

So now I have a whole story in my head about a woman who just wants to find her mom, but she's caught up in this grand threat to the multiverse itself, when all she wants is a nice quiet life with her family but she lives in a world where the veil between the realms only thinned recently, and the magical "races" are all humans who were variably affected by the energies of different worlds, and some are viewed less favorably than others (the aasimar equivalent are sometimes called "blessings" because their parents view it as such to have a child influenced by the divine, while the tiefling equivalent are seen as about what you'd expect, etc). So there's vibes of marginalization and surviving in a world that isn't super thrilled that you exist, and mommy issues, and a theocratic government that's not great and is secretly using the power of faith to try to turn the head of state into a god, and all the while my poor beleaguered angel's bastard has to cope with the fact that a god on a level her tiny electric meatball consciousness cannot BEGIN to comprehend just asked her for help, (because, in her words, "𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔠𝔢𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔰 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔫 𝔡𝔬; 𝔴𝔢 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔦𝔭𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔳𝔢") and now she's stuck working with a handful of other people who were ALSO assigned to this task, and all of it sucks but at least her long-suffering wife is there to kick some ass while she pretends her own trauma isn't destroying her from the inside.

(To get more technical, There's A Big Problem™ and while the Outer Gods have orders of magnitude more power than they'd need to fix it, souls are concentrated areas of the Potential of Creation and have a kind of WEIGHT to them, metaphysically, that influences the world around them (which is how magic works), and a fragment of creation as "large" as an Outer God would effectively alter reality around itself on such an enormous scale, almost like gravitational lensing, that for them to interfere in our layer of the multiverse that directly would essentially reorder existence around their presence to a degree that they deem unacceptable. So between not having a great perspective of what the problem is DOING to our layer and not being able to really ENTER the layer of existence where the problem needs to be solved, they need a solution that can operate on the correct scale to restore the balance without causing unfathomable catastrophic collateral damage in the process, and thus, The Gods Need Our Help™. And the characters have to figure out how to deal with this while navigating their own problems in a world that's got its own human sized bullshit going on. THAT is the story I want to write. Cass might have her own story as a book 2. Empath, a story I used to tag about sometimes and involves a spaceship I invented the concept for based on real math that allows it to only exist outside of itself, would be book 3.)

Two of the other ensemble cast are heavily adapted from characters from the campaign, one a pretty direct translation of a PC and the other a cross between another PC and an NPC, both of whom have awkward crushes on the aforementioned PC, and the NPC in particular gives off the most intense friends to enemies to friends to lovers yearning vibes I have ever seen in my fucking LIFE, and the new character I've spawned out of those two is going to be sort of like a siren with synesthesia, so bask in the flavor of THAT concept for a hot minute. If you even care.

Basically there's going to be a "main character" for each of the colors in the cosmogony, and that will be important in ways you don't need to think about right now.

Hey did you know that wizards suck, actually?

So anyway the Uneiverse is basically a multiverse in which the Prime Spheres represent the basic elements of creation, and from them the Composite Spheres were created, each a combination of two (or more? currently I only have the two-color combinations named) of those elements, and as creation divides and recycles itself in a grand eternal process of revision and recombination, you have the Inner Spheres which make up the multiverse as MTG imagines it: an infinite cosmos of varied realms, made of all the elements in minutely different quantities and combinations.

And in one of those realms sits a hectic little world called Une, where a lot of things get weird and a scared little girl just wishes her mom was here to make it all better.

[plumforpersephone]

LADY LAZARUS GOES AGAINST GOD;

a Watch Your Step headcannon, @charnelhouse

I've thought about this for quite some time now. I have ruminated. I have fantasized. I have theorized. What happens next? Where does this story go? I have microscoped. I have dissected. I have made bloody all of its parts. I have analyzed and now, I—humbly—somberly—respectfully—lovingly—politely—present my findings.

DISCLAIMER: This is long. Probably unnecessarily long. I sat on it for a while as though time would shrink it down for me, but somehow it only grew larger. [title based on Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath & Girls Against God by Florence + the Machine]

DISCLAIMER: This is rife with plot holes, inconsistencies, out-of-character behavior, unrealistic dialogue (because how do people actually talk? asking for me), uneven pacing, serious extrapolating, narrative by someone who doesn't understand narrative, one too many Hozier references.

DISCLAIMER: This is not what I think should happen. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that what you've come up with is better and more fitting.

Behold, my thoughts. My Post-Chapter Twelve Headcannon.

THESIS: Faire’s separation from the guys has always been inevitable. The events of Chapter Twelve are the final nail in the coffin their domestic bliss gets buried in. Everything the guys have done, they have done together. If Pope killed her father, then so too did Frankie, Will, and Ben. Pope shows no remorse, telling her bluntly, “your dad died because he had to.” It kills her. Baron reveals that the mob world has been buzzing with rumors that the guys use her as a sex slave, and Pope made no effort to shut them down. And that kills her dead. 

It obliterates, pukes on, laughs at, and sets fire to her rose-colored glasses. Without their relative safety, Faire is forced to confront her reality painfully and frightfully sober. 

She wants to go home. Home is her house. Her mother’s house? Her father’s?

Amid all his scheming and plotting, Baron takes over responsibility of the house. He brings in professional cleaners to exorcize the ghost of her mother. Every inch of the house sparkles. The floorboards, the windowpanes. The vents and doorstops. He hires a morally scrupulous interior designer. 

He brings in electricians, plumbers, and landscapers from a company he forgot he had control of. New wiring, pretty new light fixtures. There is a giant cascading chandelier to greet you in the entryway of the home; it’s been there since before she was born. Under her mother, it dusted and dulled. Now it reflects light and wealth. The rug her mother died on is taken out.

The door handles in the home that were once stuck are now shiny, easy-to-move things. Every light switch in the house works. There are no more dark corners. The rug her mother died on is taken out. The carpets are replaced, the floorboards redone. It still looks like her home, kind of. Or maybe a version of her home in a parallel universe. What her home would look like had her father not been killed. 

New water facets are water-stain resistant. The kitchen is redone with stainless steel appliances. The dishware is packed into a cardboard box to make room for shinier cutlery. Is the house opulent? No. It doesn’t scream wealth like the penthouse. It tries to be homier, like a place where a mother loved her daughter. 

And maybe it works for Faire. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe she’s not stifled by the presence of her ex-mother; maybe it’s comforting. Maybe she finds herself unable to breathe anyway. Maybe it feels like home, but mostly it just feels like something is missing. 

Her mother’s bedroom is made perfect, of course. The pill drawer is emptied. A brand new bedroom set. The bed sheets are new and smell clean. Sunlight pours in through newly washed, spotless windows. If she didn’t know any better, it could have been a guest room. There are signs that a person with history used to live in it—maybe there’s a picture of Sioban and Charles together, cleaned up in a nice frame. Fresh flowers. A closet without secrets.

Baron has the cleaners organize papers, documents, and family valuables into cardboard boxes. There are dozens of them, all filled with ghosts and packed with a past she knew nothing of. This preoccupies her—becomes her new project. A few areas of the home are still in need of fixing up. She buries herself in what she finds. She cries over pictures, stung by the morbid curiosity of her father’s past. How her parents met. The role her father played in building Ashford. Baron slithers like a snake around her neck, giving her the answers she wants but with suggestion. Truth, but with a twist. Truth, but at a cost. 

In the wake of her dissolution with the boys, she views herself underneath a brand new microscope, under a more sober lens. She finds the view humiliating. She feels she was weak with the guys—foolish. Childish. She oscillates between hate, dislike, and tolerance for them, loving them all the while. Hating herself for this, but accepting they are still somehow an intrinsic part of her. She wants those men to know she is not some wilted flower of a girl, desperate for their attention. She does not need them, even if she wants them. She wants to prove that to herself, first. Or maybe to the guys first, or maybe Baron and Theo first. 

She does not want to become ruthless. She does not want to inherit her father’s blood-soaked beast. She just wants to trim off the gristle and fat of her emotions, her softness. It’s like getting a divorce. It’s more like a soul transplant than it is a makeover. [Theo: “You look lost. It’s endearing, but you’ll need to learn to school your features in this crowd."] [Baron: "You’re soft. I’m not sure what they see in you."] 

You’ll need to learn to school your features in this crowd. To do this, she tries to sever her softness like it’s an infected limb. It’s a bit of a hack job, and she’s not quite perfect. She sees the need to be like Will, to be like Frankie or Pope. Present an idea of herself to the world and the people around her; something that if not hard, is strong; if not impenetrable, then vengeful. 

The guys see her in flashes—on neutral grounds. She is somewhat unrecognizable up close. She looks cool and neutral. To them, it’s like looking at her through frosted glass. If they squint, they may be able to see the real her. Her emotions no longer play as easily across her face. They are flooded with guilt as they see her try to mold herself into something new. Her father never wanted this life for her, and yet they baptized her in it. It guts them.

She floats in and out of this robotic, closed-off state, warring with her softness. Not that she has unproblematic Mother Theresa holy-like softness or innocence or goodness to her. She’s perfectly capable of being an asshole. She can and has cut people off in traffic, flipping them off when they’ve dared honk at her. She is just conscientious of other people’s feelings, does not want to partake in killing people, finds unnecessary and gleeful violence to be quite primitive, gets sick at the sight of blood, and has a very normal good & bad morality scale.

Baron has a specific role, a purpose, in store for her. Marrying the previous guy-in-charge’s daughter isn’t a totally unwelcomed look for him. Is there a play to be had there, an upper hand in his mob dealings? He wants to groom her for the business. He, too, holds respect for her father; is it idolization? Simple respect as a colleague? What traits did Charles Faire pass on to his daughter? How can Baron manipulate those skills to work for his benefit? 

Baron likes to taunt her with the guys. He sees right through her and knows she doesn’t hold a schoolgirl crush. He wants to break it out of her. He wants to kill that part of her. “They did not love you. They did not need you. They did not care for you.” Her pain is Baron’s strongest tool to keep her with him. Does he invent sightings of the guys? Did a mob associate see Benny or Fish buried beneath a pile of women? Does this hurt her?

Yes, but her mind keeps presenting her with a devastating realization. They don’t need her how she needs them. She is replaceable. She was never going to be a permanent fixture in their lives, and damn her for thinking they shared something real. Does this make her grow cold? Does the jealousy enrage her or just hurt her? Is she filled with quiet resignation—she loved them, she still loves them, and they don’t love her?

She accepts that what she feels for them is real—so real her love could be a living creature in its own right, capable of living outside her body. It breathes on its own. It withstands a hostile environment—Baron, in her face and in her head, “they do not love you”; insurmountable distance between itself and its one evolutionary drive in life [to love and be loved by them]—and manages to thrive anyway, living in a world in which she believes they never loved her, never needed her, never wanted her, at all. 

Baron tries to manipulate her love for the guys by using it to turn her against them. Maybe he makes up lies about them—things to taint her perception of them. Things truly horrendous, things truly unforgivable. It is the boulder Baron is never able to fully push up the hill. She knows who they are, anyway. She’s seen them. She has felt them. She doesn’t feed off of Baron’s frothing hate for the guys. Maybe—he doesn’t truly, deeply hate them. He may not like them, sure, but he doesn’t want them dead. Does he? He just needs to surgically remove their influence on her. 

It is not enough to change how or what she feels for them. If anything, it lights her own insecurities about herself on fire, but that boulder rolls down on Baron with every attempt. Maybe Baron tries to use that love against the guys themselves—to cripple them financially, or to gloat. What were they like? How and where were they soft?

Faire, in return, gifts him nothing. She doesn’t reveal what they were like with her, or what they did together. She refuses to give Baron a fraction of an inch of leverage or foresight to use against the men. He is like a snarling dog trying to rip this out of her, her love a chew toy. “They do not love you. They will never love you. They don’t miss you. They don’t even think about you. They’re glad you’re gone.”

Maybe Baron wants to screw the guys or the Cardinals as a whole over. Maybe he just wants to slightly inconvenience them, and troll on them a bit. Perhaps he wants to eliminate them from existence entirely. Faire fights him on this front, subverting all his attempts to do so. And here, she grows, independent of what people want from her. She moves on her own motivations, her own wants and needs. She learns the business on her terms, in a less bloodthirsty manner. She grows a backbone. She learns to move without the advice of others, on her instinct, without looking to someone for approval. Maybe she’s not successful; maybe she acquires the knowledge and power to take Baron’s place. Baron tells her again and again, “they do not love you, they do not want you,” and it hurts, but she quietly loves them anyway. 

The guys, on their end, are miserable. They’re lost and to their disgust, unmoored. Off-course. They are fearful for her in a very real sense—Baron is not the type to value human life. It would be nothing for him to leave her for dead, just for fun. Just because he could. They cut themselves on their regret, nursing it like it’s their child. They should have been better. They should have been nicer. They should have introduced her to this world smarter, not by immediately baptizing her in bloodshed. They all feel they should have been more proactive—Pope, coming to Faire on his own after her first attack to explain his history with her father. Maybe they should have been less indulgent in her drinking. Benny takes particular responsibility for the way that night played out. They’re four different and identical Spidermen pointing at each other for the mess they each played a part in creating. 

WILL loses a piece of his soul. He has never felt more understood, more seen, more human with another person. In the absence of Faire, he feels a loss of humanity, a loss of self. He feels colder, less able to step outside of his self-imposed prison. He becomes Ironhead, through and through. He struggles to come out of the basement. Even if he does walk up those stairs, he never truly leaves. He doesn’t touch another woman. Maybe he tries, once. It’s enough to make him never want to again. It is SONG OF ACHILLES, he is more myself than i am, whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same; bewitched mind, body, and soul love; in the crooks of your body, i find my religion. She is communion. Her and her body nourishment, sanctuaries, holy, places of worship. Does he know that what he feels is love? He thinks so, but finds it too childish a word to define what she is to him, what they share. She is a beating organ in his body. Calling that love is like trying to represent all of it in a Hallmark card. It just doesn’t work. It’s not the right medium. 

BENNY is going through a bad breakup. He feels he fell in love with her first and knew her best, outside of Will. He gorges on food, more so than usual, even though everything tastes bad after being treated to her cooking. As a person, Benny is naturally easygoing. He naturally finds it easier to adapt. He is always good at enjoying the sunset. He is naturally playful, naturally inclined to laugh, and bounce and refract like sunlight. Maybe he realizes there is a degree of falsehood in his casual deposition. He wraps himself in jokes and grins like humor will protect him. He learns it doesn’t, not completely. Not from this. He has no problem defining Faire by name—love. He loves her. Love songs and poetry suddenly make a lot more sense to him. He cries a bit, openly. He realizes that what he presents to people is dishonest; he is scared. He’s not at all the eager, carefree, surfer-dude of a mobster he wants to be seen as. In Faire’s absence, it takes nothing to overcome that fear and surrender to it. Love. It’s not as bamboozling as he thought it was. It’s quite easy. It moves like water. Maybe he tries to be with other women. Maybe he tries to try Merissa on again to see if it fits him the same, but it doesn’t. Once he overcomes his fear of attachment, realizing it is what keeps him from Faire, he identifies the slew of women as part of that fear, too. He lets go of it all the same, realizing love is not a weakness, it is a strength. Love Is Not Pain. Love Is Goodness. 

FRANKIE still doesn’t know what the hell is going on with him. When she leaves, he hasn’t had enough time to understand her. He did not get to know her—to love her—in the same way Will and Benny did. He got her in fragments. As in Sick Girl, “I know you. I know you. I know you because you’re me and that’s all it is.” There is innate and immediate understanding. When he takes care of her, it’s sort of like taking care of himself—he loves her, and if she’s safe, then so is he. He tried taking care of her after killing those men and felt himself too violent. He put distance between them but she bridged it anyway. He learns she is an intrinsic, inevitable part of him. Their almost, kind of, sort of, not really relationship tastes of regret. He regrets not staying with her that night in her bedroom. He regrets the distance. He wishes he were more honest with her from the beginning. He was not soft with her, so she found herself needing to be the same way with him. He found himself being more real with her, however sporadically, the longer she stayed at the penthouse. He showed her in the kitchen, trying to kiss her the way he always meant to. He showed her again, that final night at the club. Did he kiss her to shut her up? Or to reveal that she was right—that nobody can touch him the way she has? He knows that if she came home with them that night, instead of leaving with Baron, it would only be an infinitesimally small amount of time before he handed himself over to her completely. He was so close to her, and then he wasn’t. She tastes like almost and goes down like a ghost. And all that potential— that chance of surrendering to what he no longer fears—kills him. Love doesn’t come to mind in a word, rather it comes through in a filter of color in his life after she entered it. Does he bury himself in women, after she leaves? Maybe. Maybe not. He recalls the hurt it caused her. He tries to address all his thoughtless, consequences-be-damned passion. She is not something you hurt over. She is something you work towards. 

POPE is marked by rage and franticness. Like Frankie, he too is haunted by almost. No one feels regret more strongly. The other guys’ bitterness tastes sweet compared to his. Something of an addict in his own right, he needs control to feel complete, to feel settled, to feel at ease. In the absence of control—and by proxy her—he finds chaos and weakness. He feels powerless. He feels the apocalypse imminent, and that it arrived when she left with Baron. Frankie knows him best, but even Santi doesn’t need that outside perspective to know he royally fucked up. He was weak-gripped and careless. Everything spiraled because he couldn’t command it all into straight lines and neatly organized piles. And now, he sees a visible difference in the guys. A lack of light, post-Faire. The air itself feels different, and he is the reason for it. The whole world is his fault. He does what he can to not obsess over it constantly. Instead, he thinks about it when he’s refilling his coffee and conducting mob business over the phone, as though he can multi-task with his regret. He regrets when he ties his shoes. He regrets when he brushes his teeth, in the time it takes to talk from the kitchen to his office to his bedroom and inevitably back to his office again. Now he rarely leaves it. He’s more on edge; being around him is like licking a battery. He just feels uncomfortable and caustic. He has more pain to hold onto than love or familiarity. Does he feel love? Maybe not in the way the other guys do. She is bathed in his anguish. He never got to see her outside of his sadness, save the art museum date. Will and Ben knew her best. Frankie knew her next. Santi knew her in waves. He’d piss her off and she’d ocean foam her way into nothing. He recognizes that she is wholly different from anybody he’s ever met; he has loved and been loved, but only with the guys. Not so much his parents. Not with another woman. He, too, found himself reaching out to her out of instinct. Pretending to give her options even though she didn’t have any. Trying to be more tolerable and eventually nicer. Learning her, he thinks, is like coming to realize he’s been breathing wrong his entire life. How could he have survived this long? How could he have known anything different? How could he ever settle for anything less?

It’s not moth to a flame fascination. It’s more land to someone stranded in the ocean, more like his body reaching out for an innate organ it has needed and missed its entire life. He wanted to do her a kindness and decided the best gift he could offer her was distance. He needed her fear and hate more than he needed her understanding and acceptance. He got all four anyway. Following their art gallery date, he had a brief opportunity to settle into her the way his body craved the entire time. A brief inhalation of oxygen not soured by city pollution. He takes it—land, organ, oxygen—and revels wondrously at it, before getting interrupted. He ghosts her for a bit then after, purposefully or not. At the club, he gives her his rage rather than what he truly feels for her. If things happened differently—that very first night, that very first day, and everything that happened after—he sees maybe. He sees probably. He sees almost. He sees her, and she is absolute. He feels like Icarus, only dumber. 

And all the while, there is FAIRE, trying to grow from the rot she was placed in, idolizing what little she knows of her father. He is good, she thinks of him—there is no was. He is no less pure in death. Her father was the first domino that initiated life’s wrongdoings against her. What does life look like, with her father alive? Does she grow up safe, does she grow up loved?

Would her father have allowed her to be left inside a hot, locked vehicle while her mother flittered around town? Would she have feared her mother? Could she have had a life outside of her mother? Would she know how to make and maintain close relationships? What would her future look like? Would she go to college?  

We often first learn of femininity through the eyes of our mother. Would Faire be introduced to it by a bone-thin, rib-cage-showing mother? What would her mother look like? What would she look like? Would her mother’s insecurities become her own? Would Faire still feel like a visitor, wherever she goes? 

Would she still feel the permanent need to play caretaker? Would responsibility smother her in the way it does now? 

She knows the answers to those questions. She could have lived. She could have been happy. She could have grown into something more. Her mother could have lived. Her mother could have been happy. Her mother could have loved her. 

And that’s what’s so callous about it. That’s where the rot is. Her dad loved her. She thinks her mother loved her, at least sometimes, at least sort of, in the best way she knew how—but with her father alive, she could have been loved better, been loved kinder, been loved safer. She has never felt unheld by her father. Though numbered, she has strong, good memories of him. Her childhood was an ocean of tragedy and her father was the one thing she could tether herself to. Her father was the one good thing she had. Her father, in a very literal sense, was clean. 

She has traced the origin of life’s vendetta against her to the loss of her father. His death was the key that unlocked a door of incalculable misery. It killed the chances of anything good landing on her doorstep. She is haunted by the ghosts of her parents. Her grave was dug after the death of her father. She was kicked into it by her very own mother. 

I think of her repeating this: “I wanted to come from something good. I wanted to believe I came from something good. I wanted to believe I was deserving of coming from something good.” If she was born to a mother, an abusive addict, what does that make her? If she was born to a father who died because he was someone who needed to, what does that make her?

I think of her saying this: “Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. Maybe my mother wouldn’t have been different. But she had a chance. I—we—could have saved her. I could have at least helped. My dad would have at least been something. She could have had a chance.”

On her father: “He loved me. He was nice—he was good—to me.” She hoards the memory of him like a dragon. 

Is it logical? Is it childlike naivety? The revelation that Pope, and therefore the others, were responsible for her father’s death, that he is not regretful to a point where he would take it back if given the opportunity—makes her tired. Makes her done. Makes this not some easy-to-fix, momentary squabble. Makes the distance between them a snarling thing with teeth. For the first time, she doesn’t apologize on her behalf. She doesn’t bend over backwards to make their perspective the right one. Grief and rage, when combined, taste like blood. 

And she spits it in their faces. 

THE SCENE: Faire and Baron are in the backseat of his personal driver’s car, en route to the house she grew up in. Baron still has their hands clasped together. Faire sits frozen. Stunned? Shocked? Scared? Sad? Numb? Enraged?

Pope and Liam still argue in the parking lot. Pope snarls at Liam, too focused on the sight of Faire driving away in his brother’s clutches to do any real damage. How long have you been working for my brother? [-I haven’t, I’m not—] You lying piece of shit. I trusted you with her, you were supposed to look after her— [-And I have. I still am. She just needs time—]

The two fully dissolve into shouting as the car disappears from sight. Santi feels something in his chest physically shift, the apocalypse in his heart. They become a divergent plate boundary. Is this what God felt when Pangea split apart? This distance—it feels finite—

Will, Frankie, and Benjamin exit the nightclub, not in a rush, oblivious to what’s just happened. The exit door opens and they hear Pope and Liam shouting—that the two men are seconds away from throwing hands— 

Frankie immediately goes to pull Santi back, Will feels dread, and Benny laughs because the scene looks funny. 

The other three aren’t immediately made aware. It’s all Pope calling Liam every name under the sun and Liam arguing back indistinctly. All three clock Faire’s absence. Will assumes the worst but he doesn’t know what the worst is, Frankie’s thoughts go blank, and Ben assumes she’s in their car—

Frankie manages to get enough distance between the two so Pope’s attention isn’t narrowed on trying to kill Liam from the volume of his voice alone.

It’s Will who asks. It’s Pope who answers. 

“Ask Liam.”

And then Liam says that it was in Faire’s best interests to get some clarity on the situation—an outside perspective—time—distance—away from what she’s been drowning in.

Frankie goes still. Benny goes quiet. Will gets angry. 

Ironhead sees a traitor—a rat—a new victim. Will knows that she’s been struggling in a way he and the others haven’t been able to help her with. They’ve all been watching her from the sidelines of the barricade she put up around herself. And Liam has seen it, too. Maybe he knows something Will doesn’t.

Liam isn’t actually involved with Baron. There was no conspiring, no scheming, no plotting. He’s never made moves to communicate with Baron. He only ever quietly, loudly thought to himself that what she needed the most was distance and time spent away from the guys. He watched her break into smaller and smaller pieces with each new day. He knew she would only get worse. He knew she would shrink until there was nothing left. 

And for a guy who doesn’t give up a woman’s secrets, he does so anyway, but in as little detail as he can provide. She’s not okay. She hasn’t been okay. She’s drunk or high or both at any given moment, at any time of day. She’s out of control and this here, where she’s been, just feeds that chaos more. He doesn’t want to mention the sex, he doesn’t. He knows it to be a distraction, just like alcohol. But he needs them to understand, and tells them anyway, She’s distracting herself with things that keep hurting her. 

Liam also knows he’s treading life and death very fucking precariously here, so he doesn’t say it outright. What he does do, though, is make direct eye contact with each of them. She’ll die if she goes on like this. And if she stays here, nothing changes. 

The men know he’s right, but they’re no less angry. All of them are a heartbeat from breaking his jaw, or worse. Liam knows his time to speak is shrinking faster than the speed of light, so he finishes, Just give her tonight. Give her at least that. Baron won’t kill her. He won’t hurt her.

Some in-love idiot: “How do you know that?”

Liam: “Because I do. And even if he’s trying for a bigger play, he needs longer than tonight for it to happen.” 

They fall silent in words but scream in body language. 

“Let me talk to him. I know where they’re going. Let me keep an eye on her.”

They accuse him of being a shit rat, and how are they supposed to trust him after he does something like this, and why would you go and not one of us—

“Because she can’t see any of you right now. She doesn’t need that. That wouldn’t be good for her. That wouldn’t help.”

Another in-love idiot: “And you would?”

“She trusts me. I’ve taken care of her, I’ve looked out for her—”

Some in-love idiot: “And we haven’t?” 

Liam, ignoring that: “We’re close.”

The same in-love idiot: “So are we.”

—I think Pope accuses him of being in love, of having a crush, of pining after her, of wanting to use her, because he excels in projection—

“I’m not, that’s not it. I’m just worried about her. You asked me to take care of her, and I have. I am. That’s what I’m doing.”

There is something bigger at play here, and Will feels it in his soul. He doesn’t often feel things there. And if they don’t play this exactly right, they’re in serious danger of losing her forever, in more ways than one. What options do they have? Do they drag Faire back, kicking and screaming? She would never forgive them. Do they chase after Baron’s car? She wanted distance. The way she bolted tells him this isn’t a disagreement. This is fear. This is distress. 

It’s Will who agrees with Liam. Agree is a strong word, but he relents. Tells Santi quietly, powerfully, “Let him.”

Frankie and Benny argue, incredulous, and Benny moves to tackle Liam. Did he conspire with Baron? Maybe. Does it matter if she’s gone?

Pope and Will look at each other. Something quiet and profound happens. And then Pope gives Liam the go-ahead. A nod. “Call him.”

It gives Will enough time to wrangle Benny in. Frankie turns his arguing to Pope, and Liam calls Baron. The number is saved on his phone for strictly business purposes.

The phone dials. The line rings. There are a few seconds so heavy it hurts Liam’s throat. And then BARON ANSWERS. “Liam. Surprised you aren’t dead yet.” 

Faire has been crying and breathing erratically in the backseat, but she has had years of practice doing both silently, so Liam is unable to hear her. Liam puts the phone on speaker, hoping it will show he has nothing to hide. 

Baron’s fingers are still threaded tightly through hers, squeezing firmly not to hurt her but to ground her. And it works, kind of, somewhat. It’s at least almost something.

“I’ll meet you at her house,” Liam says. No negotiations. 

Baron smiles like a shark. “So you can put a bullet in my head for taking away their toy?”

The four men (not Liam) immediately dissolve into feral, snarling animals, and Baron laughs—

“Okay. That’s fine. No one else, just you. Just me. And her.”

There is mutual trust, here. Liam won’t fuck this up and neither will Baron. Baron is likely already a dozen steps ahead of them in terms of scheming and conniving, but he doesn’t want a war. Maybe there is genuine, human care here. Maybe there isn’t. Maybe it’s just that it’s bad for business. Maybe it’s just that the timing isn’t right, not yet. 

Liam hangs up first. 

IN THE CAR, Baron tightens his grip on her hand. The way he brushes his thumb over the back of it might almost be human. “It’s okay, dolly. It’s okay. Liam will meet us there.”

Faire is thinking of a thousand things—that this is hands down the worst trip she’s ever had—her dad is dead—her dead dad is dead because Pope killed him—her dead dad is dead because Pope wanted and willed it so—in the same way he has cravings and how he wants his suits pristine and how he sometimes listens to jazz in his office—and her dead dad is dead because Will, Ben, and Frankie helped—

—and Pope did not quell rumors that she is used as a sex slave—and now suddenly pretty, pretty whore of the Cardinals & do they take turns with you? it’s what everyone’s been saying, they keep you locked up for it makes a lot more sense—and the implications of that—who started those rumors and did they originate from their home?—what lackey did Pope order to spread that rumor, that she was used—because if she was a slave she didn’t choose to be—and if she didn’t choose to be with them, then none of this was real—and it was real for her and it wasn’t real for them—and if that rumor was started by Pope, did the other men know and how could they not know—and if Pope didn’t start that rumor, how could he not know that people were talking about it and how could he not tell the others—and why wouldn’t he stop it—why would he not say anything — why would they not say anything—did they touch her knowing that they planted those rumors—

—and she’s going back to the house she hasn’t been in since her mother’s funeral—the house she grew up in—the house her mother lived in—the house her mother died in—

—and she’s going there with a criminal—a mob boss—the head of the Apostles, the mob her father presided over pre-death—the guys’ biggest rival and enemy—and she’s going to that house with him and horror stories—

Total breakdown. Catastrophic failure. Blue screen of death. 

She is in full hysterics by the time the car pulls up to THE HOUSE.

Baron, his hand still in hers, tugs her to exit out of the same car door. He tells her to leave, but her ears are no longer capable of deciphering sound. He carefully walks her inside, bringing her body closer to his. No one knows why. To ground her more, maybe. Simple human connection. Maybe that opportunistic side of him is thrilled to touch her and seeks to capitalize on her weakness. 

It’s the panic attack to end all other panic attacks. He guides her inside, letting go of her for the first time to punch in the lock code. He flips on all the porch lights. The landscapers recently installed motion-activated lawn lights. He doesn’t call any of his associates over; he hasn’t even had the chance to inform Theo of this latest development. He needs to keep an eye on the driveway to see if anyone pulls up, and with his attention off of her for only a handful of seconds—

It’s enough time for her to disappear on him. He turns to look at her but she’s gone. He curses quietly and shouts her name before lowering his voice, and cursing again. He has enough sense in him to realize it’s not the best idea to shout at a hysterical girl—especially if that hysterical girl is one you’ve been trying to get in your clutches for months now because you’re a scheming bastard and you hate your brother. It’s not nice. It’s just not polite.  

And despite being somewhat involved in the ongoing renovations, Baron is not deeply familiar with the layout of the house. He knows he probably shouldn’t let a self-destructive girl high out of her mind walk off, unsupervised. But maybe he should yell at her anyway, because finding her is clearly a time-sensitive mission and it’s imperative that she not do something drastic on him, less World War III break open in the middle of Ashford, and what damage has a little yelling ever caused, anyway?

He shouts for her again, only to hear tires screech on the pavement outside and clock Liam exiting out of his car, alone. Baron opens the front door—

“Where is she?” Liam demands, storming inside, with urgency. For Faire, to make sure she’s okay. To make sure Baron hasn’t done anything to her. The part of his brain foolishly wired with survival instincts needs to make sure he hasn’t just made the most catastrophic mistake of his entire life.

For the moment, a similar interest of theirs has aligned, but that doesn’t mean Liam particularly likes the guy.

“I don’t know, she just took off—”

But Liam’s rushing past him, “Where’s her bedroom?”

“Uh, fuck. Upstairs? First door on the left?” Baron guesses, not actually knowing.

Liam rushes up the curved, cascading staircase leading upstairs, greeted by the sound of frantic breathing and dry heaving. It comes from further down the hall, definitely not where Baron said her room was—

And he bursts into THE BEDROOM. It’s empty, sparsely decorated but clean. Sound alerts him to the adjoining bathroom. 

He tries the handle, but it’s locked. And maybe that’s some cosmic intervention, because what animal doesn’t knock before trying to enter a bathroom—

“Faire?” he calls out. 

She doesn’t respond, but he still hears her hyperventilating. “Faire. Let me in.” He pauses to listen for movement, but again there is nothing. “Please. There’s no one here. It’s just me.”

It’s not a lie, because Baron walks into her bedroom at that exact moment, concern twisted into his features. 

“It’s just me. There’s no one else,” Liam promises again, maintaining eye contact with Baron who still stands in the doorway. Is Baron unsure of what to do? Is he waiting to see how this plays out before stepping in further? Does he keep his distance to not cause Faire more distress?

A few more moments of silence pass, and Liam’s debating whether this particular door is easy or less easy to kick down. And then, there is the quiet click of heels on the floor, the sound of the door unlocking—

He takes it, rushing in before she can change her mind. He CLOSES THE DOOR and LOCKS IT BEHIND HIM. 

Faire is a wilted mess, pacing back and forth, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutched over her ears like she’s trying to drown out sound he’s not privy to hearing. Her breathing comes out in quieter rasps than what he heard on the stairs, but in shorter puffs. 

“Hey. Hey.” And he moves to hold her still by the shoulders. “Look at me.” But her eyes are still squeezed shut like she’s afraid of seeing a monster only she can see. A change of tactics, then. “Okay, okay.” He guides her to sit on the toilet, the lid of it already flipped down. She follows, stepping back blindly. She sits.

He gently takes off her heels, pushing down on the tops of her feet so they rest flat against the cold floor. He pushes her shoulders back until she sits up straight. Her body is easy to manipulate, as though it lacks a person or brain to control movement. 

Liam is familiar with breathing techniques. He knows a couple, vaguely, from a time he was a lot younger than he is now. But he’s practically a doctored psychologist with how he brings her down. 4-7-8 breathing. He grabs a fancy-looking washcloth from the wicker basket on the bathroom vanity, runs it under cold water, and holds it to the back of her neck. 

Did he predict a breakdown from her? Did he google breathing techniques, what to look for in mental breakdowns, how to stop a mental breakdown, what is a mental breakdown, how to help anxiety, and how to help someone with depression in anticipation? Yes. 

It’s a mental breakdown months in the making, or more probably, years in the making. It confronts her whole life at once. All while she’s coming out of a drug-induced, alcohol-infused haze, no less. 

This takes time. She settles her breathing for a few minutes, but thinking is the only thing she’s capable of right now, so she flits in and out of the panic attack. It takes 40 minutes, not that he’s counting. Baron is.

CUT TO BARON pacing outside in the hallway, getting his ear chewed off by Santi, and having none of it. Did Liam make contact yet, is Faire okay, what are you planning to do with her, what sort of play are you trying to make—

And it must be like the conditions nuclear warhead operators worked under during the Cold War, honestly. He’s playing diplomat and peacemaker. Contrary to popular belief, he does not want to cut this girl into a thousand pieces, and cut those pieces into even smaller pieces. He’s just trying to help. Maybe. 

Baron really doesn’t want to get into whatever touchy-feely-deep-breath-taking bullshit Liam is doing with Faire. That’s not his thing. If there’s someone else to do all that dirty work, he’s all for stepping back. He’s trying to prevent an all-out war between the two biggest gangs in all of Ashford.

It works, kind of. Yes, Liam made it. Yes, Faire is okay. Why isn’t Liam picking up his phone? Well, she’s having a panic attack right now. He’s a little busy. Why is she having a panic attack? Well you killed her dad, and also because you and your boyfriends thought drugging her and fucking her into complacency was a good idea. Because you’re all idiots. Look, I’ll keep you updated, alright? If she gets worse, if she gets better— [-What the fuck do you mean, if she gets better?] —Okay, okay. When she gets better. 

With nuclear war momentarily averted, he texts Theo. You’ll never guess what I just got.

She guesses immediately. Faire, I assume?

Baron feels the peace will hold strong for the time being, or at least strong enough. 

He goes downstairs to the living room and makes himself at home on a very lush, expensive couch the movers set up a couple of months ago. The interior designer really built something…homey out of the rundown place. A bit too domestic for his tastes, but maybe it will work for the girl. He plays a word search game on his phone. Santi texts him every thirty seconds, asking about her and threatening hellfire. Baron rolls his eyes. 

UPSTAIRS, Liam is still with Faire. He finds clothes for her to change into. He sits on the bed while she showers, and calls Santi. He sits through threats and fucking fucks snarled his way, allowing Santi to get through this, hoping it helps.

It doesn’t. Santi will never have a resting heart rate again, should he survive beyond this night. He’s sure of it. Santi needs confirmation—a picture, Facetime. A way to physically lay eyes on her.

“That’s not good for her right now,” Liam argues. He sees the guys as an environmental stressor, and wants to spare her from them—just for tonight, if nothing else. 

She comes out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet, skin cleared of glitter and the club. Her eyes are glazed over, unfocused. He makes a mental note to get some water in her before she passes out. He’s about to stand up to help her walk when she says, “I’ll talk to him. I’ll let him know I’m okay.” There is something empty to her—something gone—and it frightens him.

He shakes his head to disagree, but she pads over to him like she has no life in her, and grabs the phone from his hand. It’s all he can do to stare at her, openly worried. “Pope—Pope. I’m fine. I’m okay. I can’t—” her words keep getting interrupted by Pope’s frantic arguing. 

At the penthouse, the guys have been arguing and shouting for the past hour. No one is on anybody’s side. It’s everybody’s fault she ran off. And at the chance to talk to her, Benny fights Santi for the phone, wrestling it away from him.

“Benny?” she squeezes her eyes shut again and pinches the space between her brows. “Calm down—”

“Fuck off, Will—no, Will, seriously—ow” and the voice again changes. 

And she was barely on autopilot to begin with for Santi, but for Will? There is nothing left. Her eyes start to well up with tears. Her face crumbles. She can’t let him know, and her brain isn’t processing the soft, clearly concerned words coming out of his mouth, and she pushes for the finish line, desperate to be away from these men. “Please stop, I’m okay. I promise I’m okay. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

And before it can go any further than that, Liam grabs the phone from her. “I’ll watch over her. I won’t let Baron come into this room tonight. We will figure this out in the morning.” It’s 2 AM. He’s unwilling to commit to anything more. Liam knows mornings, for Santi, start anywhere from midnight, to four or five in the morning. He needs more time than Santi’s impatience allows. He needs it for her. The phone call reluctantly ends.

Liam has a permanent frown on his face. He digs in the bathroom drawers, finding a comb for her hair. He brushes through her hair and she stares at the wall. He gently towels off the dripping strands to the best of his abilities. 

DOWNSTAIRS, Baron gets a text from Liam. She’s okay. She’s in bed.

Baron texts Santi, She’s okay. She’s in bed. Fuck off. 

Santi immediately calls him. Baron thinks about rejecting the call just for fun but decides it may be too late in the night for mob-on-mob violence.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Crosswords.”

“You snake fucking shit—”

“God. Relax. No wonder she was so desperate to get away from you,” Baron laughs. 

A blood vessel bursts in Santi’s eye.

“I’m downstairs. I’m laying down on the couch. I’ve got my feet kicked back.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh of comfort. “She’s with Liam.”

“I want you out of that fucking house. Now.” 

And then they argue, but Baron stays reclined, the argument not even worth sitting up for. 

A deal is made. Baron sees that sometimes retreating is a strategic move. He needs to be calm right now. Tonight, he’s done all he can. Something broke there, outside that club. Shattered by his hand and his brother’s. It was a group effort, really. Baron is pleased with the outcome. 

He’s brought her home. He and Santi broke something in her tonight.

Baron will leave. Faire and Liam will stay here. Members of the Cardinals will stand watch outside of her home, without Apostle interference. It’s all trust. It’s all good faith.

What keeps the dogs at bay is that the guys know she’s not okay, not truly. The revelation that they were responsible for her father’s death had been, in a word, overwhelming. Santi could tell that Baron’s final comment shattered something in her. Will argues that a single night away from them isn’t a terrible idea. She ran because she instinctively needed space and Baron was simply a ticket out. 

Will knows Faire is a real thing—he’s rife with insecurity, but he’s reasonably confident that she feels something for them. He’s too terrified to name it directly. The five of them share that innate I know you because you’re me connection. It is that alone that makes him feel positive. He cares about her enough to know that coming back to the penthouse tonight hurts her. It can cause damage he’s unable to fix. For tonight, she has Liam, and Liam alone. In a house that will be watched over by them and other Cardinals.

Santi trusts Will—he’s more level-headed right now than any of them combined and it’s enough. Santi trusts Will and it’s enough. Benny and Frankie want Baron’s head on a stick. Tables are turned over inside the home. Glass lay shattered on the floor. 

Tom is in another room with Gerald, escorted out for his loud barks in the matter and unsettling gaze trained on Ben, knowing that male buffoonery was afoot and that it had something to do with Faire’s absence. 

Baron indulges Santi, agreeing to be escorted back to Apostle territory by Cardinal members. Mob stuff happens and the guys can confirm that Baron is away, at least for the time being.

But maybe there have always been threats to Faire’s safety outside of Baron and the Apostles. And maybe it’s not enough for the house to be surrounded by one criminal organization; maybe Apostle forces are rallied as well. And maybe then things are too tense for their leaders not to be there.  

So maybe Baron stays, setting up camp for the night outside. And maybe all of the guys—Santi, Will, Frankie, and Benny—keep watch with their mob underlings, too. Because no one trusts anyone here, outside of Faire trusting Liam.  

But however it happens, LIAM and FAIRE SPEND THE NIGHT at her mother’s— father’s—her house. And nothing happens.

Liam gets her to drink some water and walks her downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe he carries her, but like, non-invasively. Maybe she spidermonkeys onto his back. The panic attack made her loose-jointed and bone tired. The kitchen is equipped with food despite no one living there—maybe not perishables, though? Surely Baron isn’t a big fan of waste?

Liam worries about leaving Faire alone longer than a few minutes. She was quick in the shower, but she has no conscious memory of it. She’s scared to make eye contact with anything in the house. Everything looks different and shiny and clean and awful. So maybe, to lessen the stress on her, Liam just makes a quick trip downstairs. He knows she hasn’t eaten in hours. Knows it’s likely she hasn’t eaten anything all day.

But however it happens, Faire’s stomach is only slightly more settled. She wants to stay awake. She wants to sleep and not wake up for a week or maybe a month. She needs to know—she needs to speak—she can’t just lay here, quietly ruminating.

They settle in bed. She, under the covers, under blankets she doesn’t recognize. Staring tiredly at the ceiling. Liam, next to her, on top of the blankets, back against the headboard. Shoes off. 

Her brain pulses with every thought. Her father—dead—her mother and how she screamed when those men told her—Benny. Will. Pope. Frankie. Tom. In every order, in all directions. A few errant tears slide down her cheeks. She notices, too tired to wipe them away. 

Liam watches her. The only thing going through his mind is worry—for her. Maybe for him, too. His boss is Pope and Ironhead is a close friend of his, as are Frankie and Ben. But it’s mostly all her. He stays awake throughout the night. Maybe he sleeps. Maybe he doesn’t. 

“Don’t think,” he orders her softly. He sees her fight to stay awake and to sleep in equal measures. “You’re tired. So is your body. Just give in. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here and you’re safe. It’s just us. No one else.”

She wants Will. She wants Benny. She knows them—does she?

Frankie and Santi are something else entirely, but they share something—do they?

She misses her mother. She misses her father. She misses Tom. Will she ever see Pope as Santi again? Wonders and fears what happens next. And she cries a bit more.

Liam, quietly, scared: “Come here.” And she does. Maybe he lays down more on the bed.

He holds her respectfully, as a friend would. Maybe there’s something more here, but maybe there isn’t. It’s a goldilocks grip—not too loose, not too tight. Close enough to feel grounded in the presence of someone who cares for you, worries for you, and tries to keep you safe. 

A headache splits her skull right open. Her chest is cut clean in half. Her insides leak somewhere out of her, sinking into the floorboards. 

Does she feel safe? Sort of. Not really. 

She trusts Liam. She knows Liam. She gives into the exhaustion—grabs its hand, following it like a child. It takes her immediately, and she sleeps—deeply, though she won’t wake up well-rested. 

THE SCENE: FAIRE’S BEDROOM. Faire is fast asleep and Liam is awake next to her.

He’s on his phone, wishing he had a charger. He feels relatively confident that nothing will happen between the two organizations. Baron needs her in this house, away from the guys, too much. The guys are scared that one wrong move will push her away forever. 

THE TIME: 6 AM. Santi, Will, and Benny keep texting him. Is she awake? How is she? Has she eaten anything? Is anything happening on your end? I will kill you if this goes wrong. 

Frankie is too much of an old man to text threats, trusting the others to take care of that for him. 

The guys, no matter where they are stationed—at the penthouse, outside of her home, or hovering by her bedroom window like mobster vampires—have not slept. They are worried and in love, even if they have yet to identify it by name. 

Baron is calm as can be. Arrogant in that he knows Faire is on the precipice of staying or running. Compliant, indulgent in the guys’ demands, to a point. No, he will not fuck off. No, he will not hurt her. Yes, he will stay out of that house. His people are strictly instructed not to lay a hand on Faire or Liam. He is satisfied with a single text that comes from Liam, She’s still asleep. 

Liam doesn’t want to give Baron too much detail. He tries to appease two different and terrifying mob bosses and it sucks, but he does what he can. He wants Faire to sleep. Even if it’s not particularly peaceful, it’s certainly deep, speaking to the exhaustion from the previous night, and maybe all the nights before that. 

She comes to at 10 AM, for hours later. She wakes up exhausted. Dread immediately rolls in.

Liam is still next to her. He doesn’t let them know she’s awake.

There is nothing she can do to shut off her brain. She felt it screaming at her, even in sleep. She is poked raw and drained dry, hungover with its goody bag of symptoms. Maybe she stares at the ceiling some more. Maybe she traces patterns into the blankets. Maybe she is able to fall back asleep. Maybe she can’t. 

But at some point, she gathers her pieces to say, “So what now?”

Liam: “I don’t know. Pope and Baron aren’t in a good way. Things are settled, but barely.”

Faire: “Will they hurt you?” Maybe she looks at him, fearful, eyes wet. Maybe she stares at the ceiling. Maybe she studies the hair on his arm. Maybe she keeps her eyes closed.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmurs.

She says resolutely, “I won’t let them hurt you.” For this, she looks him in the eye, solemnly. He knows it’s a promise; knows she’ll do everything she can to keep it. He feels touched. She takes a deep breath. “I’m going to need to speak to them at some point, soon. They’ll kill each other and maybe the whole world if this lasts much longer.”

She’s right, and he doesn’t want to encourage it, opting to stay quiet. She gathers up what is left of her pieces. “I’ll get showered.” I won’t think. “I’ll get dressed.” This is not my house. “Then I’ll talk.” This is not my life. This is not my body. 

“Okay,” Liam says simply. He wants to argue with her, wants to tell her that she could sleep longer if she wanted to. But he doesn’t have much of a hand to play, either. He’s at the mercy of war gods as well. “But first, breakfast.” You can’t confront arguing mob bosses—some of whom you’re in love with, two of whom you’re halfway-mostly gone for—on an empty stomach. 

He makes them toast. She eats one piece and drinks some water. Light, mechanical small talk is exchanged between them. Faire looks just as gone as she did last night, and he’s still just as worried about it. 

She showers and gets dressed. Wears something comfortable. Her wardrobe and dresser are filled with clothes that are somehow all in her size. She does not want to look small in front of them. She knows her eyes are bloodshot and swollen. Her skin has little color to it. If they looked at her, they would see what her night looked like. The thought bothers her. 

Perhaps she finds cosmetic toiletries in the bathroom and does something small. Maybe she finds nothing at all and meets them bare-faced and bare-souled. Exhaustion mutes her energy to feel much of anything, and it works in her favor. She’s too tired to tip-toe. To dance. Skirt the line. She faces it all head-on, mostly sober, free of her glasses. 

If they are outside, Liam goes to greet them—Santi, Frankie, Benny, and Will; Baron and maybe Theo. 

If they aren’t, he texts Santi that she’s awake and ready to talk. He passes the same information to Baron. 

CUT TO THE NEXT SCENE: A REMASTERED GREENHOUSE, sitting on the sprawling property of her home. It was doomed under the care of her mother. Baron hired groundskeepers to keep it lush and alive. It’s behind the house, out of sight. This will be their talking place. 

It smells of grass and dirt; a rectangular table fitted with outdoor placemats sits in the middle of the large space. Five seats on each side. Liam brings Faire out first. She has a mug of warm tea, something to drink, something to study. Cool enough to swallow if she feels she must make some sort of movement, but warm enough to comfort the throat and stomach. He doesn’t want her to walk into a room full of sharks. That wouldn’t be good for her. 

The greenhouse has multiple doors to it. One of the table chairs has a few feet of space in front of an entryway. He guides her to that chair. Two empty chairs sit on either side of her. He will sit the guys opposite to her, without an exit on their side. Liam is quite sure she will not be physically attacked. Baron’s scheming would never allow for it. That would be too devastating a blow.

Liam considers the possibility that the guys will kidnap her, for real. He is worried more about that than Baron. And he’s not sure what he will do if it happens.

Liam escorts them to the greenhouse. He doesn’t ask the guys to be gentle with her; he sort of feels that they know to tread lightly. Theo and Baron walk with them. Liam doesn’t think about how tense the atmosphere is—doesn’t need to get into bed with that anxiety right now. That wouldn’t be good for her. He is scared for her. He sort of strongly hates that he is bringing these people to her. 

She is alerted to their arrival by the crunch of gravel. Is she ready? No. Does she know what to do, or what to say? No. How does she feel? Tired. Scared. Hurt. Used. In love. Tossed out. Manipulated. Nervous. Picked dry. Vulnerable. Hungover. But her teeth are clean and her hair is washed. Her clothes fit comfortably. It’s everything outside of her that is fucking her.

She does not look at them when they enter. She can’t. They step into her peripheral line of sight, quiet amongst themselves. Liam is in the front, walking to the chairs opposite of her, gesturing for WILL, BENNY, SANTI, AND FRANKIE to sit. THEY SIT.

THEO AND BARON settle themselves nearby. THEY STAND. They don’t have as tough of a battle to fight. 

She feels thirteen sets of eyes on her. It feels like a thousand. She feels the weight of Liam, comforting like vanilla, comforting like a friend. He moves to stand by her, within arms reach; if she pushes back in her chair she would stub his toe. He looks more at the others than her. He squeezes her shoulder once—firmly, gently. I’m here, it says, and she hears it. 

She does not look at them. She can’t. Baron and Theo don’t feel as awful, but ideally, preferably, she’d rather be in a different room.

The guys are different. She doesn’t want to be on the same planet as them. She doesn’t want to live in the same universe. She wants to go back with them—it feels enough like a home, or at least it did. She wants someone to hold her hand. She wants to set that penthouse on fire. 

Who talks first? Is it Baron, who feels he has the most control of the situation? 

Is it POPE?—is it Santi, who knows he needs to reach out to her gently? He can’t react like he did last night. The others shouted at him over it. His need for control falls over her, too. He is desperate and frantic to have her come home with them. Not just because he thinks the worst of Baron, that Baron cannot and will not protect her, but because that penthouse is fundamentally wrong without her in it. 

Is it BENNY? He is awake to and cognizant of his feelings. He knows that he does not just want her, he needs her. He knows it’s the same for the others. Their situation is fucked, but it’s theirs nonetheless. It can be fixed, smoothed over, nurtured. Does he know this is love? Maybe. Maybe not. Out of all the guys, he may be the least afraid to reach out to her, the least afraid of his feelings. 

Is it WILL? He is driven frantic at the sight of her distress. He sees it on her, plain as day. She is hurt and she is nervous. He wants to reach for her, grab her. Does he sit there quietly and hope his presence is enough? He can’t sit there humanly—openly—can he? Around Baron, around anybody but her? He hopes she sees him as she always has. 

Is it FRANKIE? Maybe the situation has unmoored him enough that for once, he can’t sit still and absorb his emotions silently, coming alive only to act on anger. Maybe he sits there quietly.

Is it LIAM? Maybe he waits for someone else to speak. Maybe he can’t bear to be the one to invite this conversation to her. 

But maybe it’s HER. Does anger rush to the forefront and give her a false sense of strength? Her, then. Is she zero fucks given? Does she care loudly in front of them? If nothing else, she speaks first to get this over with, no matter how it may end. With something dry, something sarcastic. Spoken into the cup of her tea. “Long night?”

Maybe Benny lets out a startled half-laugh, an echo of the first time he met her. But maybe not an ounce of this is at all unserious to him. Maybe Faire looks to Baron and Theo and quietly asks to give them the room.

Theo looks to Baron, blissfully cool and neutral. Baron stares right back at Faire—like he knows everything about her. He probably does. He knows what she’s thinking. He can map her future out like the weather. He relents, nodding once. BARON leaves; THEO follows. Both are out of earshot. It is not dignity he gives Faire. It’s falsehood. He knows that the group is fractured right down the middle; a degree of nuance is needed to get her in his clutches. 

Faire visibly deflates after they exit, resting her elbows on the table, burying her face into her hands. She is not deeply concerned with showing at least some emotion to the guys. It’s inevitable, how these men know her. 

The guys panic at her exhaustion, all instinctively reaching out to her across the table. Maybe Benny pushes his chair back, intent on walking over to her? He does not get there, though. Faire frantically shakes her head at him, and he reluctantly listens—but listens all the same. Maybe Liam takes a step forward to intercept, without thought. 

[—I don’t know all the details. It starts going, though, with something like this—]

—Faire meets Santi’s eyes. She looks directly into his soul. Her eyes glisten like quartz. “How did you do it.”

He knows what she means. He shifts. “It was necessary—”

She tastes blood. Enraged, but quietly still: “I didn’t ask why. I asked how.” 

Does it matter why, if he died all the same? Her mother still raised her. Is Pope one to toy with his victims? Does he kill quickly? Was her father handed off to Will?

[—I think Pope shot him. I think it happened somewhere else, not on the property they’re currently on. He shot Charles Faire once, maybe. In the head. Maybe a couple into the chest, fired in quick succession. Charles did not suffer, but he had ample time to know he was going to die. 

Whatever Charles did to warrant Pope’s wrath, it had to be catastrophic. Unforgivable. Something that could only be made right by his own death. It had to cut deep. It had to have been personal.

Will, Benny, and Frankie had to be involved. They wouldn’t have let Santi do it alone. They would have at least taken part in the orchestration of it, somehow. Maybe they helped subdue Charles, grabbing him and bringing him to an empty warehouse, tying him up to a chair. Maybe they gave Santi space. Maybe they stayed in the same room. Maybe they stood right next to him.—]

However Pope answers, it breaks more of her pieces. It kills her all the same. Her father who loved her. Her father who was nice to her. She squeezes her eyes shut, grits her teeth. Tears roll down her face. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, hands balled into fists. Her leg bounces up and down. 

It is alarming—it is wrong to see her like this. The guys know this is bad—

Faire [maybe]: “So he knew. He knew what was going to happen.” [it sits in silence for a while]

Faire, still trembling in grief?—rage?—both are the same thing, whispers: “He must have been really scared.”

For her father to have known what was going to happen—for him to have perhaps felt some of it—for him to have faced death, alone—for him to have bled out while the men across from her watched—her father who loved her—her father who adored her—

Faire shakes her head. Frantic. Desperate. Teeth gritted. Blood. Death. Rage. She needs Pope—she needs Santi—for all of them to know. “I remember that night. Men showing up at our door. My mother screaming.” Whatever the justification, Faire and her mother were made victims. Casualties. Widowed and Fatherless. They hurt her. They hurt her mother.

She feels disgust. At them. At herself. “And I…fucked the men who took him from us.” She buries her face in her hands and laughs. It comes from somewhere deep, like a nightmare, tasting of battery acid.

Liam is still there, still behind her. Arms crossed, staring down at her in open worry. Looks to the ground when she becomes too hard to look at. 

The men, across from her—ashamed, devastated. This hurt came from them. They concocted it, saw it through, and hand-delivered it to her on a gravestone. Do they say anything? Do they stare at her? Do they avert their eyes? Maybe not. Maybe looking at her head-on is their punishment. 

She laughs and laughs some more and tears fall readily from her eyes. She sniffles and laughs and wipes angrily at her cheeks.

The men, across from her—are they silent? What can they possibly say to her? How can they possibly help? Do they even apologize? What is an apology if you do not wish to take back your actions? What is it worth? Do they see now—the logic to her no longer living with them? 

There is death here, active and happening right in front of them, all around them—

She is not ready for the other part. She does not want to know, knows she will hate this answer, hopes to never know it, and says: “Why.” BLOOD and DEATH and MISERY.

Rooted in his spot, Santi answers her. What control does he have over his emotions—these ghosts that still rattle him? He scrubs his hand over his face, tired. What does he say? Do the guys chime in? Frankie is seated to the right of him at this table for a reason. Are they all cowed?

It doesn’t matter what he says, not really. It’s still awful. It’s still sad. He gifts her rotting death and in return, she hands over a small apology. It comes from a soft, large, compassionate, weak, in-love part of her that feels sorry. Whatever her father did had to have hurt him, had to have been more than just business. 

It sets fire to her idolized, quietly protected and loved father—it burns father and daughter down to a crisp. She cries more. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened.” What is an apology when you mean it just as much as you don’t? 

And Santi shakes his head, guilty, at fault, responsible, mournful—it is the last thing she should be feeling—

Faire, small: “I wanted to come from something good. I thought…I thought I could come from something good.” Not from a father who did whatever he did to deserve death. Not from a vacant and abusive addict of a mother. Santi and the guys, in a very literal sense, kill this too. 

It is the first time they must truly comfort Faire. They don’t get to kiss her. They don’t get to fuck her, or distract her. They don’t even get to touch her. What do they do? Do they scramble for her? Are they cautious and apologetic? Are they boys who got caught doing something they shouldn’t have been doing? Are they firm, direct? Don’t cry, please. You’re good, you’re perfect. Honey. Sweetheart. Babe. Baby. 

Faire, eyes squeezed shut: “I’m sorry for what happened. I am. I didn’t—I didn’t know.” [a shuddering breath] “I’m not trying to be childish. You tried talking to me about it, once. And I…freaked out, and I didn’t want to know what happened. I knew there was something.” [dropping to a whisper] “I just didn’t want to know what.”

Does she feel responsible? No, but she still feels guilty.

Santi: “You had nothing to do with it. It was before you, away from you.” [he doesn’t know he just said something monumentally fucking stupid]

She thinks: Nothing to do with it? My father, who belonged to me—I had nothing to do with it?

—These men and how they grab her and how they swallow her life for her—She rises and swells with rage, a rogue wave—

Faire, deadly quiet: “Nothing to do with it? I had everything to do with it.” [she wars with looking outside of herself to fix this for their convenience, to appease their discomfort] “I don’t—” [SHE LAUGHS DEATH] [SHE IS GOING TO BURN DOWN A VILLAGE JUST TO FEEL ITS WARMTH] “Fuck it. Fuck it. You know what? I don’t care. He was mine.” [tears mixed with blood] “He belonged to me, he was good to me.” [Pope does not realize the depravity of the alternative parent he left her with]

FAIRE BECOMES THE APOCALYPSE: “We needed him—maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. Maybe my mother wouldn’t have turned out any different. But she had a chance. I—we—could have saved her. I could have at least helped. My dad would have at least been something for her. She might have had a fucking chance.” 

—And they don’t get it, because when they killed her father, they killed a mother and daughter, they killed her, at the same time—

FAIRE BECOMES DEATH: “He loved me. He was nice, he was good to me, and he loved me—” 

—And when he died, she was left with her mother, and they don’t fucking get it—

FAIRE BECOMES LADY LAZARUS: “—and you took him from me, and you touched me knowing—”

[—I don’t know how it happens, exactly. I see every wall coming down, a fortress collapsing in on itself. I see Faire Wandavision-ing her rage and grief to scorch the earth around her. She does so because she can, a want and need in one. Because she’s never had the time, the outlet, the spine-hardened resolve to bite the hand that feeds her. In her case, bite that hand poisons her, also. The hand that's made her come more times than she can count and is responsible for the death of her father.

There is no apology to balm this over. There is no reasoning forceful enough. She doesn’t go home with them, I don’t think. She needs to grow and they need to learn. Maybe it becomes something of a role reversal? They sit inside the house and brood over their actions. She goes outside and fights the world itself.—]

—An in-love idiot, to make her feel stupid, to bring her focus away from the death of her father, which for her is the most important situation at hand: “Look, we fucked up. We need to make it right, and we know that. But Baron isn’t the answer here. If you need it, we can put you somewhere else, we can take you to another house, where you don’t even have to see us—”

Faire shakes her head no. No—If it is a house that is theirs, they will always be in it—

Another in-love idiot, to make her feel stupid, to bring her focus away from the death of her father: “Do you trust him?”

FAIRE, immediately, fearlessly, venomously, DEATH TO HER VOICE: “Do I trust you?” [unflinching eye contact, dropped when what she sees aches] “Sure. Yeah.” [flatly] “You do what you can. Things happen anyway, and it’s nobody’s fault.” [it’s theirs and hers] “It’s just life and how it happens.” 

Another in-love idiot, lowly, dangerous—to get her to come home: “What exactly do you think happens if you go with him?” 

She twists her mouth up. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think he’ll kill me. I don’t think he’ll torture me.”

In-love idiot: “Oh, great. You don’t think he’ll kill you. What a stand-up guy. Okay. But he will hurt you.” [HE WILL DIP YOU IN BLOOD JUST TO SEE HOW YOU WEAR IT.]

Another in-love idiot: “You don’t know him, Faire. You don’t know what he’s like, what he’s capable of—”

And FAIRE, LAUGHING ROT—what the fuck have they done here?: “I’ve never been more scared in my life, these last few months. I’ve never had more near-death experiences, I’ve never seen so much blood—” 

One idiot gets a look on his face that stops her cold in her tracks. Will. Maybe, probably. She rushes: “That’s not—that’s not on any of you. That’s just the life you live. You can’t control the world, do what you do, and expect something good to come out of it.” [so why the fuck do they want her in it?]

Benny?: “Just because it didn’t work out for Tony Soprano, doesn’t mean—”

“What happens, when I go home with you, Benny?” Because fuck them. Confront this. Own this. Give me this. “Do I stay inside the penthouse forever? Cook for you, play housewife? Do you fuck me when it’s convenient, on your time? Whenever you can fit me in your schedule?” [poor Liam. is he still there? maybe he shouldn’t be. maybe faire asked him to leave with Baron & Theo; maybe she asks him to leave shortly into this conversation.]

Benny, pleading: “It’s not like that. That’s not what you are to us.”

“You know what, maybe I get lucky! Maybe, at some point, work slows down for you. Maybe I get to go outside, even if I’m escorted by a dozen guys with assault rifles—”

Santi, patience running thin: “It’s more than just Mateo out there, Faire. This city is fucked, and I know I haven’t always been able to keep you safe—” [acknowledging a mistake like this? like prodding at his internal organs.]

“That’s not it. This fucking life is the common denominator here, Pope. Not you, not him. This world.”

An in-love idiot: “I don’t get it.” [shaking his head] “I don’t know what he did to get inside your head.”

“You know, I’m not some easily manipulated thing, guys. I’m an adult, I have a brain, I use logic, I’m capable of reason—”

Male: “You don’t understand this. You don’t understand the fucking gravity of what’s happening here.” [spoken as though she’s a child trying to beat the height requirement for an amusement park ride]

FAIRE, SNARLING: “Then I will learn.” 

Male: “It’s a different fucking landscape, Faire. Us, grabbing you, instead of him? Instead of dying that night? Us, getting to you the night they broke in before they could kidnap you? That was just luck. You go with him, you have no protection—”

Male: “You’re not ready for what he has in store for you.” [YOU DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I DO. YOUR FUTURE IS IN MY HANDS BECAUSE YOURS ARE TOO SMALL TO HOLD IT. YOUR HEART IS IN MY FIST BECAUSE IT’S A BETTER PLACE TO BEAT THAN IN YOUR OWN BODY.]

—The guys and Baron are two sides of the same bloody coin. What is worse than sleeping with the men who murdered your father? Continuing to sleep with them after learning that fact— 

FAIRE, LADY LAZARUS: “Stop treating me like I’m a child.”

Male: “You might as fucking well be with how irrational you’re being.”

“I’ve survived you, haven’t I? I’ve adapted here. I molded myself to fit all of you. I’m not stupid.”

Male: “No, no, you’re not—”

Frankie: “But you’re not exactly in the right headspace, either. Faire…you’re not…” [it feels rude to say it out loud] “You’re not sober half the time. I’m sorry. We’re sorry. We can help, we can fix this. We’ll get a doctor. We’ll remove the alcohol from the house—get you clean.”

Faire, to make them feel stupid, to bring their focus somewhere else: “I want to know what Baron meant.” [no she doesn’t] “Last night, what he said about that gossip. That you, um…that you use me? That I’m…” [she starts to cry again] 

She sees heartbreak and devastation on their faces. It hurts her, too. And it’s not something she wants, it’s not something she needs. She felt safe or protected in her anger for a while; she now feels weak in her anguish. 

FAIRE, GRITTED TEETH, BLOOD: “Talk.”

And maybe—maybe Santi started it. Maybe the idea originated from one of the guys. Maybe between Baron ordering his men to take her, a failed attempt, the guys slaughtering them, Frankie at the Wharf, the broadcasted messages, the symbolic implications—the words were planted long before she fucked any of them. 

But what matters most here is where it came from. 

Santi, maybe?: “The thought was…if you were seen as ours, maybe it kept you safe. Maybe it gave you an added layer of protection. Maybe it kept people away from you.”

And maybe the guys had nothing to do with the invention of that rumor. Maybe when it came to light they thought it couldn’t hurt to add that to the list of things that warded people away from her. But it hits the deepest, bloodiest insecurity of hers—that this, while real to her, is not real to them—

FAIRE, BLOOD, TEETH: “Weird coincidence, then.” [odd? some? strange?] Angry that these men keep saying, THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. WE KNOW YOU. WE KNOW YOU. YOU DON'T. Like she’s some girl puppet and tugging on her strings is a game to them. 

In-love idiot: “It’s not true. You know us.”

Faire: “Do I?” [heavy silence] “I thought this was real, I thought this was something.”

In-love idiot: “You do. This is real. This is real for us and we need you. We need to take you home.” 

A wound in her has split open and she can’t stop picking at it. “Why did I—I don’t know, I don’t know. Why did I think this could work? Why did I think—” [she cries and laughs and cries into her hands]

Frankie, whispering: “Stop it. Honey, please. Stop. You’re okay. We are going to be okay. Please, come home. Please, let us show you. Let us prove it to you.” 

“I really don’t need you to say that. I don’t need you to lie to me.”

Frankie: “I’m saying it to you because it’s real, because it’s the truth.”

“I don’t know what to say. I want to believe you. I do, I just … why do you want me to stay?” [SOMETHING IN HER NO LONGER ABLE TO AVOID THIS ELEPHANT. SHE’LL TALK ABOUT HER DRINKING IF THEY GIVE HER THIS.]

—WHY DO THEY?

It is Mozart’s Lacrimosa; It is Kate Bush, come on angel, come on, come on, darlin’. let’s change the experience; It is Bjork I’m a fountain of blood in the shape of a girl; It is Florence + The Machine, [GIRLS AGAINST GOD] and in my darkest fantasies, i am the picture of passivity, waiting for you side of stage, suppressing all my private rage + oh, it's good to be alive / crying into cereal at midnight / and if they ever let me out, i'm gonna really let it out + when i decided to wage holy war, it looked very much like staring at my bedroom floor ↣ [KING] but a woman is a changeling, always shifting shape. just when you think you have it figured out, something new begins to take. what strange claws are these scratching at my skin? i never knew my killer would be coming from within. i am no mother, i am no bride, i am king. ↣ [DREAM GIRL]; It is AURORA [A DANGEROUS THING] i don’t think i know myself without your help; It is Winter Aid, let me sleep, i am tired of my grief / and i would like you to love me, to love me, to love me; It is Hozier [DINNER & DIATRIBES] i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me, what you’d do to me tonight. + that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of ↣ [AS IT WAS] ↣ [SHRIKE] love shown through sacrifice and devotion; It is Gia Ford [SLEEPING IN YOUR GARDEN] unhinged, manic, surreal, horror;  It is Virginia Woolf, yes, yes, yes, i do like you. i am afraid to write the stronger word; It is Mitski, i am a forest fire / and i am the fire and i am the forest / and i am a witness watching it.

—WHAT DO THE GUYS SAY NEXT?—WHAT DOES SHE SAY IN RETURN?—

CUT TO THE NEXT SCENE: THE PENTHOUSE? 

CUT TO THE NEXT SCENE: BARON’S BACK POCKET? 

FAIRE exits, PURSUED BY [...] 

The expanding distance between Faire & the guys at the end of Chapter Twelve is no accident. It does not feel fleeting. The word finite came to mind when I first read it. Things cannot continue as they were; Faire cannot cook, drink, get high, and fuck her feelings silent. Baron successfully slithered his way into her psyche with his comments; he is no longer something she can think of every now and then. Faire can no longer lean into her feelings for the guys—the want, the lust, the desire, the tentative hope—without analyzing them thoroughly. My feeling is that she is truly gone at the end of Chapter Twelve.

How long does she stay gone? Is it a week? A month? A year? Surely something substantial, something meaningful. How will she ever go back? Something needs to happen to make that distance close in on itself. What motivates her to go back?

I have a little equation I’ve been working on, it goes a little something like this:

First guy to think of his feelings as love + First guy to verbalize his feelings as love = Most Emotionally Cognizant Guy

Most Emotionally Cognizant Guy > Post-12 Obstacles Between Faire & Guys = Probability of (Faire Finally Coming Home)

I thought how funny would it be if I literally formatted my theory into an equation, but the joke is literally on me because I have no understanding of what the fuck math even is. And if someone sees this and understands math, do not laugh. Let me explain.

~Most Emotionally Cognizant Guy~ is the crown jewel, it is the title of honor. It is something to bestow upon Will, Ben, Frankie, or Santi. It belongs, at least for a certain amount of time being, to one guy alone. To win this title, they first must think of their feelings as love, AND be the first to verbalize their feelings as love. No half-measures here, folks. No innuendos, no suggestions, no metaphors. 

The ~Most Emotionally Cognizant Guy~ is the guys’ greatest tool/weapon/strategy, for bringing Faire home. ~Most Emotionally Cognizant Guy~ is greater than, or stronger than, the obstacles that divide Faire & the Guys. ~Most Emotionally Cognizant Guy~, therefore, greatly determines the likelihood of Faire Finally Coming Home. Home, of course, is the penthouse. 

~Most Emotionally Cognizant Guy~ is the easiest guy for Faire to talk to, Post-12. He is the first she gradually begins to trust, Post-12. He is the bridge and the solid land on the other side of it. He likely plays diplomat between her & the other guys. He does not leave his motivations open to interpretation; he lays himself out explicitly. He has overcome his deepest internal fears (fear of commitment, attachment, love, etc.) It is because of this that he is able to approach her so directly, openly, honestly, boldly, bravely, and relentlessly. It is this approach that gives Faire the courage & strength to trust him, and in time, the rest of the guys.

Faire must grow, no matter how much it scares her. She cannot stay in the same place. She cannot live with the same mindset. This distance gives her the soil to do so. She becomes her own person. She makes her own decisions. She was forced to live in their home. That was not her decision. Men decided that for her. If she is to ever go back to the guys, it must be on her terms. It must be her choice. Only then can her relationship with the guys ever truly become real—become what we see in Sick Girl and Knots, and all the other drabbles of their future together. 

This distance is needed. This distance is necessary. 

What happens at the penthouse, with Faire gone? How exactly do the men find themselves unraveling? The distance is just as necessary and needed for them, too. In her absence, they must specifically identify their mistakes with her. These mistakes prevented them from treating Faire like an autonomous person. Do they want her back? If so, they must treat her as she is—real. Complex, breathing, smart; not some doll. Not a pet to check in on every now and then. A person, a partner, to communicate with, to grow with, to live with, to love and be loved in return. I see a role reversal; they are now the ones left waiting, left pining alone. Faire goes off to war. 

What happens with Liam, if Faire stays gone? Faire would be enraged if the guys exacted revenge or punishment on Liam. She would never forgive them. She would never speak to them kindly, again. They know they cannot hurt him without hurting her; so do they? Part of their growth demands that they see the reason why Liam urged her to leave with Baron. They cannot simply come to terms with it, they must agree to it. To cut them a little bit of slack, they don’t have to agree that she leave with Baron; she could have gone somewhere else. They could have had more grown-up, adult conversations with her. Faire was a nuclear disaster waiting to happen and they made the conditions perfect for meltdown. Can they trust Liam again? Do they? If so, how long before they are able to?

LIAM is still Faire’s bodyguard. The guys & Faire have their sad little conversation/shouting match in the greenhouse; Faire stays and they leave. A contingency is put in place—Liam is still her bodyguard. Faire is free to learn of Baron to whatever extent she wants, but Liam stays with her. He doesn’t switch sides. He’s still loyal to Pope, to the Cardinals. He doesn’t rat on Faire. He reports to Santi every so often, though not as frequently and not as explicitly. He will only tell Santi explicitly what goes on, should her life be in danger; should Baron pose a legitimate threat to her safety. But is Liam safe with Baron—with the Apostles? Is he even safe with the Cardinals? For my heart, for my sake, yes. 

If Charles Faire proposed an alliance between the Cardinals and Apostles, his daughter carries his legacy. Only in the name of peace is Liam allowed to stay with Faire. It is insurance, it is for protection, for the safety, of all parties involved. 

TOM belongs to Faire. The thought of what happens with or to Tom is something that weighs heavily on her mind, immediately after leaving with Baron. Was he ever truly hers? She worries that she is about to lose Tom. It guts her. When she decides to stay at her home—whether that means just living at her house, hanging out with Baron for a bit, who knows—and Liam decides to stay with her, however that comes about, the guys bring Tom to Faire. Maybe they visit later that day to drop him off. The guys love her; therefore, they cannot hurt her. Not purposefully, not intentionally. They do not know how. They are incapable of doing so. 

The guys see her around town. Each time they come across her, she looks less and less like the girl they once knew. Her smile looks like a snarl. It is Out of the red ash / I rise with my red hair / And I eat men like air. [lady lazarus, sylvia plath]; This is the house that built me / and I’m gonna burn it down. / This is the river I crawled from / and I refuse to drown here. [courtney love prays to oregon, clementine von radics]; The moral of the story is, / I will gut you if i need to. / I will carve my way out with only my teeth. [little red riding hood addresses the next wolf, renna twhoy]; CHORUS LEADER: You would become the wretchedest of women. MEDEA: Then let it be. [medea, euripides]; My rage is a kind of domestic rage. / I learned it from my mother / who learned it from her mother before her / and so on. [enough, suzanne buffam]; Transgress your body’s borders, shed your skin, embrace your monstrous flesh. Freed of the shackles of the vulnerable female body, I will be reborn as a woman who devours. [embrace your monstrous flesh: on women’s bodies in horror, rebecca harkins-cross]; I love you so much / I will knock over buildings / I will eat you alive [monster movie, nicola may goldberg]. But there is deep sadness and longing in that self-inflicted hack job of a transformation. She doesn’t want them to see it, but they are able to anyway.

And the men, alone, stupid, pathetic, and in love. Santi is [SUNLIGHT] by Hozier. Will is what happens when a body loses its soul. Benny listens to Taylor Swift and Mitski and cries. Frankie? Who knows. He sure doesn’t. All four of them are [SHRIKE] by Hozier; I couldn’t utter my love when it counted / Ah, but I’m singing like a bird ‘bout it now / I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted / Ah, but I’m singing like a bird ‘bout it now; their love is shown through sacrifice and devotion; Love is not pain. Love is goodness. [the secret life of prince charming, deb caletti]; All that matters is that you want to hurt me. / All that matters is that you want me. / Say the word and I’ll burn for ten days. + You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it. [bloodsport, yves olade]; Sálvame, mi dios, / Trágame, mi tierra. Salva, traga, Break me, {Save me, my god, / Swallow me, my land, save, swallow,} / I am bread. I will be the water for your thirst. [to the desert, benjamin alire sáenz]

For Faire and the Guys, it is this: Love is so embarrassing. I bled in your bed. I’m sorry. I have built you a shore with all my best words & still, the waves. [bound, claire schwartz]; I love you. I want us both to eat well. [our beautiful life when it’s filled with shrieks, christopher citro]; your name is another word I use for love; I will wash your hair at night / and dry it off with care / I will see your body bare / and still I will leave here [i will, mitski]; PYLADES: I’ll take care of you. ORESTES: It’s rotten work. PYLADES: Not to me. Not if it’s you. [orestes, eurpides, transl. anne carson]; A saying, “it’s beautiful” and B replying, while looking at A, “yes, it is”.

Maybe she plays protégé for Baron, and she sits in on meetings. Maybe he forces her to. Wouldn’t that be fun? Behold—your four kind of, sort of, almost, not really ex-boyfriends. Maybe none of them can make eye contact. Perhaps all of them stare when they think the other is not looking, dumbly, longingly. 

And that is about as far as I can fill in the blanks. Faire does not go back to the penthouse, not at first, not for a while. She learns more about her father’s history. She sees how Baron presents it and learns her own lesson from it, independent of his biases. She sees beyond it. She grows. She becomes a bit of a badass—she knows how to fight and how to handle a gun. She kills someone for the first time. Maybe she hooks up with Baron. Maybe she hooks up with Leo. She stands up for herself. She is best friends with Liam. Tom is her best guy. 

She is cutthroat and fearless when it comes to defending Liam and Tom, and also Will, Frankie, Ben, and Santi. I think she eventually ends up saving the guys’ lives. I think she kills some people for them, to save them, in some kind of death or death situation the guys are unable to fight their way out of. She earns her colors, she gets her stripes, or what have you, and things happen, and she eventually goes back to live in the penthouse with the guys.

But then what? How are things different from what life was like before? What does Faire do? She still cooks, because she enjoys doing so. It’s therapeutic but it’s not something she did as mindlessly and frantically as before. Are the guys more open about mob business? Does she give input? How involved is she? How often do they tell each other, explicitly, I love you? How comfortable are they seeing her with their fellow guys? How comfortable is she? I see a lot of it as the guys proving themselves to her. 

What does each individual relationship look like, when it’s just Said Guy & Faire alone? Do the guys awkwardly avert their eyes and tip-toe around each other? What fucking kinks do they share with each other? I mean, um…how is Faire given more agency in the penthouse? At what fucking point does Faire get to study Pope & Frankie’s tattoos, up close? Er, uh…does Liam ever get reassigned from being her bodyguard? Which of the guys are more open to being with her, like…BEING with her, with another guy? Who is the most okay with threesomes? Er, uh, what happens with Baron after she goes back to the penthouse? Are any of the guys, uh…like, you know, open to guy stuff with their fellow guy? I mean, um, do you think Tom ever gets a dog sibling? 

This story and what you've done here. It has been an absolute pleasure to dig through these chapters like a feral raccoon. I have loved thinking about it. I will continue to do so. I am grateful for what you've shared here. I am grateful that my silly little comments haven't been too bothersome. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for allowing me to respectfully, somberly, and humbly present my broken little thoughts. I tried to make them grammatically correct this time around. I pushed way, way harder for coherency than I usually do.

Again, my love and heart to you. Wherever you take this story, wherever it goes, thank you for sharing it here. ♡ ♡ ♡

[firelxdykatara]

I’m just really confused as to where this idea that Zuko is gaycoded came from. Like people are allowed to have that headcanon but I don’t understand where people are coming from when they try and claim that he was undisputedly gaycoded and trying to deny it is homophobic when he’s only ever shown romantic interest in women.

I made a pretty long post on the topic a while back, but the ultimate gist of it is this: there are a lot of elements of Zuko's status as an abuse victim and trauma survivor that resonate with queer folks. This is understandable and completely fine! However, there are some parts of the fandom who have taken that to the other extreme and will now insist that those elements are uniquely queer, and that they can only be read as some sort of veiled gay/coming out narrative, even though that doesn't make much sense since there is no part of Zuko's narrative which is unique to any sort of queer experience.

I think the problem really does stem from two things being conflated--Zuko's history of abuse and trauma, and trauma&abuse being something a lot of queer people have experienced. I suspect it goes something like 'I see a lot of myself in Zuko, and I was abused for being gay, therefore Zuko must be gay too in order to have had similar experiences.' This can then lead to feeling dismissed or invalidated when other people point out that those experiences are not unique to being queer--but on the flip side, abuse victims and trauma survivors whose abuse&trauma do not stem from queerness (even if they are queer themselves) can feel invalidated and dismissed by the implication that their trauma must be connected to their queerness or it isn't valid.

This is also where the 'people don't actually know what gay coded means' part comes in, and I realize now that I didn't actually get into what gay coding (and queer coding in general) actually means, since I was so hung up on pointing out how Zuko doesn't really fit the mold. (And the few elements that exist which could be said to count are because of the 'villains historically get queer coded bc Hays Code era' thing and mostly occur in Book 1, not because of how he acts as an abuse&trauma survivor.)

Under a cut because I kind of go on a tangent about gay/queer coding, but I swear I get back to the point eventually.

Queer coding (and it is notable that, with respect to Zuko, it is almost always framed as 'he couldn't possibly be attracted to girls', rather than 'he could be attracted to boys as well as girls' in these discussions, for... no real discernible reason, but I'll get into that in a bit) is the practice of giving characters 'stereotypically queer' traits and characteristics to 'slide them under the radar' in an era where having explicitly queer characters on screen was not allowed, unless they were evil or otherwise narratively punished for their queerness. (See: the extant history of villains being queer-coded, because if they were Evil then it was ok to make them 'look gay', since the story wasn't going to be rewarding their queerness and making audiences think it was in any way OK.) This is thanks to the Motion Picture Production Code (colloquially and more popularly known as the Hays Code), which was a set of guidelines which movies coming out of any major studio had to adhere to in order to be slated for public release and lasted from the early 1930s until it was finally abandoned in the late 60s.

The Hays Code essentially existed to ensure that the content of major motion pictures would not 'lower the moral standards' of the viewing public. It didn't just have to do with queerness--cursing was heavily monitored, sex outside of marriage was not allowed to be seen as desirable or tittilating, miscegenation was not allowed (most specifically interracial relationships between black and white people), criminals had to be punished lest the audience think that it was ok to be gay and do crime, etc. Since same-sex relations fell under 'sexual perversion', they could not be shown unless the 'perversion' were punished in some way. (This is also the origin of the Bury Your Gays trope, another term that is widely misunderstood and misapplied today.) To get around this, queer coding became the practice by which movies and television could depict queer people but not really, and it also became customary to give villains this coding even more overtly, since they would get punished by the end of the film or series anyway and there was nothing to lose by making them flamboyant and racy/overly sexual/promiscuous.

Over time, this practice of making villains flamboyant, sexually aggressive, &etc became somewhat separated from its origins in queer coding, by which I mean that these traits and tropes became the go-to for villains even when the creator had no real intention of making them seem queer. This is how you generally get unintentional queer-coding--because these traits that have been given to villains for decades have roots in coding, but people tend to go right to them when it comes to creating their villains without considering where they came from.

Even after the Hays Code was abandoned, the sentiments and practices remained. Having queer characters who weren't punished by the narrative for being queer was exceptionally rare, and it really isn't until the last fifteen or so years that we've seen any pushback against that. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is famous for being one of the first shows on primetime television to feature an explicitly gay relationship on-screen, and that relationship ended in one of the most painful instances of Bury Your Gays that I have ever personally witnessed. (Something that, fourteen years later, The 100 would visually and textually reference with Lexa's death. Getting hit by a bullet intended for someone else after a night of finally getting to be happy and have sex with her s/o? It wasn't remotely subtle. I don't even like Clexa, but that was incredibly rough to witness.)

However, bringing this back to Zuko, he really doesn't fit the criteria for queer coding for a number of reasons. First of all, no one behind the scenes (mostly a bunch of cishet men) was at all intending to include queer rep in the show. This wasn't a case where they were like 'well, we really wanted to make Zuko gay, but we couldn't get that past the censors, so here are a few winks and a nudge', because it just wasn't on their radar at all. Which makes sense--it wasn't on most radars in that era of children's programming. This isn't really an indictment, it's just a fact of the time--in the mid/late 00s, no one was really thinking about putting queer characters in children's cartoons. People were barely beginning to include them in more teen- and adult-oriented television and movies. It just wasn't something that a couple of straight men, who were creating a fantasy series aimed at young kids, were going to think about.

What few instances you can point to from the series where Zuko might be considered to exhibit coding largely happen in Book 1, when he was a villain, because the writers were drawing from typically villainous traits that had historically come from queer coding villains and had since passed into common usage as villainous traits. But they weren't done with any intention of making it seem like Zuko might be attracted to boys.

And, again, what people actually point to as 'evidence' of Zuko being queer-coded--his awkwardness on his date with Jin and his confrontation with Ozai being the big ones I can think of off the top of my head--are actually just... traits that come from his history of trauma and abuse.

As I said in that old post:

making [zuko’s confrontation of ozai] about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

And, regarding his date with Jin:

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

Zuko is socially awkward and maladjusted because he was abused by his father as a child and has trouble relating to people as a result. He was heavily traumatized and brutally physically injured as a teenager, and it took him years to begin to truly recover from the scars that left on his psyche (and it's highly likely, despite the strides he made in canon, that he has a long way to go, post series; it's such a pity that we never got any continuation comics >.>). He was not abused for being gay or queer--he was abused because his father believed he was weak, and part of Zuko's journey was realizing that his father's perception of strength was flawed at its core. That his entire nation had rotted from the inside out, and the regime needed to be changed in order for the world--including his people--to begin to heal.

That could be commingled with a coming out narrative, which is completely fine for headcanons (although I personally prefer not to, because, again, we have more than enough queer trauma already), but it simply doesn't exist in canon. Zuko was not abused or traumatized for being queer, and his confrontation with Ozai was not about him coming out or realizing any fundamental truth about himself--it was about realizing something fundamental about his father and his nation, and making the choice to leave them behind so that he could help the Avatar grow stronger and force things to change when he got back.

TL;DR: at the end of the day, none of the traits, scenes, or behavior Zuko exhibits which shippers tend to use to claim he was gay-coded are actually evidence of coding--they aren't uniquely queer experiences, as they stem from abuse that was not related in any way to his sexuality, and they are experiences that any kid who suffered similar abuse or trauma could recognize and resonate with. (Including straight kids, and queer kids who were abused for any reason other than their identity.) And, finally, Zuko can be queer without erasing or invalidating his canon attraction to girls, and it's endlessly frustrating that the 'Zuko is gay-coded' crowd refuses to acknowledge that.

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter Two)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Language... shitty language. And maybe sheer size? This one’s nearly 6,000 words... I may have gotten a little carried away. 😬

It began as a drunken joke, a flippant what if…

“If no one else is gonna do it,” you’d slurred out, voice barely above a whisper despite the cantina being utterly empty aside from the two of you, “we should take the motherfucker out ourselves.”

He’d laughed at the time, and promptly cut you off before insisting on walking you home. He helped you along the uneven streets of Leticia, held back your hair as you blew chunks into a dark alley, even slept on your couch that night just to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep. That’s what he told you, anyway. But you suspected that Santiago stuck around that night because he just couldn’t get your words out of his head.

You hadn’t been so drunk that you’d failed to notice the way he went eerily silent following your seemingly ludicrous suggestion. You hadn’t been so far gone that you’d missed the sudden glint to his eyes, nor the crooked smile that wrapped around his face as you said the words, “I want Lorea dead.”

That next morning, he brought it up casually, asking – before you even had the chance to brush your teeth – if you remembered what you’d said. When you told him you remembered every part, he simply told you to go on, nodding slowly along as you dove headfirst into a painfully impulsive proposal, your words still tinged with a lingering, drunken idealism. You spilled out the disparate thoughts you’d been harboring for months, if not longer – the ones that together formed little more than the ill-conceived beginnings of a damn stupid plan – only to discover that they were precisely in line with what he’d been contemplating as well.

By the end of the week, you were introducing him to your longtime informant, a woman who’d worked for Lorea in some capacity for years. A gorgeous woman, whom you’re almost entirely certain Santi fell into bed with later that same night. And after just a few months of nearly constant off-the-record investigating – both of you becoming utterly consumed by the thought of bringing Lorea down – that crazy, ridiculous, fucked-up joke you’d made had become a highly illegal, morally questionable, might-just-get-you-fired-and-thrown-into-a-federal-prison plot for ending the reign of one of the premier drug traffickers in South America.

You’d started it. There was no denying that. You’d started the whole damn thing.

For nearly three years, you fought the good fight with Santiago Garcia down in Colombia. He was one of just a handful of people there whom you trusted. He actually was one of just a handful of people there you even really knew.

If you ever got to chose an advisor to head up a mission, he’d be it. Any raid that fell within your purview, he’d help to organize. Intel was slow in coming, CIs dropping off, bosses telling you not to leave Leticia and to remember to stay in your lane? No problem. Garcia to the rescue.

He was able to operate largely independently – unlike poor, bound-by-the-rules-and-regulations-of-the-DEA you. Local cops and the surrounding military actually liked him and never balked at bringing him in, mostly because he was more than capable of playing along with their bullshit. Hell, he was so good at it, that for the first few months you knew him, he had you convinced that he either completely bought into the very obvious corruption surrounding that Amazonian paradise, or – if he really didn’t see it – he was dumber than a fucking box of rocks.

But Santiago Garcia never missed a damn thing. And while he might have seemed to have written off the actions of certain officials or the peculiarities you both encountered, he never ignored – nor forgot – the individuals he suspected of collusion. He was just smart enough to know when to act.

You, on the other hand, well, you never were very good at not calling people out. For all your life, if you saw something that seemed funky, you’d say something… immediately. If you ever suspected someone of lying, plotting, taking bribes, just plain being dirty, you’d raise an accusing finger high. Hell, that’s the main reason you got sent down to that southernmost point of the country, transferred away from what you saw as being the real goings-on, to simply help keep an eye on the drug runs taking place at the border.

Santiago taught you to quell your initial reactions of raising a stink when you believed something was amiss. He urged you to stop seeing the word in a never-ending list of black and white rules. He showed you how to keep from boiling over and calling people out, a thing that undoubtably kept you from getting yourself reassigned somewhere you’d be less of a nuisance… again.

He also fed you intel, shared specifics of his suspicions, and helped get you into military-run raids where DEA might otherwise have been shut out. And in the time in between – when you would normally just stalk around your small apartment all alone or perhaps stalk about the city… also all alone – he provided friendship, that not-so-tiny thing you’d been lacking ever since getting transferred from your post and away from the workmates and friends you’d had for years in Mexico.

He was fun and sharp-witted and outgoing, eager to make friends with just about anyone. He invited you out for drinks, dancing, into local card games. And though you often wondered why – did he feel sorry for you because the local police and military alike treated you like a damn leper? Was he trying to show others that you were alright, despite being a gringa DEA agent? Did he simply want to fuck you? – you’d be lying if you were to say that you didn’t feel damn lucky he’d stumbled into your life and forced his friendship upon you.

And how did you repay him? For all of the invites he’d extended, all the drinks purchased, all the intel he threw your way, all the military-run raids he somehow managed to get you in on? All of the trust and faith he invested in you?

You’d set him on a path to ruin.

000

The bar was much larger than you’d anticipated, the quick drive-by you did on your way to the motel earlier this afternoon making the freestanding structure – out in the middle of nowhere, like everything else in this Bumblefuck, USA town – appear small. Maybe it was because the massive parking lot dwarfed it. Maybe it was because you were only half awake, at best, and just didn’t notice the size of the place. Maybe it was because Santiago drove past it at 65 miles per hour, alerting you to it – that’s where we’ll meet up tonight – just as you flew by, allowing little more than a meager glimpse.

Regardless, you expected… less.

But the place is huge. There are two bars on either side of the sprawling building and tables flanking the wide-open center, which you could only imagine would at some point be flooded with drunken townies, eager to dance the night away.

When you first arrived – well over an hour ago – it had been just you and a handful of incredibly loud bros populating the place. You took off for the far bar, ordered yourself a drink, and slinked into a large table in a dark corner, eager to remain invisible until Santi arrived with his friends… his crack team. But – just as you’d come to expect from Garcia – he was nearly an hour late, and by the time he and his brothers-in-arms strolled in, you’d already been spotted by the douchebags at the bar and had to fight off the advances of two separate assholes, each of whom only approached you when making their way back from the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, bonita,” Santiago had proclaimed with a wide smile and a not-at-all-stifled laugh after you told him of your troubles. He turned to face the group of strangers at the bar, caught the glares of a few of them, and shouted over a simple dictate to, “Fuck off!”

And that had been the cap to your introduction to your new co-workers. They strode in, all smiles and laughter and blooming drunken glows, coming from what must have been a great fight night, undoubtably made all the better by being together once again, only to be forced to shake hands with you… a jetlagged stranger, washed out in the low light, obviously frazzled by having a guy fresh from the men’s room – who probably didn’t even bother to wash his hands – wrap an arm around your shoulder and tell you that the bathroom door locks… in case you wanted to check it out with him later.

They took your uncomfortable story in stride, exchanging pleasantries and apologizing again for their tardiness – well, Will apologized at least – before grabbing some drinks and then plopping down at the isolated table you’d chosen.

For a bit, the group of them just talk to one another, tying up loose ends to the conversations they’d been having before arriving. You catch snippets of nah, man, she’s gone… didn’t work out and do you have any idea how expensive kids’ soccer is? as their conversation flows around you, seemingly oblivious to your existence. For those first ten minutes or so – save Santiago’s paltry threat shouted across the bar and Benny’s rather flirtatious introduction – the whole team settles in around you and acts as though you aren’t even here at all.

The only exception during this time is the pilot, Frankie Morales – had Santi called him Fish? He keeps quiet as the others speak, cracking a smile at their comments every now and then, but mostly nursing his beer and awkwardly picking at the label in silence. Every so often, he steals a glance over at you, as if to say, yeah, I know you’re here. His eyes are warm and friendly despite the otherwise utterly unreadable expression planted on his face.

Maybe you’re simply intrigued by the fact that he’s the only one actively acknowledging your presence, or it could be that you’re just rather curious to figure out what his placid expression is hiding. Or perhaps you’re merely a fan of the subtle beauty that his sharp profile paints on the background of the dark, seedy bar. Whatever the reason, you find yourself not just staring but gazing at the man long after he looks away.

“So, shoot me straight,” Will says suddenly, nudging your shoulder and tearing into your thoughts as he turns to face you. Your eyes bounce wildly away from Frankie’s face, a heat creeping up your neck as you light on the patient smile of the man next to you. “That file… it’s your work, right?”

“Hey,” Santiago scoffs from across the table, leaning over to backhand his friend in the chest. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Will’s face cracks and a deep rumble of a laugh spills out of him as he bites out, “It’s good work. Too good to come from your sorry ass.”

Santi scoffs, his hand flying to his heart with a wounded quality. You simply shrug, small smirk perking your lips as you feel some of the initial tension of the gathering – and the strange concern that you might actually have somehow become invisible – finally start to lift. “He helped,” you say, tone coy.

“Oh, c’mon,” Santiago gripes, giving you a slightly irritated, definitely amused look. “Half that intel came from me. The PNC, Colombian military, they barely even acknowledge you’re there.”

You interrupt with a snort and a scathing, “Yeah… it’s really fucking annoying when people do that,” before choking down the rest of your beer.

If he understands the jibe about your current situation, he doesn’t let on, instead pushing his point that, “None of them would’ve given you jack shit.”

“And the one informant who actually got all this started?” you counter, accusing brow raised high. “Who’s informant was that?”

His face begins to blush, just a bit of redness seeping into his cheeks, as he reaches out to grab your empty bottle. “She was mine in the end,” he mutters, shoving back from the table and rising from his stool. “I’ll get the next round.”

“Yeah,” you call out after him. “You owe me more than just a beer for stealing my CI!”

“I’ll get you a shot too!” he throws over his shoulder, never looking back as he makes his way to the bar.

You turn back to the men surrounding you, each of them now eyeing you warily, and a part of you wants to go back to when they ignored your presence entirely. Tom – what did Santiago call him? Redfly? – is the first to break the awkward silence, ticking his chin in your direction. “So,” he starts before pulling a long breath in through his nose. “DEA.” He overenunciates each letter and states rather than questions your affiliation, despite there being an inquisitive – or is it accusing? – glint to his eye.

“Yeah,” you say with a lingering nod. “Yep. DEA.”

“They teach you about this kind of thing?” Will asks, his drawl deep and languid. You turn to look at him, the imposing man by your side, and feel your shoulders tighten all over again when you see that the stern expression he had worn when first shaking your hand has returned. But then something lightens, the corner of his mouth ticking up just a bit, his gaze softening as your eyes meet. You’re certain that he can sense the rise in tension, understands with just a glimpse of your face that you’re way out of your element here. Intimidated. Nervous. And while the softening of his countenance doesn’t wipe away your anxiety completely, you do at least appreciate the attempt.

Ben, the tall, younger man flanking your other side, must notice the unease building up inside you too. He leans in and bops you with his shoulder, a light, buoyant laugh bursting out of him. “Aw, hell,” he emits breathily. “Leave her alone. If Pope trusts her, she’s got to be good.”

“Not saying she’s not good,” Will intones, shooting you a quick wink that, oddly, really does manage to set you at ease. “Just wondering how much experience she has with ops like this.” His eyes start to sparkle as they lock onto yours once again. “So, sweetheart, you ever pull a recon mission deep in the jungle?”

You offer an evasive shrug and release a tightly held breath. “I got lost in a corn maze once. Had to find my way out on my own. Probably would’ve starved in there if I hadn’t had the presence of mind to bring a funnel cake in with me.”

On your left, Ben snorts out another laugh, and across the table you see Frankie try to maintain that straight, impassive face. But Will’s deadpan expression doesn’t shift in the least. “Well,” he says with a sigh, bringing his nearly empty beer bottle up to his lips. “I guess that is pretty damn close.”

“Ha, ha,” Tom mocks. He waits to go on until you look his way, and once you do he levels you with what can only be described as a fatherly stare – oddly disappointed and imploring, stern and warm all at the same time. “We’re all very glad to hear that you have a sense of humor.”

“Very glad,” Ben interjects with a wide grin.

“But,” he continues, “You’re not gonna go in there and be part of this unless you can convince us that you’re capable.”

Santiago’s voice cuts in then, sounding over the clink of beer bottles as he lays out the next round on the table. “She’s capable,” he states simply before sliding back into his seat next to Frankie. “We’ve been on…” he glances over at you, “how many raids now?”

“At least a dozen,” you answer.

He gives a firm nod and lets his eyes drift between the men at the table. “She’s done good every time. Stays outta the way, does what she’s told.”

Your brow wrinkles and tugs tightly together, deep frown taking over your face. “Jesus, Garcia. I’m not a fucking dog.” He gives a quick laugh, but says nothing, prompting you to defend yourself. “I’ve worked with military advisors for years. Most of my career has been spent working alongside foreign armies and police forces. I’m not just some kind of desk jockey, I promise you that.”

“This is different.” The words flow across the table, the deep rumble sliding just beneath the reverberating bass coming from the jukebox in the corner. You look up and lock onto Frankie’s eyes, note immediately the hesitancy building behind them. He raises his brows as he looks at you, almost into you, and says simply, “This isn’t a raid. This isn’t some amateur hour bullshit put on by the local cops. And you won’t have the military or CNP or the US government at your back if something goes wrong.”

You nod, wanting – for some inexplicable reason – to pull your gaze from him, but finding that you just can’t. “I know. I get that.”

“Do you?”

Santiago gives his friend a little shove, just enough to cause him to look his way, breaking the odd hold he has over you. “She’s a good shot,” he tells him, tells all of them. “And she’s done enough undercover work for me to know that she sure as shit can keep her head.” He looks over at you again – “I still don’t know how you managed to get out of that shit in the comuna last year.” – and then gives a wry little laugh as his head shakes absently.

“Alright,” Tom mutters just as he slams down an empty bottle and reaches over to grab a new one. “She follows orders and keeps her cool… at least we can work with that.”

Benny nudges you with his elbow and when you look up at him you’re met with the widest, sunniest of smiles – never mind the deep split in his lip from the fight that he claims to have won just a few hours prior. “Hear that? That’s just about the best kind of approval you’ll ever get from Redfly.”

“Approval?” Tom shoots across the table. His voice drops an octave as he aims a serious stare over at you. “I’m still not convinced that we can actually trust you.”

“Jesus,” Santi breathes out with an annoyed air. “You really think I’d bring her here… hell, you think I’d have put all this together with her if I didn’t think – know – that she can be trusted?”

He shrugs. “You haven’t really known her that long,” he mutters thickly, his expression slipping back into something wary as he folds his arms across his broad chest and falls into a speculative silence as he mulls over his friend’s words.

You watch him closely, trying to discern what exactly he’s thinking. But long before you’re able to draw any sort of conclusion, Benny bumps you with his shoulder again and says simply, “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. He’s onboard.”

There’s a part of you that balks at the darlin’, just as you had almost called Will out on his use of sweetheart. But the truth is – both times – the names are uttered with a casual, even reassuring, cadence that you’re certain holds no demeaning intent. And you’ve been in enough male-dominated circles over the years to be able to discern at least that much. Even the way Ben’s looking at you now – genuine grin and kind eyes – seems to hold no innuendo. So you let it slide.

“How long did it take him to trust you?” you ask, the tension in your shoulders lifting when a throaty chuckle bubbles out of him.

“Oh, I don’t know that he does. I don’t know if Tom really trusts anyone.”

A snort of a laugh rings from the other end of the table, surprisingly coming from the Doubting Thomas himself. “You’re so full of shit,” he mumbles as he sits back upright and grabs his beer. He takes a giant swig and tacks on for good measure, “Besides, nothing wrong with being… cautious. My being – ”

“A distrustful prick,” Santiago interjects brazenly.

“Whatever you want to call it,” he counters with a faux-saccharine lilt. “It’s saved all your asses more than a time or two. Hasn’t it?”

There’s a quick round of almost wistful snickers from nearly all the men, each seeming to light onto a particular memory, their gazes faltering and ticking briefly off towards nothing. The exception is Frankie, who simply stares down at the battered beer bottle in front of him, sticker half peeled off and clinging to his fingernails as he continues to work at it with a frown. “What about this informant of yours,” he says, low voice slicing into the newfound silence. He shifts nervous eyes over to the man at his right. “You’re sure she can be trusted?”

Without hesitation, Santiago nods. “I’m sure of it. And besides, we’re not basing all of this just on her word. You read the file, right?” He glances over at you and ticks his chin in your direction. “We checked it out. We’ve been out there enough to get a lay of the land. We’ve seen the deliveries of cash coming in… and not going back out.”

Will speaks next, his words soft and slow. “Could all be a setup… a giant, well-planned setup.”

You shake your head. “No. No, it’s legit.” Five sets of eyes turn to you, drilling into you for something more substantial. But the truth is, all that you have is in that file. And, yeah, it could be an elaborate setup. Or – more likely than that – just a really, really bad idea. But your gut says it’s neither. Your gut says that this whole damn thing is the only way to put an end to Lorea’s ever-growing cartel.

Tom’s eyes narrow at you once again, suspicion still lingering in his glare. “How’d this all happen, huh? How’d you even get involved with this… this shit-brain scheme?” he asks before the serious countenance begins to crack and he blows out a harsh chuckle. “How’d Pope sucker you into all this?”

Santiago answers before you get a chance to even open your mouth. “I didn’t sucker anybody into anything. And I don’t use the same callsign down there, so…”

Your eyes flash over to meet his, face splitting into an insolent grin. “Pope…” you mutter, popping the p at the end. “How exactly did you get that name, anyway?”

He rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to know.”

“He spent his first firefight hailing Mary through the coms,” Will chimes in with a teasing lilt. “All damn night.”

“I was nineteen.” He defends… almost whines. “You wanna tell her how you got Ironhead?”

He shrugs and takes another pull of his beer. “I’m not embarrassed.”

Frankie smirks from the other side of the table as he issues out under his breath, “You should be.”

Your eyes bounce eagerly back and forth between the men, silently pleading for someone to tell you the story of Will’s ridiculous moniker. But it seems that you’ve once again gone invisible.

“Hey, he held that record for a solid decade,” Benny mutters beside you. “And I’m pretty sure that dipshit, MacCovey, cheated to take the title.”

“How can you cheat at that?” Frankie asks with an incredulous laugh.

“He cheated.”

“Cheated at what?” you blurt out, eager to just hear the tale. “Ironhead’s a title? With a record? For what?”

Will pivots in his seat, flashing you a smug grin as he rather haughtily announces, “Record for the most concussions sustained during basic training. And no one can take Ironhead away from me… especially not some hardheaded kid from freaking New York.”

“How do you know he was from New York?” Santi asks.

Frankie cocks his head at his friend too. “You met him?”

“Didn’t he die?” Tom interjects, confusion suddenly weaving through the lot of them.

“Did he?” Will asks. “Shit, guess he wasn’t that hardheaded after all.”

Benny leans forward to address them all. “He didn’t die. Just lost a leg. Roadside bomb.”

“Shit,” his brother repeats solemnly.

“Was supposed to be his last tour too. Well, guess it still was.” He looks down for a somber beat before lighting on Frankie. “And I heard that he never actually hit his head when he fell off that tower, so… cheated.”

Throughout all of the back and forth, you just sit, eyes wide, expression both amused and deeply concerned. “Jesus,” you finally breathe out once everyone falls quite. You turn to Will, look a little closer at him as though you might be able to discern some of the damage done so many years ago. “Are you… okay?”

He lets out a hearty laugh and raps his knuckles on his skull. “Nothing to worry about here,” he tells you with a wide smile. “Ironhead, remember?”

Tom snorts and shakes his head skeptically. “Tune’ll change when that CTE shit kicks in… start wandering around the neighborhood, talking to yourself, picking fights with people in grocery stores.” He stops short and flashes a shit-eating grin. “Oh wait…”

The joke – if there even really is one – is lost on you. But Will must get it, because his face flashes in irritation, a mere, “Very funny,” falling from his lips as he brings his beer bottle up to meet them.

You let out a sigh – “I’m confused.” – and choose to ignore Tom in favor of getting more of the story from Ironhead himself. “Did you get concussions on purpose? Why does this seem to be some kind of source of pride?”

“It wasn’t on purpose…”

“What about that full can of soup you tried to crush on your head?” Frankie interjects with a raised brow.

“Yeah, alright, there was that one,” he concedes.

Your forehead furrows deeper. “If you were always getting hurt, why didn’t they call you something like, Falls-a-Lot or Unlucky Charms or just Blockhead?”

He stares at you for a long moment, face hardening into a stoic set. “Wasn’t Tom asking how you got yourself into all this? Wasn’t that what we were talking about?”

You offer a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t think we were really talking about it…”

“She basically started it,” Santiago states simply. “I mean, I was in the minute she brought it up, completely in. But it was her shit-brained scheme from the get-go.”

“Really?” Tom smarts, skeptical look once again riding his face as he takes a pull from his beer.

“Look,” you begin, tone painfully sincere, “I’ve been on the losing end of this battle for years. And the people down there, the families… the kids he recruits…” You stop for a beat and slowly, bitterly shake your head. “Lorea, and all the others like him… It’s their turn to lose.”

Tom nods, his gaze never breaking from yours. “You do realize you sound just like him,” he mutters, ticking his chin towards Santi. “Seriously,” he begins, stare serious, but tone glib. “Did you two hatch this crazy little plan together in bed?”

You glance over at Garcia, quickly taking note of the burning blush creeping up his neck as he hides beneath his baseball cap and tries not to laugh. Then, on their way back to Tom, your eyes light on Frankie. He too is ducking his head. But he doesn’t seem to be laughing like the others. Rather, from what you can make out beneath the shadow of his hat, he looks… embarrassed. No. Dejected.

Your heart skips a beat and you blurt out suddenly, “We’re not sleeping together,” a little too loudly to come across as anything other than agonizingly defensive. The laughter intensifies and you clear your throat before going on to say, “Garcia’s usually too busy fucking his informants to ever even think of giving me the time of day.”

Benny just about loses it, his body pulsating with fits of giggles as he leans back a bit and reaches out to give you a high five. You oblige, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you see Santiago shift across from you. He peers at you from beneath the ballcap, eyes dark and smile wide as he says, voice deep and honeyed, “Oh, bonita, trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

You roll your eyes and tip back the nearly empty bottle to your lips, draining the last dregs of your beer before rising and stating, “I’ll get the next round… as long you guys promise to do nothing but regale me with embarrassing stories about Pope for the rest of the night.”

000

Jetlag. It’s something you’ve experienced countless times over the years, hopping from place to place, office to outpost to field. And yet you’ve never really managed to get used to it, the bone-deep fatigue kicking your ass after each and every trip you’ve ever taken. A full day of travel, and now a full night of drinking, and by the time the lot of you stumble out of the bar, you’re barely able to put one foot in front of the other.

“Lightweight, huh?” Benny jokes as he pushes past you on the way to his car.

You grumble under your breath, something akin to, shut the fuck up, though your words aren’t all that put together right now either. But Ben doesn’t hear any of it anyway, he’s already giving his brother an unforgiving shove in the nearly empty parking lot and laughing maniacally as he dodges the lazy retaliatory punch.

“Don’t mind him,” Frankie mutters from behind you. You stop and turn, squinting through the harsh halogen light piercing your eyes as you look up at him. He notices the pained grimace you give and lets out a light chuckle as he takes your elbow and swings you back around to lead you to the car. “You seem more tired than drunk to me,” he says with a lilt as he easily slips his arm beneath yours for a little extra support.

Without thinking, you let your head tip to the side and rest on his shoulder. “Soooo tired,” you bemoan. A deep rumble of a laugh pulls from Frankie’s chest, reverberates up and through his entire body so that you feel it vibrate into you. It makes you smile. It makes you tuck yourself in a little closer. You stumble a bit, your toe catching on a crack in the pavement, and before you can even think to right yourself, his arm pulls away and reaches around, the warmth of his hand splaying across your hip as he steadies you. “Maybe a little drunk too,” you admit with a sigh.

If he thinks it’s odd that you’ve burrowed so close to him, or if he’s the least bit uncomfortable with your fingers now clinging to the back of his shirt, or if he’s irritated at having to slow to a crawl to help you to Santiago’s car, he doesn’t show it. Instead he easily slows his pace to match yours, giving your hip a little squeeze as he says, “Hey, sorry about earlier.”

Your shuffling stops as you pull back to look up at him with a confused frown. “You mean telling that story about Santiago’s ex? I don’t think I’m the one… to apologize…” Your brow furrows even deeper as you try to sift through what you just said, trying to determine if it makes any sense.

He lets out another low laugh, the sound quickly becoming a new favorite tune. “No. I mean about…” He hesitates for a moment, the smile slowly melting from his face. “When I was… questioning you. Whether or not you’re up for this. And, you know, whether or not you’re getting played.”

“Oh,” you bark out, far louder than intended. “Yeah, no.” You wave it off and waste no time at all – fatigue and alcohol both wiping away any embarrassment you might otherwise feel at plastering yourself up against a near stranger – falling back into him.

He chuckles again as he hikes you a bit higher and leads you over to the tiny blue rental car in the corner of the lot. “It’s just… I know you put a lot of work into gathering the intel. And I know this is… important to you. Or you wouldn’t be here. But still…”

You turn your face into his shoulder, his chest, unabashedly breathing in the musky scent from the collar of his jacket as you mumble into him, “I promise not to fuck it up. At least not too bad.”

“Hey!” Garcia calls out from the car, swinging the back door open as you two approach. “You getting handsy with my girl?”

Frankie snorts out a laugh, incredulous, almost sardonic, and not nearly as endearing as the ones that have been rumbling into you for the last however many glorious minutes it’s been. “Not your girl,” you mutter blandly. “Too risky… too many possible diseases.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans, standing back as Frankie helps you into the car, his palm pressing gently on the back of your head to make sure you duck inside safely. “She took like five Xanax on the flight in,” he tells his friend with a snicker. “Probably shouldn’t have let her drink so much on top of that.”

“Hate flying,” you breathe out as you settle back, harshly tugging at the seatbelt to your left.

Frankie shakes his head in amusement as he watches you grow increasingly frustrated with the non-cooperative seatbelt. “How can you hate flying?” he asks, crooked smile stretching across his face.

You stop the infernal struggle and collapse back into the seat, “Fucking hate it,” coming out of you in a petulant whine.

“Alright,” he murmurs amid a snicker as he leans into the car, easily tugging the seatbelt out and reaching around to buckle you in. Your eyes droop further, slipping closed as he pulls back out of the car, fading into the night. “You guys good?” you hear him ask, the deep tenor of his voice sounding even more melodic when penetrating the dark.

“Yeah,” Santiago tells him, fatigue drowning just that single word. “We’re over at the Motor Inn. Just a few miles up. Listen, Frankie… thanks for this. Really. This…” You almost open your eyes again, want to just to see if the expression on Garcia’s face matches the earnestness in his tone. “This isn’t just a standard op, you know. To me. To her. This is… just… thanks.”

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “Well, uh… I’ll see you Thursday.”

The only other sounds you hear before slipping away entirely are the door gently closing beside you, the engine starting up in a soft roar, and Santiago muttering, seemingly to himself from the front seat, “I am not carrying your ass to bed.”

Taglist: 

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44

[ghosthan]

hello!! i saw that you made a lot of stuff for 1872 and i was wondering if 1872 tony is similar to regular comics tony?? i know mcu and comics tony are different and i want to get into 616, but if 1872 comics are more easy to read i might try those first! 😅

Hello, hello! 

Thank you for asking, and sorry it took me so long to get back to you! I wanted to think about it and put together a thoughtful response because I am desperately trying to convert MCU fans to 1872. Or comics fans who just haven’t gotten into 1872.

This post will contain some 1872 spoilers, but not the Big Spoiler that you probably already know about anyways. 

Anyways, let’s get into it. Yeehaw.

What is 1872? It’s Steve/Tony in the wild west.

1872 comics are very easy to read, very short, and you need absolutely no prior knowledge to get into them; I highly recommend these as a start point for MCU fans who are curious about dipping their toes into some of the other Steve/Tony universes. And 1872 is, indeed, a Steve/Tony universe. It’s really gay, (and dramatic.) Uh. So gay, in fact, that one of the comic artists who drew pages even occasionally shares Steve/Tony shipping memes. So.

Marvel 1872 is a four issue series released as a part of the Secret Wars event; you really do not need to know anything about this to enjoy 1872, because it is a self-contained alternate universe in a “pocket dimension”, meaning it’s totally separate from the 616 cannon but technically exists in the expanse of the multiverse!

Here’s the summary:

In the Battleworld zone of 1872, Sheriff Steve Rogers faces corruption and fear in the boom town of Timely. Can Anthony Stark pull Rogers' fat from the fire? Probably not, since the only thing he seems capable of pulling is a cork from a bottle. Things in Timely are bad, and getting worse — and when a stranger arrives in town, Timely will be changed forever.

Now, to compare “regular comics Tony”, or 616 Tony, with 1872 Tony.

The main difference? 616 Tony wears this sexy little under suit (or nothing) under his armor, like this:

And 1872 Tony wears dirty, stinky one-piece pajamas under his armor (not sexy):

He’s so gross, he’s a mess. I love him. You’ll love him, too. 

No, okay. Being serious.

 616!Tony’s backstory is a lot more complicated just due to how long the character has existed, and the decades of cannon (much of it self-contradictory at points.) Like MCU Tony, 616 Tony used to manufacture weapons, experiences something life-changing, and becomes who he is as a result of this as a catalyst. 616 Tony’s backstory has been rebooted a few times, and I’m definitely not the definitive source on Iron Man lore compared to people who have read all of his comics, but I’ll try to touch on the basics.

Originally, 616 Tony Stark is shaped by his experience in the Vietnam War. This is later rebooted and changed to war in the middle East (we see this in the MCU when Tony is held captive in Afghanistan.) In both circumstances, he is taken captive after being in the air for war technology, and then he creates the suit to save his own life (losing a beloved mentor in the process, the guilt of which stays with him after.)

Tales of Suspense #39

In 1872, Tony’s formative event is the Civil War in some ways, but in other ways, this is only half of it, because this is not the event which causes him to build armor or set him onto his “become a better person” trajectory, like in the other comics. Mainly, the Civil War functions to cause Tony to stop weapons manufacturing and throw his life away down a bottle.

We get a flashback of Tony in the year 1862 with his female companion, picnicking and about to watch a battle, (rich people from the North did this in real life. If you’re interested, read more here!) We don’t get much of his past, but we discover that he is a rifle manufacturer and that he has created something called the ‘Stark Repeating Rifle’, and it seems that he has done so with the hope of encouraging a cease-fire, more than a slaughter.

Well. We don’t always get what we ask for.

Tony vows to actually never touch a weapon ever again, and this personal oath means so much to him that he gets creative at times during 1872 when he’s being chased by baddies:

Witnessing the extreme bloodshed of the Civil War, and feeling responsible for a huge amount of deaths, Tony turns to drinking, (and presumably moves to the west to escape the Pain of his Past, but this is not shown explicitly on panel; I have assumed, though, that Tony’s weapons manufacturing company was in the East, probably Boston or New York, since he comes from family money and because the American West was still “young” at this point in time so it would be unlikely that an established business would be supplying a war from lawless territory with little infrastructure.)

In 616, it’s worth noting that Tony builds the armor to save himself from danger in a war scenario; this is not the case in 1872, things unfold a bit differently. The Civil War certainly sets in motion the chain of events that eventually lead to the creation of Tony’s armor, but he’s not in physical danger or physically traumatized by the war in this verse as he is in other verses, and 616 Tony seems to have a stronger sense of duty than 1872 Tony, but this might be a complication of the depression/apathy related to the alcoholism.

What I mean by this is that both iterations of Tony struggle with alcoholism, but differently. Mainly, while 616 Tony has several alcohol themed arcs, and hits rock bottom with his alcoholism to cope with his trauma, he is sober more than he is drunk in the comics. His drinking almost kills him, and he almost loses everything because of the drink. It’s a source of enormous shame for him.

In fact, during this time in 616, I think Tony at his lowest reminds me a lot of 1872 Tony; 616 Tony is not an apathetic person and he holds himself accountable for an obscene amount of responsibility, but during what is referred to in fandom as The Second Drinking Arc, Tony basically gives up. This is the most “like” 1872 Tony, at least at the start of his arc. Rhodey takes over the mantle of Iron Man, and 616 Tony spirals, not caring whether he lives or dies, not hero-ing certainly.

We see both versions of Tony express similar sentiments, a certain cavalier attitude about their lives (and outright suicidality at other points) with nothing left but the drink.

Iron Man Vol. 1 #182

Compare with:

And you can certainly see a resemblance between this set of panels from IM v.1 #176 and in 1872:

Iron Man Vol. 1 #176 and Marvel 1872 #1

It’s a little different in 1872, where his drinking really is purely a result of his existing despair, and it doesn’t cause enormous problems for him, (minor problems, sure. He spends a lot of time drunkenly singing to Sheriff Rogers, or bothering him from the inside of a jail cell.) But this Tony lives at rock bottom, whereas 616 Tony only stays at rock bottom long enough to get his life back together (as many times as it takes.)

This Tony really doesn’t show any outward shame about his drinking; presumably, the people he knows in Timely have only ever known Tony as a drunk, and none of the people from his old life are here to see him like this. 

This is a Tony who has essentially given up on himself and has moved out West to hide from his shame and his past; this is not a Tony who is scared of letting down his friends by drinking, or scared of shirking his “duty”, because this Tony has moved away from all of his friends and has given himself no duties. He’s a bit more apathetic, but I would argue that this is not because he inherently is a less moral version of Tony, but because in this verse, he was drinking for a very long time and circumstances unfolded differently so it took him a longer time to find that sense of purpose and responsibility (beyond just shutting down manufacturing guns,) which is awakened in him by Steve Rogers. 

616 Tony’s sobriety is a major part of his character, and a conscious choice that he makes, even during some lowest points:

Civil War: The Confession

He takes some amount of pride in his sobriety, and when he does fall off the wagon at times (or magic makes everyone think he did,) it absolutely tears him up because 616 Tony cares very, very much about his sobriety and does not like who he is when he’s drinking. We do not know if 1872 Tony’s father had been a drunk or not, but we know 616 Tony’s father was, and that the drink lead to him treating Tony abusively.

Iron Man Vol. 1 #285 

Avengers Disassembled #1 (This was when ~magic~ made Tony drunk and it wrecked him breaking sobriety without ever having actually drank. Oof.)

616 Tony’s long struggle with alcoholism is a major part of his character and he has had relapses over the years and throughout the reboots, but in general, he does not drink.

1872 Tony starts drinking in 1862 and doesn’t stop until the last pages of the story, so in terms of the cannon we have for him, he is a current drunk, rather than a former drunk. This isn’t to say he doesn’t stop; but since it’s in the last page or so, it sets the reader up to imagine his sober future, rather than exploring his sobriety as 616 does. (Calling all fanfic writers!)

Anyways, both Tony’s are excellent. Both are damaged and traumatized, both are Iron Man in their own ways, both (eventually) find sobriety, both have some cute, quippy dialogue (though 616 Tony tends to be more reserved/polite for sure, in general). 

The last thing I’ll point out, is that both Tonys’ narratives are intertwined with and influenced by their respective Steve Rogers. I’m not saying soulmates but I’m saying soulmates.

Anyways. Sorry this post got super long, and I apologize if any of it is confusing or redundant, I am not functioning at my highest capacity currently. Please read 1872. Let it rock your world. Create & consume the fanworks, I would love to see a boom of 1872 content (more than the fics and art I keep making!) And my ask-box is always open!

[itsclydebitches]

Godddddd I'm so upset that I dislike yen this much, doing main quests in skellige and Freyas ppl were doing stuff and she again disrespected other cultures with Geraly being against, "I may be inhumanly beautiful" I know she's meant to be confident but wowww. She's not confident and worried for Ciri she just comes off arrogant and selfish and vain. Like, fuck.

The ultimate mood, anon. My Witcher fandom life would be so much easier if I enjoyed Yen ... but I just do not lol. Remember how I mentioned that things were going to get even worse than her stealing and using a potentially dangerous artifact? Yeeeaah. She also resurrects Ciri's friend to torture him for information, all while destroying another sacred garden to get the power to do it! It's not even a "She's so evil and I love it 😏" situation for me because the game tries so hard to convince us that she's still The Best. Geralt's sexy soulmate, Ciri's adoring mother, the baddest bitch around who gets things done and does it with an effortless confidence... all while ignoring how horrific her actions and attitude are. Oh sure, other characters speak ill of her at times, but considering how much Geralt is written to adore her, no matter what you choose, that's all undermined. I love morally gray/evil characters, but I've never enjoyed them when the text refuses to appropriately acknowledge that side of them. Nothing is more frustrating to me than a story that frames disliking a character as the unambiguously wrong thing to do, especially when the text is piling up reasons to dislike them and, as a result, ignoring or shrugging them off their actions as not that bad. Yen is a rather extreme example of that for me. Despite her attitude, her choices, and other characters outright going, "Why do you like her?" the story as a whole works under the assumption that it's correct to like her anyway because Geralt loves her. And he loves her for... reasons.

They do meet before the wish, but only just. Major "The Last Wish" spoilers in this paragraph, so feel free to skip. Basically, Geralt and Dandelion run into trouble with a djinn, he goes to Yen for help since she's a sorceress (first time meeting her), he instantly falls for her because she's gorgeous and such (there's an elf there who is also madly in love with Yen. Men just... fall for her, instinctually), she heals Dandelion, Geralt agrees to pay her, but Yen has already decided on the payment she wants. She takes control of Geralt's mind and forces him to attack the town to seek revenge on those who have insulted her, resulting in him waking up in prison awaiting execution for "his" crimes. Meanwhile, Yen has gone after the djinn for herself because power/trying to regain her ability to have a kid. Geralt escapes, finds her failing to master the djinn (an attempt which btw has endangered the whole town) and despite what she's done to him, Geralt tries to get Yen to escape with him. She refuses, set on capturing the djinn even though it's obvious she can't. So as a last resort he uses the final wish to bind their fates together, saving Yen from the djinn in the process. Aaaaaand then they have sex.

So yeah, their rocky relationship is one of the main reasons why I can't enjoy Yen. For some their tumultuous history is evidence of realism, for me it's evidence that they're not actually very compatible and they're only together because a) that's the fantasy trope: protagonist men get together with the hot sorceress and b) because the magic is literally ensuring that they can't escape one another. I mean, canonically their fates are tied together by magic and canonically they spend about 20 years swinging between passionate love and fearsome fights... but there's supposedly no connection between these two things? No chance at all that they keep coming together because magic is drawing them rather than because they actually want/should be together? I wrote a meta a while back about the short story where they meet, which includes a present day scene where Geralt is criticized by another character — Nenneke — for running out on Yen. Thing is, he tries to explain that he left because she was "too possessive" and this is... flat out ignored. By both Nenneke and the fandom. There's a strong trend of ignoring Geralt's words in favor of a pro-Yen interpretation of events. He says he left because she was too possessive and she treated him like ____ — he's not allowed to finish the sentence and say what she treated him like because Nenneke interrupts him, saying she doesn't care about his version of events. Major yikes imo! She turns a claim of being possessive into Geralt not being man enough to stick around. The fandom likewise turns this into a case of Geralt getting cold feet and running out because he's a bastard who hates commitment. Likewise, Nenneke and the fandom claim Geralt is trying to get Yen money as a way of appeasing his guilt for leaving, he claims he's doing it simply because he still cares for her — even if he doesn't want to be with her — and knows she needs it. Geralt's words are frequently dismissed, in the same way others characters' opinions of Yen are dismissed. Any mark against her is treated as either a lie, or a convoluted claim that they don't really know her... never mind that an understanding of why she may act this way doesn't excuse the behavior itself. (Plus, the whole "Yen had a horrible upbringing, so of course she struggles being kind" perspective always fell flat to me when so many, including witchers, had horrendous upbringings too. The whole point is this world is a mess and most everyone suffers). It's supposedly true love, yet if someone came up to me and went, "I magically tied my fate to this woman to keep her from getting herself killed and we've spent the last couple decades having what many would term a rocky relationship, to put it kindly. I left once because she was too controlling. She once cheated on me. I likewise hooked up with others during our frequent breakups. A mutual friend used magic to get me to have sex with her — also while my lover and I were broken up — and though I view it as a dumb decision I'm happy to forgive her for, my lover is ready to commit murder because again: possessive. A lot of the time we're only a family because of our daughter. I once thought she'd horrifically betrayed us both. She didn't, but it says something that I was so ready to believe it, huh? Hmm? Permanently separated? Of course not! I love her. We're destined to be together after all :)" I'd be like, "Uh... you sure about that, dude?"

Not that Geralt doesn't make his fair share of mistakes in the relationship — he absolutely does — but I don't think it helps his case that he's immature in other ways and, frankly, that he's a very strong, badass witcher. It's easy to turn the hints we get about their relationship into a simplistic "emotionally naive man can't give the poor woman the commitment she wants" situation. Given Geralt's status as the badass fighter of the tale, it's likewise easy to dismiss his admissions of her being "possessive" and his general discomfort. He's the man. He's the witcher. If he's making any claims about how Yen isn't treating him well, they must be excuses, or exaggerations, because real men, especially physically powerful men, would do something about that — a something that's not sneaking out in the middle of the night. A lot of people read Geralt leaving as the ultimate proof that he's an immature bastard who doesn't deserve her. I read him leaving and think, "What were you trying to get away from? What was going on that made you think you could only leave by sneaking out without a word?" To me, that doesn't read as someone who felt safe, comfortable, and respected enough to do anything but slip away and try to wash his hands of things. And I'm not just pulling this "Geralt is at least somewhat afraid of Yen and isn't comfortable establishing boundaries with her" reading out of my ass. When Yen wants Geralt to kill the golden dragon for her and he refuses, saying he doesn't care anymore, his thoughts are:

He expected the worst: a cascade of flames, flashes of lightning, blows raining down on his face, insults and curses. There was nothing. He saw, with astonishment, only the subtle trembling of her lips. Yennefer turned around slowly. Geralt regretted his words.

And everyone is like, "See! Yen has improved so much. Geralt nearly made her cry, but she's supposed to be the bad guy here?" Meanwhile, I'm going, "Uh... anyone want to unpack why he expects fire, lightning, insults, curses, and blows to his face for telling her no? Why he's astonished that she wouldn't use her magic against him? Anyone think that Yen refraining from attacking Geralt when he refuses to murder on her command is a pretty low bar? No? Just me?"

Geralt and Yen's relationship makes me uncomfortable and a great deal of that discomfort derives from how much of the Witcher fandom shrugs off the fictional warning signs. I mean, I post primarily about RWBY. We watched a man in that show try to sneak away with his kids when his villainous wife planned to use them for a eugenics plan... and the fandom still blames him for that, refusing to admit that he was in an abusive relationship. Because that doesn't happen to men, right? I'm not saying it's the same for Geralt and Yen, simply because they are written to be soulmates. An abusive relationship was, quite obviously, never the authorial intent. However, I am saying that the a "This isn't a healthy relationship" reading is there, it exists as an interpretation, and both the story and fandom's tendency to dismiss it is something that hasn't helped me enjoy Yen's status as an otherwise well written, complex character. Their equality supposedly stems in part because they're both so flawed, yet each time I see a list of Geralt's supposedly equal faults they're... lacking imo. "Geralt bound himself to Yen without her consent." Yeah, to save her from dying from the djinn she was trying to enslave, after she refused to leave, while her actions threatened a whole town. "Geralt ran off without a word." Mmm hmm, anyone care about why? And my personal favorite is a scene you may not have gotten to yet (or may not get depending on your choices), but suffice to say, Yen is supposedly justified in physically attacking Geralt if he dares to challenge her in any way. That's the main takeaway across the fandom: If Yen is pissed off, you must have done something to deserve it which, in the relationship deliberately written to be "stormy," is something that sets all the alarm bells in my head off. Honestly, it kinda makes my skin crawl to go, "Geralt didn't deserve that" and get responses back of, "Yeah he did because he [insert basic human action here]." The Witcher world is hard and cruel, absolutely, but that doesn't mean I personally enjoy seeing an equally messed up relationship presented as something that's enviable in its flaws. "That's actually true love because the magically bound man who often expresses discomfort with his lover, written by a male author with a very iffy perspective on women, says it's true love." Crazy theory here, but... maybe it's not?

Idk, lots of rambling on my end tonight! For me, Geralt/Yen reads as something rather tragic which, in a canon that unironically upholds the relationship, and in a Yen-adoring fandom, doesn't make enjoying her character any easier. I keep coming back to Witcher 3, the comics, the show, even the books going, "Maybe I'll like her this time?" but nope, still trying lol.

[lewistan]

Writing a Compelling Villain aka Villian 101:

Disclaimer: Listen, I’m not saying I’m a pro at writing villains. I’m not even saying that I’m a good writer. I’m just saying that I enjoy writing morally ambiguous characters and if I can lend some info that may help other people feel more comfortable doing the same, then I’ll attempt to do that.

Before we begin, I must note that I will be operating within the dichotomy of hero vs villain. I fully understand that morality may be a spectrum, i.e. there are grey moral characters, but for the sake of this piece, let’s pretend that morality is as simple as good vs evil. 

Let’s begin, shall we?

What is a villain:

Writing a villain is no different than writing any other characters. Crafting a villain requires care as the villain is just as important to the plot’s progression as the protagonist. Without a worthy opponent, the protagonist runs the risk of appearing lackluster. When crafting a villain, it is important to keep in mind that villains, like every other character, have to be believable. They cannot simply be evil geniuses who laugh maniacally while twirling around in their capes. Villains have things they love, things they hate, things that motivate them. They have families and histories. They have traumas and things that set fire to their souls. So, then, what separates an antagonist from a protagonist or a villain from a hero?

At the end of the day, villainhood is an expression of morality or the lack thereof. Villains are immoral, meaning that they recognize what society has deemed as good and what society has deemed as evil and actively choose to do something despite it being evil. In contrast, a character that is amoral is one who exists outside of society’s moral code. They do not know that the evil thing they’ve done is wrong. So, the villain who laughs maniacally while laying out their evil plan is immoral, not amoral. 

Villains are not bound by the conventions of law, rules, contracts, or any other kind of societal boundary. They understand that these boundaries exist, but they make the decision to step outside of them. Compelling villains are not simply characters who flaunt rules because they can. Compelling villains flaunt societal rules because they have convinced themselves that they are better than the rules, they know more, or are doing the world a service by committing an atrocity. 

Qualities of villains: 

Villains often think that they are doing a “good” thing. Let’s consider a rather well known villain in pop culture: Thanos. If you’re not aware of him, Thanos is a villain within the Marvel Universe who thought he was doing the world a service by murdering half of the Earth’s population. The rub is that Thanos fully understands that this is a bad thing that he is doing. He knows that this act will require sacrifice, and the likelihood that that sacrifice will come at a great cost, is high; as we continue, we watch as Thanos makes the decision to sacrifice the person he loves most (yes, I know that there are plenty of commentaries out there that question the genuineness of this act, but please stay with me) in order to gain one of the stones that will allow him to commit genocide. Thanos, and villains at large, weigh the cost of their action and view their end goal as being worth the price. 

The villain is set up as the opposite of the hero. This is the definition of the villain -- someone who stands in opposition to the protagonist. Not all stories require a “villain” or “antagonist” character, but all stories do need some sort of conflict at their center. Villains, by their nature, become the face of conflict in the story. Whether they challenge the hero in a fundamental way, or they present a threat, villains serve to drive the plot forward. They are tied to the hero in some way and make the hero heroic. A villain cannot be weak and easily defeated because where’s the fun in that, but neither can they be all powerful so that their defeat comes as random chance. This being said, it is not enough to simply give a villainous character negative qualities in the same way that it isn’t enough to give a hero solely positive qualities. A villain who is only villainous is a villain that is flat. Villains, like any other character, should be dynamic which means that they should be more than the sum of their villainous actions. 

The villain exists outside of society’s rules. I’ll go more in depth on motivation in a bit, but let’s keep that word in mind for now. Society works because a group of people have agreed upon a set of rules. The hero is typically the character who upholds those rules. The villain, on the other hand, goes outside of those rules. The villain understands the rules but chooses not to abide by them. They do things that the reader fundamentally hates, but they do it in such a way, that the reader has no choice but to understand and sometimes, even admire.

Villains are motivated by something and are working towards a goal. Remember how I said that villains are no different than any other character? This is the crux of the matter. A villain shouldn’t simply be a villain because they are evil. An evil person doing evil things just isn’t compelling enough. It’s flat. Put yourself in the shoes of the villain (yes, yes, we all want to be the hero of the story but go with me). What motivates your villain? What are they working towards? What is the thing that they love the most in the world and what would they do to protect it, to avenge it? To a lesser degree, we’re all villains. Think about when you’re driving and someone cuts you off or when you’ve worked hard on a project and someone else takes credit for it or when someone you love and trust looks you in the eyes and lies to you. Chances are that you don’t go out and commit a heinous act as a result -- probably because society has taught us to fear punishment for the breaking of rules -- but think about that first moment. We’ve all imagined keying someone’s car or cursing someone out. It’s that part of us that isn’t bound to society’s rules. This is the aspect of being human that villains most utilize.

The villain has experienced some sort of deep seated trauma. Let’s consider another well known villainous character: Darth Vader. Darth Vader’s origin story is not one that is unique or even special; rather, it’s one that we’ve seen in a lot of villains -- a person experiences a profound sense of loss and retaliates in order to avenge that loss. In Vader’s case, he turned to the dark side after believing that his wife had been killed. As we know, Anakin had long been built up as the one who could tip the scales in the fight between good and evil. He is a likeable but flawed character. He has a desire to be loved (as most people do), and we see that desire used against him. So, when he thinks his wife to be dead, Anakin proceeds to murder a bunch of children. Cue the rise of the villain. Going through life, the chances of experiencing a profound loss are high, but how a character responds to that loss determines whether that character is a villain or hero. For example: Batman. Yes, I know that he blurs the line, but remember we talked about morality being a spectrum… Anyway, Batman (Bruce Wayne) witnesses the murder of his parents at a young age. That single act propels him into becoming the defender of his city. Had Bruce not had Alfred to guide him along the path of goodness, he could have easily become a villain. And therein lies the truth: any character can become a villain if the circumstance calls for it.

A few qualities to incorporate into your villain: 

Believes that they’re the hero.

Has likeable qualities.

Can be very persuasive. 

People are naturally drawn to them.

Is not afraid to break the rules and do something traditionally considered to be evil. 

Is merciless even to innocents. 

Has experienced some sort of trauma and blames everyone for it.

Will stop at nothing to accomplish the goal. 

Allows the reader to see moments of vulnerability which serves to make the villain more relatable and almost endearing. 

[just-an-aussie-fandom-hermit]

( 2/2 ) i mean if i recall correctly didn't bruce take them in to provide homes for them after they lost their parents & often tried to talk them out of crime fighting even though a lot of them would go off & fight crime on their own accord ( whether he allowed it or not) ?

Anon you’re absolutely right!

(This is a long one so be warned).

He didn’t adopt/mentor the kids with the sole purpose of turning them into child soldiers or abusing them at all. His abusive and neglectful behaviour stands in stark contrast to his personality and moral code; most of these kids came from horrific backgrounds, so he would make himself as welcoming as possible to allow these kids to be kids, like they deserve to be. Vigilantism is their way of taking their life into their own hands and making change. His behaviour is nothing short of contradictory and I despise the various writers who made him that way.

I don’t have any sources/comic panels prepared but I want to answer this anyway:

Dick Grayson had just seen his parents die, and was filled with vengeance — he would have gone after Tony Zucco anyway, better to do it on Bruce’s terms. Also, he had spent several nights in a juvenile centre after his parents died (that’s where he ended up) and was beaten up brutally on basically his first night there. Bruce knew he wouldn’t survive, let alone thrive in the system, so he took him in. Robin was initially meant to be a temporary thing, to take down Zucco as well as his coworkers/superiors in the mob. After an encounter with the Joker in which Dick is bedridden, Bruce fires Dick from being Robin for his own safety. He later becomes Nightwing after going through a personality crisis and wondering who he was without Robin.

Barbara Gordon? She was going to be a crime fighter anyway — like Stephanie (we’ll get back to her) she made her own suit and went out on her own accord. Her dad is the police comissioner, but she recognised that the system wasn’t working — because of the mob, political corruption, police inadequacy and criminal conduct (which was/is the norm anyway), all that wonderful stuff — and felt that she had to do something. Bruce is vehemently against this but after a while he realises “oh god, she’s not going to stop,” and decides that, like Dick, it’s better for Babs to do the vigilante thing on his terms, because he’d spent years training for this, and Barbara was a child/teen.

Jason Todd lived on the streets after he stopped living with his abusive father (Willis) and his deceased, drug addicted mother (Catherine). He just saw a kid who had it extremely rough (homeless, formerly abused), and thought “I already have one child under my care, I can care for another, that’s reasonable.” Making him Robin was not only a constructive outlet for his anger, but also not Bruce’s intention at all. He may have met Jason as Batman, but he did not force the mantle of Robin onto him.

Tim Drake had already been BatWatch for years and had figured out who the Bats actually were. After Jason died, Tim saw how broken, angry and violent Bruce had become and he knew it was only a matter of time before something gave. He literally blackmailed his way into becoming Robin (via Dick, now Nightwing) because “Batman needs a Robin,” and he decided “I might as well be that Robin.” Bruce was incredibly resistant, because his son had just been murdered, and he doesn’t want that to happen to any other child — and he brushes Tim off for a while. When he does become Robin, it’s reluctant. He takes him in not just to him Robin but also because his parents are horribly neglectful (hence why he had so much free time as a child to be BatWatch and such) and only ever showed serious interest in his life while they were grooming him to be CEO of their company or when they felt Bruce was a threat to their parental authority (rightfully so.)

Stephanie Brown’s dad is Cluemaster, a minor villain who thought himself the nemesis of the Riddler (Nigma paid this guy no mind,) and left clues at his crime scenes in a similar manner to Riddler. As such her home life was tumultuous if not outright abusive and neglectful. Her mother (Crystal) is a drug user so she doesn’t spend a lot of time in the house. She created her own identity (Spoiler) to “spoil” her father’s plans and clues so Batman could take him and his buddies down. She comes into contact with Tim (ie. throws a brick at him) and works with the Bats so she wouldn’t get herself killed doing it alone.

Cassandra Cain is the daughter of two of the greatest assassins in the world (David Cain and Lady Shiva) and was never taught any form of spoken or written language. Instead, she learned to read body language and micro-expressions, all so she could become the best possible bodyguard for Ra’s al Ghul (head of the League of Shadows) and an excellent assassin. This backfired, and she ran away after witnessing/committing her first assassination and saw the pain and terror in her target — she spent several years on the run before Bruce found her and took her in. Fighting was all she knew, and she wanted to do the “good” fighting (vigilantism/working with the Justice League) instead of being an assassin. It was a way to reclaim her childhood and to help her create an identity of her own, separate from the League of Shadows.

Duke Thomas? He joined and later lead the We Are Robin movement to defend Gotham in Bruce’s abscence (‘Batman: Endgame’ I think is the storyline). I’m not as familiar with his story but he creates his own vigilante identity, The Signal, after his parents went insane (thanks Joker). He went into foster care while police search for his parents, and did generally did not have a Good Time. At this time, Bruce’s memory of being Batman had been erased, and it was Duke’s sense of justice and need to help others that set him on the course to become Batman again. He was never a Robin, and he works mostly in the daytimes, but Duke Thomas became a Bat of his own accord. Bruce simply brought The Signal under the cape and gave him a support network just as he had done for Babs and Steph (the other self-made vigelantes).

Damian Wayne. Biological son of Bruce and Talia al Ghul. In the current continuity he’s the product of a sexual assault, but either way, his purpose is to become the heir to the League of Assassins and their international criminal empire and shadow governments — he’s a manufactured soldier (hence why you might come across a lot of “test-tube baby” jokes, because he was grown mostly in an artificial womb.) Talia drops him off in Gotham in order to help Damian escape from Ra’s, and Bruce makes him Robin to give him an outlet for his anger and violence — in a non-homicidal fashion. Like Cass, all he knew was fighting and violence, but becoming Robin was a way for him to not only reclaim his lost childhood but also create an identity other than the killing machine he was intended to be.

Harper Row is another child from an abusive household — emancipating herself and her brother Colin from their father, Harper’s skill with engineering gives her the means to become a vigilante (Taser Girl?? I believe). Bluebird is her vigilante alias under Batman (her hair is a magnificent shade of blue) but is currently inactive, focusing on her career and education. Again i’m not super familiar with her character, but that’s the gist.

The important take-away is that these kids chose to become who they are — Bruce didn’t just pick them off the street like “you’re a Robin now have fun sweetie :)”, making them a Bat/Robin was simply a means to help these kids.

[dizzyhslightlyvoided]

Some game writing thoughts ...

From a developer's perspective, you can't really separate gameplay and story. They're basically intertwined, all part of the entire experience. If you want to create a specific kind of gameplay, it puts some fairly rigid constraints on what kind of stories you're able to tell; otherwise, it will seem like the cutscenes are unrelated to the gameplay, and/or the two actively interfere with one another. Or you get complete bullshit like the questline to save Curly Brace in Cave Story.

Like ... Touhou is a series about an ambiguously-teenage shrine maiden flying around randomly getting into bullet-hell fights with fairies, monsters, and/or gods until she finds the correct set of monsters and/or gods to fight in order to resolve the current incident. This means that, first of all, the protagonist pretty much needs to be exactly the sort of person who, when an incident happens, is both willing and able to go around randomly picking fights with fairies, monsters, and/or gods until she finds the correct monsters and/or gods to fight. It also needs to take place in a mileu where there are plenty of fairies, monsters, and gods who can have bullet-hell fights, which an ambiguously-teenage shrine maiden is allowed to beat up if the need arises. And each individual installment necessitates the kind of plot where beating up the correct set of monsters and/or gods will actually resolve things, or at least bring them to a definite conclusion.

For that matter, the formula is an arcade-style bullet hell shmup with six stages, with a brief "two portraits facing each other" cutscene before and after each boss except for the final boss, which has one cutscene before and a more elaborate "ending" cutscene after. There isn't really any room for, say, a large-scale mystery which depends heavily on included worldbuilding details.

That said, you don't need to work too hard to try to "make the premise make sense" -- ask not what your gameplay can do for your worldbuilding and plotting, but what your worldbuilding and plotting can do for your gameplay. The gameplay is the whole point, after all, so you treat it as a given and work backwards from there. It's a subtle distinction, but rather than taking a setting and asking, "how can arrange this so that an ambiguously-teenage shrine maiden going around randomly fighting fairies, monsters, and/or gods makes sense?", you instead take the gameplay and ask, "what kind of setting makes sense, given the premise ambiguously-teenage shrine maiden going around fighting fairies, monsters, and/or gods?" It's certainly a bonus if a justification happens to come up in this process, but if not, it's fine to just ignore the question or leave it as like "shrine maidens can just do that."

This isn't to say you can't start with an arbitrary story and make the game you want out of that. However, the reverse is true: a given story has fairly rigid constraints on what kind of gameplay would work with it. Undertale, for example, has a story intended to criticize "killing is how you interact with the world" in video games in general, and morality-gauges in choice-driven RPGs in particular. This means that first of all, it has to be, well, a fully-functioning choice-driven RPG with a morality-gauge -- in this case, the choice is whether or not to kill each individual monster, and the morality is whether you kill exactly zero, some, or all of them. Second of all, this kind of criticism wouldn't work unless it's supported by the gameplay, so the "mercy" option needed to be much more involved, interesting, and fun than the "kill" option. See also: every game which does not offer you a choice but nevertheless tries to claim that the player is a bad person anyway. (To quote an ex-friend, the game says "You're a bad person for killing all these people!", but you can fire back, "You're the one who programmed an achievement for killing all these people!")

And so on and so forth. You wouldn't be able to have all of Undertale's different routes in an arcade-style bullet-hell shmup with few or minimal choices. Nor would Touhou 14: Double-Dealing Character be the same if it was a choice-driven RPG; you could tell the same story, yes, but the whole point of being a choice-driven game is that it wouldn't be the only story being told, as it were. Ace Attorney wouldn't work as a side-scrolling platformer, you couldn't slot Resident Evil 7's plot into Devil May Cry's exact gameplay, and part of the problem with the plot of Sonic 2006 was that it was a Sonic the Hedgehog game instead of a fantasy RPG. They are, quite simply, inextricable.

[depizan]

I was thinking about the post I reblogged about the loss of the Alliance in SWTOR, and some of my other disappointments with how faction is handled in the game, and how faction based MMOs in general tend to get stuck in this kind of "eternal conflict" mode. (Not that factionless MMOs don't get stuck in their own kind of weird "eternal conflict" mode, too. Look at Guild Wars 2 and the growing list of things that have tried to destroy Tyria.)

But there are stories that lend themselves to a faction model, and SWTOR does have - or does begin with - one of those. It's just that with no prospect of whatever conflict divides the factions ever being resolved, you have a weird permanent stalemate situation, kind of. The Sith Empire will never win, because that would make Republic players unhappy. The Galactic Republic will never win, because that would make Empire players unhappy. No actual solution to the conflict can ever be found because then it would be game over. (Also, no real faction shifting because how would you code that?)

Except... maybe none of that is true. There are games that have faction shifting of a kind coded in. Think of all the minor factions in World of Warcraft, some opposed to one another, some just independent. Sure, those faction shifts are mostly achieved with some kind of grind, but it does prove that mutable factions are codeable.

This might even solve the problem of the Smuggler and the Bounty Hunter being tied to specific factions when that leads to some very odd story stuff, particularly outside of each class story. It suggests a way to handle factional grouping and third faction classes without making those factions "better" because all flashpoints are available to them.

Here is Mac's theoretical redesign of SWTOR with a different handling of factions and playing into the story focus that is the game's best quality.

Republic and Empire each get three classes, Smuggler and Bounty Hunter are Underworld (a third, neutral to the others faction). Since the galaxy is supposed to be under a peace treaty - the Treaty of Coruscant - you design the game with flexible faction tagging and lean in hard to the Cold War set up.

You have degrees of faction, just like those minor factions in WoW. I'm going to borrow the middle part of WoW's faction set up for this. Theirs runs Hated - Hostile - Unfriendly - Neutral - Friendly - Honored - Revered - Exalted. We just need the middle chunk, from Hostile to Friendly. Hostile is typical enemy mob: bar is red, it will attack you on sight. Unfriendly is an orange bar, but will not fight you unless you attack. Neutral is a yellow bar, again, will not fight you unless you attack. Friendly is typical allied mob: bar is green, etc.

Imperial players can go to Coruscant, and Republic players to Dromund Kaas, but everything is Unfriendly to them, they can't buy anything (except maybe at the spaceport?), and there are no quests available to them. Underworld players start out one tick up at Neutral and have a few merchants and quests available. Ones that it makes sense would be available to random people. (This is to balance out Underworld space starting at Neutral to Pubs and Imps.) And, obviously, Pub space starts out Friendly to Pubs and Imps space Friendly to Imps. (Though I would be slightly tempted to have Korriban be neutral to the Agent class because, as a non-Force-Sensitive you don't really belong there.)

(As you can see, we're basically using a game mechanic to underline the state of galaxy. We can also set things so that people can't go fuck things up for their fellow players by coding it so that if you just go attack people on the opposite faction capitol, you get blipped to hostile and squashed like a bug.)

Now, we write the game like there is actually a Cold War happening. This means missions for Imps and Pubs that send people into "enemy" space (not, to start with the capital or Force User planets, though) where they have to accomplish their missions without attracting the attention of the other faction. We can take advantage of instancing to allow for diplomatic incidents, like thinking "well, they can't report I'm here if they're dead," without triggering the anti-trolling splat mobs. This is also where we introduce some side quests that give people the opportunity to work on becoming to Neutral with the opposite faction.

Smugglers and Bounty Hunters are off doing Underworld stuff, with some options to take quests that benefit the Republic or the Empire. (Giving them the chance to work on becoming Friendly with one or both factions.)

All class stories get written so that there are several potential outcomes. We're going to use the Agent story as a model here, and basically set it up so that everyone has a story line that ends with them still loyal to the faction they began with, now Underworld/Unallied, or loyal to the opposite faction. This gets paired with the ability for characters to keep doing things to make the other faction like them better and you're setting up defections or the decision to go neutral with mechanics and story.

You use the Cold War setting to ramp up general tension. Have more missions like that one on Republic Hoth where you can work with some Imperials. Or the times where a Sith Warrior can use Republic soldiers to their advantage. So the whole base game has this good overlay of people wanting peace and people wanting to go back to war (on all sides!). This lets you really flesh out the factions, and the good and bad people in them. Have a more positive sort of Gray Morality going on.

As far as Flashpoints go, you re-write The Black Talon/Esseles for proper Cold War subtlety. I think we want to use the intro flashpoints to give people a better idea of the kind of proxy conflict stuff, where you might be fighting what appear to be a third party (like pirates), but you get info (of the non provable kind) that they're working for the Empire/Republic. And maybe come up with some kind of mechanic where party members can get special communications based on faction. Like, the main (everybody) cut scenes for the Esseles talk about it being pirates that are attacking them, but the Jedi/Trooper characters get a quick comm call that the pirates are probably working for the Empire and after a particular person.

For all the shared flashpoints, you tweak them so they are truly shared. One queue for everyone, we still need to work out exactly how we're getting the different factions their special flavor bits, but there's more of that here. And maybe a kind of saboteur mechanic for things like what to do with the missiles on Cademimu, so that they can still be launched at a fleet for a DS option, but it's not in-character obvious that someone did it.

We can still have some Empire and Republic specific flashpoints, which we might allow Underworld characters who are Friendly with the right faction to do. (Or maybe not if we're keeping the ones we have. They've got a bit of a secret mission vibe. Maybe we add a fun treasure hunt flashpoint for the Underworld folks.)

The end of the base game becomes the Cold War going hot because of Revan (and let's say it's not the Republic at large backing him, but a smaller group within the Republic that's okay with his plan). Now we get proper fall out from someone wanting to commit mass murder, we get a good climax, and we can shift from writing eight class stories to three-ish main stories with class and faction related flavor bits. You'd have those fighting for the Republic (ex-Empire characters could get good flavor bits about fighting their old allies and some suspicion from their new ones - a suspicion ex-Underworld characters would also get), for the Empire (again, joined members get some good flavor bits), or who are with the Underworld now.

First expansion is the war, maybe with some of what we used to have in Chapter Three going on. I'm also kind of tempted to weave in some actual foreshadowing for Zakuul here. I'm not keen on Space Voldemort or the time skip, but other parts of those expansions seem worth trying to save. But maybe we have the player characters working with Lana and Theron like in the Revan expansion, but it's about hints that there's something bad coming instead.

Next expansion, Zakuul attacks, things go super to shit, Lana, Theron, some people from Zakuul and the player character(s) form the Alliance. Oooh, wait, lets go ahead and keep the Vitiate/Valkorian thing, and have killing the Emperor be the end of the first expansion (because he wants to eat the galaxy - he's gone mad, but the Empire as a whole won't acknowlege it and are following him off a cliff, the Republic isn't seeing him and the Empire as separate, even evil characters live in the galaxy, etc). Now, Zakuul invades because when you kill Vitiate, Valkorian keels over. Whoops.

(Zakuul is the backup plan. If he can't destroy the galaxy as Vitiate, here comes the uber-Empire! You just managed to off him, but the uber-Empire gets fired at the known galaxy anyway.)

Now we have one story going, with different flavors depending on the characters relation to the three old factions. Kind of like we do in the existing game. And we avoid bumping the player character up to a ridiculous level of authority by making them part of the leadership of the Alliance instead of the leader. Keep them more in line with the base game power level.

Not quite sure where we go from here, but basically you have this kind of flowing faction thing going through the game that meshes well with the story.

I don't know. Mostly I wanted to work out how you could do something more interesting with faction.

[hollyhomburg]

Reasons Wretched and Divine

(Hybrid! Namjoon x Reader) (Eventual Polyamory) 

Summary: You live on an isolated but sprawling farm with your abusive husband, but things start to change for the better when your husband adopts a retired police dog hybrid named Namjoon. 

Warnings: Domestic abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of police brutality, yearning, implied coercive sex (ie- rape, but nothing is explicitly written), Premeditated murder, Namjoon is mad protective, mentions of scars.  W/c: 4.0k Song rec: Cherry wine by Hozier  A/N: The pre-part of this story is super dark, but keep in mind, it does get a lot better really quick after this chapter, eventually and definitely more soft! don’t know how many parts/how long it will be either so it might end suddenly! Also: this series does not depict the police or the military in a positive light.

- Hybrids have been replacing K-9 units in the police force for the better part of the last 50 years. Generally, they have the same capabilities as old-fashioned police dogs but hybrids can communicate better than animals and are therefore more useful. Namjoon is apart of the general unit, used for patrolling most of the time, and for his specialtys- bomb-sniffing and human remain identification- when it’s needed. 

- Most police hybrids are retired after 10 or 20 years but are given the option to leave every 5. Though few police hybrids ever go back into the general population of hybrids or adopted by familys. Instead, most are sent to rehabilitation facilities or long term care facilities.

- Namjoon has only been working for 7 years when he is forcibly retired, or fired for lack of a better word. The official paperwork states that it was because of a ‘failure to follow orders in a potentially life threating situation’ but that’s just unture. It was over so quick, his commanding officer ordering him to beat up a drug dealer that Namjoon had positively id’d, the man who was already in handcuffs. The dealer had refused to tell them who the higher-ups wherein a drug-dealing ring and had mouthed off.

- But he hadn’t done anything wrong- anything illegal, wasn’t struggling or trying to get free- and Namjoon had refused with clenched fists, confused as to why his commanding officer was ordering him to ‘make him talk’. 

- The next thing Namjoon knew he was the one being put into handcuffs. But what was more moral, Namjoon’s refusal? Or to beat a cuffed man for backtalk? or did the law, what Namjoon’s life was build around, have nothing to do with morality? 

- Namjoon was lucky really, after so many years in the force, to be deemed still adoptable and not a danger to society, Other hybrids weren’t as lucky. He knows his special treatment has something to do with his old partner who had been promoted to police chief a few years ago, who had a soft spot for Namjoon and didn’t want to see Namjoon go to one of the long term care facilities Upstate or even put down like the few hybrids that go feral sometimes are. 

- The man was never really Namjoon’s father, or a parent by any standard of the word. Like other police hybrids, he’d been trained to be in the force from the time he was too young to really remember any parental figures. But there had been some good moments, some pleasant memories made with his old partner. 

- When 16-year-old Namjoon had graduated from the hybrid training academy and had suddenly been thrown into the real world. A box of donuts shared in the front seat of a police car, the older man reaching down to tighten the straps on Namjoon’s too large bulletproof vest. A single pet, rough hands combing through his brown hair when he’d done a good job- like that time he’d ID a bomber from just the residue on his hands.  

- They haven’t seen each other in years at this point, but he does meet with Namjoon right before his auction, ask him how he’s doing- if there’s anything he needs. And a goodbye where he tells Namjoon- that if there’s every anything he needs in his new life he can call. 

- His old partner is the closest thing to a parental figure that Namjoon’s ever had and Maybe at another time, he would feel bad or sorry for himself for being denied something that most others have. But Namjoon knew he was lucky to have this chance, even if he felt more like a piece of cattle than a person as he was auctioned off with old police cars and ambulances at one of the quarterly auctions the city holds for all municipal property that is no longer up to government standards.    

- And apparently, having a strong sense of justice regardless of orders and thinking for himself makes Namjoon below those standards too. 

- Namjoon is a Doberman pinscher mix hybrid, is all nasty and scarred across his face and a particularly nasty one on his lower lip from a car bomb explosion a few years ago. He’s surprised he’s bid on at all with how shabby and aggressive he looks, but he goes to the man in the back of the room who hides his face with a baseball cap and pays a full 7,000 dollars for Namjoon and he counts himself lucky. 

- On the drive to his new home, the man outlines why he’s purchased Namjoon. The man is a rich ex-colonel with a new wife, even newer property that needs attending too, the farm too large for him to look after on his own. He’s quick to assert that Namjoon will not be a house pet- which is fine. 

- And after so many years being on the front lines of the worst of the police force, He’s really touchy. He will growl if anyone he doesn’t trust comes too near.  Namjoon knows he wouldn’t be a good one anyway but at least he won’t be so idle in his new life.

- You live in a nice and orderly farmhouse, the surrounding land barren mostly, accepts for the grass the endless stretches of pristine lawn. It’s a 2 hour drive  outside of the city that Namjoon grew up in, and an hour away from the coast. 

- The house is ancient, almost too large to be called a farmhouse with a wrap-around porch and more than a few creaky floorboards but the updated and impeccably maintained insides fortel money like Namjoon’s only seen during drug busts. The land sprawling but somehow fallow seeming with refurbished barns turned garages and workshops rimming the edge of the property. The cedar shingles of the barns ocher fading grey and sticking out against the green.

- The property is Rimmed by a few dozen acres of untamed and uncleared forest. The tall oak tree and The small garden next to your house the only thing at all colorful. But the garden almost seems stifled Not a leaf out of place, or a plant that seems anything less than perfect and contained separate from the others. 

- The first thing that stings his nose when he walks in and puts his bag down in the entryway is the stinging stench of bleach and something else that he can’t identify. It was like that with most hybrids, after a little while when they got accustomed to the scent of their owners- they would be able to sense their emotions if they were sick. In a few weeks, he’ll probably be able to identify the peculiar scent better, but for now, it’s source remains a misery to him.  

- The house seems idyllic to Namjoon, almost too perfect and quiet, pretty area rugs and dark hardwood floors, white walls with photos in black picture frames. His owner gives him a second to set his stuff down before he joins the two of you for dinner. His bedroom is down the hall from the master bedroom on the second floor and it might not be anything special, but the light beige walls are calming. The window has a nice view of of the same hill they drove up. 

-  His new room is so different from his small bunk at the police station where he used to live, not an inch of grey concrete insight. The rot iron bed frame and linen curtains achingly homey. Namjoon is so happy he scents to linen curtains before he goes downstairs. He dosesn’t even really know why he does it, just that his instincts are making him want the whole room to smell like him.

• On the ground floor, there is not a hair or corner out of place in the kitchen. It’s nothing that you wouldn’t expect from a military man, and neither are you, beautiful and soft and quiet more demure than anything else.  You’ve made a full course meal to welcome Namjoon to your home, the evidence of your hard work in the few baby hairs that have come untucked from your smooth bun, your hair tightly pinned behind your head. 

- You turn from where you work over a casserole to the sound of Namjoon’s footsteps, your husband nursing a beer in the corner observing you and Namjoon with a keen eye. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” you say to Namjoon, not offering your hand in introduction yet or meeting his eyes. Your hands covered in flower that you dust against your plane canvas apron with yellow flowers along the hem.  

- You match the house- you’re perfectly delicate and domestic too, your leggings and tunic top pristine and white. Your makeup minimal but done well. He barely remembers his politeness, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home Miss Y/n.” your soft and shy nod in response, almost makes his tail wag. and he begins to hope that maybe, this new life won’t be so bad. At least compared to the last when his life was in danger nearly every day.

- “Would you mind taking these dishes to the dining room?” Namjoon nods, takes the salad, while he’s gone he misses that you turn to look to your husband for approval, and Namjoon misses his nod and the tick of his hands against the beer glass that makes you flinch. 

- Maybe if Namjoon had been on the track for the detective branch he would have realized what was wrong, but at first, Namjoon doesn’t notice anything strange about his new owners. Maybe it was a little weird how your husband seemed to order him around, but to be fair Namjoon had known a bunch of ex-military men- and he wasn’t expecting anything less than a stalwart will. 

- Namjoon is used to taking orders- he’s surprised at how little his life really changes when it comes to what he used to deal with at the police station and here. 

- During the first few days, your husband has him working to help upkeep the farm, one of the barns rust red and lifting heavy things, and in general, helping with the many chores that need to be done around the farm. It’s more of a passion project really since your husband is retired from the military and only occasionally goes into town to help with the VA.

-  Namjoon’s thankful that he hadn’t really been adopted to be a house pet since affections been foreign to him for so long. Namjoon’s not sure he’d know how to be a regular hybrid if he tried. 

- And of course, Namjoon is a little on edge constantly. The first time you try to reach out and pet him is a few days after he gets there, your husband isn’t home and you’d asked for Namjoon’s help getting the heavy crockpot down from the upper shelf. He senses the heat from your hand near his arm and he snaps, growling low and menacing. 

- You back away slowly, keeping your hands where he can see them, apologizing and looking like you’re near tears. dropping your shoulders and holding your hands out in front of your face like you think Namjoon is going to hit you. 

- But you also look so so sad, Namjoon realizes with a shock, and you smell terrified. You don’t try again to befriend him again, to give him any sort of affection, Keeping your distance after the growl. Something aching in your expression that puzzles him, something desolate, lonely and wanting whenever you look at him. 

- But what could a woman like you, who didn’t work and lived in what was basically a small mansion have to be sad about? What could someone who had everything want?  

- As Namjoon comes to know, you have quite a bit to be sad about.

- What’s more is that later, Namjoon is worried- worried you’re going to tell your husband what Namjoon did- growling at his owner’s wife would surely warrant being sent to the pound or being abandoned. But you say nothing, eating in silence only pausing with your meal to ask your husband what kind of work needs to be done at the VA this week. 

- “Trying to get me out of the house y/n?” he asks, gaze darkening. the smile you send his way is strained, bottom lip trembling, making Namjoon’s ears flick at how dissonant it all feels. “not at all dear, just wanted to know if I should make lunch for you tomorrow or if you’ll be getting something from the diner in town” 

- You’d think after so many years dealing with criminals he would have noticed sooner. He’s ashamed of it, but at first, he doesn’t catch how your husband grips your wrist hard enough to bruise when the peas have gotten cold while you tended to the salmon one night at dinner. He’s too busy scarfing down the rich food, so much tastier than the simple meals he’d grown up accustomed too. 

- He draws his first conclusions when he sees the bruises. Your husband chiding when Namjoon asks about some nasty ones on your palms (your husband had pushed you when you where in the driveway earlier after you’d almost opened the door into one of his other expensive cars) “She’s always just so clumsy.” your husband justifies. 

- When Namjoon makes a comment on a particularly bad one your arm, (you’d moved away from him in your bedroom and your husband had dragged you close) And then another appears in the shape of fingerprints on both of your wrists (another bedroom casualty). And then on a day when your husband leaves early for the VA and Namjoon wakes up and comes to see why you haven’t come downstairs yet he sees your black eye before you can dab makeup around it or turn your face down to hide it. 

- You and Namjoon aren’t friends, you don’t even talk to each other much really after the growl beyond you asking him occasionally to lift something you can’t or reach something from a tall shelf- but he can’t ignore what he sees, can’t deny that he knows and wants to help. When he sees your black eye, he growls and asks you his first real question, “that’s from him, isn’t it?” 

-  Namjoon had been trained for years in the law, and he knows domestic abuse when he sees it. Knows what comes from it from years of studying law books. how the victims often feel trapped, often grow depended and can’t escape. The acrid smell he noticed when he came to say making sense- it’s just fear. painting the walls and the floorboards of your house, every inch of it.  

- When you see him staring in the mirror, you nodd and continue to blend the makeup around your eye, without saying a word to Namjoon. 

- The day that Namjoon hears you scream, his heart drops into his stomach and he runs to you.  He finds your husband holding you up by your hair screaming about how he’d found an app downloaded on your phone that shouldn’t have been. 

- “You fucking unfaithful slut! What are you trying going to do find another man to take in your worthless ass on Instagram? I put up with so much from you! Your fucking sloppiness- mucking up my house with all your shit- I don’t even know why I try to help you anymore when it’s obvious don’t fucking know how to be fucking faithfull- you never had someone to teach you how to love and now i’m the one who has to teach you this bullshit” your husband sees namjoon at the door, “Why don’t you ask him Y/n. Namjoon tell me, can you teach an old bitch new tricks?” 

- Namjoon is quick to put himself in between the two of you, catching your husband’s wrist before he hits you again (one of your cheeks is already red) but it’s the wrong move. Namjoon is taller than your husband, but he does probably have a little more muscle on him than Namjoon does. 

- Your husband is even nastier and brutal than he usually is. And Namjoon knows he can’t hit back. When Namjoon falls to his floor, keeping his body in between yours and your husbands shielding you his head is spinning and his lip is aching and split, your husband growls back that if he does fight back again- Namjoon will have earned himself a one-way ticket to hell. 

- After all who wouldn’t believe that a retired police hybrid would break one day and snap back to his most basic instincts? The way your husband spun the story, Namjoon believes that he really would. 

- Late at night sometimes he takes out one of his guns and polishes it in front of Namjoon looking at him with a glint of mad anger in his eyes. Namjoon knows if he tries to stop him, and tries to tell someone about what your husband does, he will get hurt and you will too. 

- And then he’d be leaving you to the mercy of your husband, and that just won’t do. You where just someone who needed help like the countless people he’s saved over the years, and you’d be alone to be in pain just like you had in the beginning. 

- Such shame fills him for not noticing sooner, even as you dab at some blood on Namjoon’s cheek with a wet cloth after the first time he intervenes. until that point, you haven’t said much to him or tried to touch him beyond that first day when he growled at you.  He catches your wrist gently another bruise already forming there, and you hiss lowly at him and rip it from his grasp. 

- Casting an anxious look in the direction of where your husband disappeared, you can still hear the thrum of the shower though and know your words will be disguised by the hum of the water. “You can’t Namjoon- you can’t touch me, that will only make him angrier- please, please don’t get yourself hurt for me.”

- But Namjoon is terrible at following orders. He feels rage well up inside of him because you’re just trying to help him, even though you’re in need of help yourself. You’re an innocent like the ones he used to protect and there is no one here to do that for you. 

-  Your husband is a criminal and Namjoon has always had a strong sense of justice. So Namjoon will do his best to protect you- and divert your husband’s attention whenever possible, and help you as he can. 

- So Namjoon can do nothing but watch, try to mitigate and try to help. there are days when Namjoon says that he was the one who knocked a picture frame off the wall when Namjoon makes a mistake to distract from one that you make, creating distractions. 

- After that, things change, Namjoon is just another person that your husband can exert his need for control over. Smacks Namjoons hand with the end of a dowl when he drops a box of nails, purposefully slamming the door shut on Namjoon’s tail. Namjoon can take it, he’s no stranger to pain or brutal overworking. But still- Namjoon tries to keep him out of the house as much as possible, keeps him away from you when he can. 

- It’s hard, there are many more nights where he fails rather than succeeds. But on the nights where he manages to keep you safe until your husband falls asleep, make a sour kind of accomplishment take root in his chest. He stares up at the ceiling in his room, lying on top of the covers in his bed, turning over the day’s events,  when he hears a noise, your quiet footsteps in the hallway. 

- Namjoon moves slowly so as to not cause a creek, but he opens the door to find you there waiting outside, in the gray light of the moon streaming through the window at the end of the hallway. 

- You are drowned in shades of black and white, like some old photograph as you look up at Namjoon, reaching forward again to touch him. It’s been so long since you’ve felt any tender touch unmarred by pain or fear. The words of your husband weigh on your heart like a shackle. “You don’t know how to love.” when you look at Namjoon you think that maybe- maybe if things where different- you could learn. You’ve never known much about hybrids other than they where made to be loved. 

- As you reach your hand forward slowly Namjoon doesn’t growl like the first time. The first time your hand touches his cheek, it feels like something good falls into place. He lets your hand rest there and leans into the touch, just as hungry for something good and soft as you are. It’s the first time he’s been touched with so much softness, and already it feels so good that it makes emotions he’s never had well up in his throat and choke off any noise he might make. 

- He makes the choice to pull you closer to him. You are so so small that he can barely lean his elbows on your shoulders even as you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head in his chest. Namjoon’s tail starts to wag and hits up against the doorframe, you both freeze, and he catches it before it makes any more noise. Both of you listen with bated breath. Down the hall, your husband gives a particularly loud snore but stays asleep. 

- It’s only that, only a hug before You part from him holding his gaze before you slink back to your room careful to avoid the floorboards that creak. Knowing he’ll wake up if your warmth in his bed is gone for long or if there are any particularly harsh noises. 

- It starts to become an everyday sort of thing, every night after your husband has gone to bed you meet Namjoon in the hallway. Sometimes you stay longer in his arms, sometimes you need too, and sometimes you shake and quiver like a leaf in a storm and Namjoon can do nothing but hold you and try to keep you steady. 

- Sometimes it’s worse, sometimes you come into the hallway moving slower and shadowed, your hips stiff and his smell all over you. And Namjoon will nuzzle into the hickeys on your neck left by him and growl lowly at them. And you’ll be still in his arms quieting him by running your fingers over the back of his neck and through his hair if you’re brave enough. 

- Namjoon wonders how something so sweet got trapped in a place so bad, how you ended up with a man like him. On one of the rare days your husband has work down in the VA, he asks you. You’ve started to talk more, but only when your husband is out of the house. Sometimes you stand close by the counter and enjoy a simple thing like a cup of coffee togeater. 

- You have rare good days, where there isn’t much to do besides sit on the couch or play a game of cards in the kitchen. Or other times, more tender things, though It feels so vulnerable and intimate to hug you in your kitchen, in broad daylight no less and not be enswathed in the safe cocoon of darkness. Namjoon is careful to watch the window over your shoulder waiting for the moment when your husband comes home and you have to separate. 

- But he hugs you in your kitchen, light streaming through. Running his hands over your shoulders and feeling them deflate more every moment. He asks you why you loved him at one point enough to marry him. “He wasn’t bad at first- the opposite, he made me feel special and like I belonged somewhere, but then after we got married he started to change and-“ your voice breaks off. Namjoon brushes away your tears with his thumbs. 

- The day your husband adds to the scars on Namjoon’s face is the first day your lips touch his skin. 

- You have some Vaseline and some skin-safe glue to patch up the gash in his cheekbone just under his lower eye (the mark of a thrown glass after Namjoon had knocked over a lamp in the living room) it could probably use stitches, but it’s the best that he can do. You have a cut on your finger too from picking up that glass, and Namjoon kisses it first, lips pressed to them gently before you wrap them with bandaids. 

- Tomorrow, you’ll patch it up a little better, but for now, you meet in the hallway and your lips brush over the base of it, not close enough to irritate it. and namjoon makes a noise in the back of his throat in suprise. Even though the action is tender. He can see your hurt by him, you shake with silent sobs by this, by everything that’s happened, and it doesn’t feel like he can bear it anymore. 

- He’d never thought of himself as a killer, but now he thinks he understands why someone would. To keep you safe, Namjoon would kill your husband. Namjoon will he realizes- to free you of this pain. Namjoon has never hated another living thing more than he hates your husband. And namjoon has come to the conclusion that the world would be a better place if he where dead- call it a crisis of faith in the law but sometimes- the law just can’t get things done. so namjoon will take it into his own hands. 

- That night, Namjoon dreams that you falling asleep on his chest, small and happy, smiling in your sleep, he dreams of waking up with you in his arms just once. And in that dream world Namjoon gets to run his fingers through your hair and watch over you to make sure you’re safe. And when he wakes, he finds you with a fresh black eye and knows that one day, one day soon he’s going to get you out of here, even if it means Namjoon doesn’t.  

• Namjoon keeps his anger and his evil intentions a secret; even from himself at times. He thinks about the small river by your house, drowning your husband and holding him under the water. Or the lift in the fancy barn that was used for your husband’s expensive car collection, the button that releases the hydraulics so close and itching to be pressed anytime he goes under them. 

- Namjoon wonders how he’s going to do it, with Namjoon’s hands around his throat or a well-placed shovel to the back of his head or even, or if he can find the passcode- one of the guns in the gun safe. Quick and easy, buried in the backyard or dissolved in acid.

-  Namjoon has been in on enough homicide cases, he knows how hard it is to get away with murder, but he loves you enough to try- even if he knows it’s futile. It will take a fair bit of planning, and Namjoon starts the painstaking process.

- But then one morning, when your husband leaves early without any explanation, Namjoon walks into your bathroom to find you hurling your guts out into the toilet, and a pregnancy test sitting on the counter and feels horror spark in his stomach. 

- You’re pregnant, and that changes everything. 

PART 2

[theladyofspaceandtime]

Character Sheet -  Katherine of Knighton

NOTE: I’m sharing my character sheet for Katherine that I use as a guide when writing out my fanfiction, The Trials and Tribulations of Love. I’m doing this for my blog of the story: @katherineofknighton, and as a ‘character description.’ 

It is missing some spoilers & details from future chapters (which I will add in later once they are revealed), so this info is just a general basis, following up to Chapter 27 of the story. 

BASICS:

Name: Katherine of Knighton

Nicknames/Titles: Lady of Knighton, Lady of Gisborne, Kat

Gender: Female

Birthdate: June 23rd, 1170

Species: Human 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Brown

Notable Physical Traits:

FaceClaim: Charlotte Riley

PERSONALITY:

Personality Type: ESFJ - The Consul

Zodiac: Cancer

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

Soul Type: The Scholar

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Temperament: Sanguine

Positive Traits: Generous, Understanding, Empathetic, Creative, Responsible

Negative Traits: Stubborn, Possessive, Emotional, Mischievous, Insecure

Likes: Reading, Learning new languages and things, helping others, Guy of Gisborne, Nature

Dislikes: Robin (at times), The Sheriff, Inactivity, Being Alone 

Character Tropes: Beware the Nice Ones, Brainy Brunette, Hidden Badass, Determinator, Successful Sibling Syndrome, Dating What Daddy Hates, Cool Big Sis, Red String of Fate

BACKGROUND

Occupation: Lady of Knighton, Lady of Gisborne

Birthplace: Knighton Hall, Nottinghamshire, England

Languages: English, Latin, French and Arabic (spoken language only- still a beginner at it)

RELATIONSHIPS

Parents: Kate of Knighton (Mother, deceased) & Edward of Knighton (Father, deceased)

Siblings: Marian of Knighton (Younger Sister)

Other relatives: Robin Hood (Brother-In-Law)

Significant Other: Guy of Gisborne 

SKILLS/ABILITIES

Language Proficiency: Thanks to Katherine’s love for learning, she has learned 4 languages and uses this skill to help with social and political powers. 

Basic Combat and Defense  Edward had his daughters taught to fight. While Marian takes more advantage of this ability, Katherine prefers to keep this skill of her’s hidden and will only use it when necessary. 

Empathy: Katherine is a highly empathetic person and uses this trait to understand the world from another person’s view to help others with their emotions, concerns, or struggles. 

Strategic Thinking: Thanks to her scholar like mind, Katherine is always trying to think one step ahead, analyzing her surroundings to solve any problems that come before her. 

BIOGRAPHY

Katherine is the eldest daughter of Sir Edward and Lady Kate of Knighton. She is the older sister to Marian. When the girls were little, their mother set up future betrothals for them: Marian was promised to Robin of Locksley and Katherine was promised to Guy of Gisborne. 

However, when the two boys parents are killed in a fire and the Gisborne siblings are exiled, things change. Not long after, Kate passes away from the grief over losing her friends and Edward soon after calls off Katherine’s future engagement to Guy since he was exiled.

Katherine and Marian grow up being childhood friends with Robin before moving into Nottingham Castle as teenagers once Edward takes up the mantle as Sheriff of Nottingham. Things start to shake in their lives once it’s revealed that Marian is betrothed to Robin, as Marian isn’t sure how to feel about this, but Katherine begins to watch the two of them fall in love. Despite being happy to see her friend and sister together, a weight of responsibility and expectations as the older sibling begins to fall heavily on Katherine, causing her to feel separated and lonely from them, longing for a love like their’s someday. With all these doubts and insecurities starting to eat away at her as Marian and Robin spend more time together, Katherine begins to bury herself in reading and learning, even offering to help teach Much to read as she helps around the castle in anyway she can. Eventually feeling she needs to go her own way, Katherine plans to leave the castle to become a nun, but it stopped when Marian comes breaking down to her over the news that Robin has left for the crusades. She decides to stay by her sister and father’s side, knowing she is needed now more than ever. 

5 years later, Edward lost his position to the current Sheriff of Nottingham, Vaisey and Robin and Much finally return back to home, walking into a different Nottingham than the one they left from. While Marian and Katherine aren’t happy to see him at first, their lives are forever changed with his return, as is Nottingham’s. 

And while she least expected it, Katherine ends up finding herself in the attentions of none other the current sheriff’s lieutenant, Guy of Gisborne, with either having no clue about their past betrothal to one another.

The story only continues from here.

A03

Wattpad

FanficNet

[thedailyvio]

Every now and then I feel bad for giving 0 context for anything, so gonna quickly summarize my story stuff under the cut

The Traveler’s Found (TTF)

Skye, Gill, Marth, Kydin, Leo, Kira, Krieg, Heiwa, Narcissa, Sebastian, Vadim, Bahemek, Xenon, etc

TTF is hard to summarize because it has 10 story arcs and they all lead into the other, but the plot begins with ‘A wizard terrorist attacks the king of Hou’lu sending two girls on a quest to stop him’ which sounds so simple doesn’t it -sobs-

 Very adventure, political intrigue, slice of life elements

They basically travel all over the world, and I’ll quickly summarize what that’s like by listing each countries major influences

Hou’lu: Italian Renaissance, China

Sunobor: Medieval Germany, Japan, Inuit

Haldon: Folk Mexican, Folk Italian

Lavynna; Byzantine, some inspo from India to structure of things?

Gehinna: Ancient Hebrew

Parappa: Egypt-Germany

North Desert: Russia-Arabic

Harpies (more a tribe): Maasai

TTF of them all gets the most complicated but very incrementally, so it’s the hardest to express much on. But they get a cool hard magic system based on 10 elements so

Also TTF dragons are sentient, intelligent, and morally complex

—

The Miyoré Schism

A prequel to ttf by about 900 years

Faolan, Mien, Enlai, whatever I name the girl, Jiao

The plot here is a bit simpler

What happens when the one who pulls the blade only those Chosen by God can touch is among the race of people thought to be destined to serve?

This focuses largely on the Sha’li of East Hou’lu. As a race they have very distinct white hair, pale skin, and red eyes. At this time in history, monster taming was very common as well, so most the characters have a family or personal monster. Sha’li also have an ability to become “invisible” but in actuality they are lowering their ‘presence’ or ‘noticibility’ to all non-Sha’li

This story draws largely from Tibet for its aesthetics

—

Kingdoms

Ariella, James, Charles, Kiba

I have uprooted a lot about this story and not yet relayed it, but so far

A girl who wanted to become a soldier but was refused strikes out on adventure to do what she can for her country on her own- but to her chagrin gets a tag along

This story likely will have a soft magic system, and is definitely still based on Victorian and Japanese aesthetics. It’s actually a specific era of Japanese history but I can’t remember which. Possibly 16th c?

Despite this, it’s a low tech world.

Most fantasy type creatures/races do show up in Kingdoms, unlike my other stories

Dragons exist in Kingdoms but are universally evil and nobody has ever killed one

—

Magic and Cannons (MnC)

A wip name still

Cusick, Agathe, Romana, Kordell, Levi, Maureen, Ames, Sung-jin

I’m still figuring put the plot to this honestly, but the first bit is definitely

‘A narcissistic man is captured as a PoW and must find a way to escape’

There’s just three countries of any importance to this world, and it’s much less whimsical in nature than the others, being closer to reality in some ways, and having a lot more tech. Though it vibes as subtly cartoony in how characters have slightly exaggerated aspects to their personalities and behaviors.

Delemar is the country Cusick is from and is based on Wild West in many ways, they’re a very independent people which can be good and bad, they also give no hecks about safety and are pretty wild in general

Choson is where Romana is from and they are much more interested in normalcy and order, which can be both good and bad. They prefer reptiles and fish as pets to mammals actually, which feels important to mention. If you know much about history, I suppose it’s clear they draw a lot from Korea for aesthetics.

Choson is also a very mixed population in terms of race, which Delemar is very much not.

Kievan is where Agathe hails from and is based on Russia. In each case I tried sticking to 1850s-1900s ish for my influences of these countries, though socially they are very diff.

Kievan has an affinity for wine and is the only country that appreciates using electricity for power. They have harsh winters, especially compared to the other two countries which tend to be more tropical in climates. Kievan is less developed so far, but they tend towards legalism there, and while that can be bad, they are also the one not involved in a pointless war, so

MnC is what I call glasspunk, Delemar and Choson rely on ‘reactions’ for their energy sources, which I can only explain as ‘you know how if you mix two volatile liquids, they could explode? They harness the energy from such things’

This is possible because their magic system is a type of alchemy which has allowed them a lot of reactions not available to us, and with this they’ve been able to get treated glass which is nearly indestructible, great for containing anything they need.

Magic is still something within the individual, but in MnC the extent of what it does is change the properties of whatever you’re touching with your hands. If you specialize in using this and inventing things based off of things with changed properties, you’re called a mage.

MnC has a lot of strange tech this way, including trains, vehicles, customizeable guns, staves that through weird tech stuff can have sort of elemental effects, etc.

Electricity is not compatible with reactions btw, because it can cause them to explode outside of when they’re meant to, kinda like smoking by a bunch of canisters of gasoline, it might be a lil risky. So societies that use reactions do not use electricity and have things in place to get rid of it, and societies that use electricity don’t use reactions. Combining them can get cool tech, but is inherently risky.

oh whoops I went off there, huh. Oh well it’s not seen as often as the other types of societies/magics I listed so

Dragons in MnC are animals (technically wyverns?) and have been domesticated to be work animals. No fire breath but they do have a strong venom, I think a neurotoxin type?? And the insides of their mouths are orange 👀 oh and the domesticated ones are reflective like mirrors ish

—

Children of the Little Mine (CotLM)

Geno

This is the only one I plan to make a novel, because it’s set in 1950′s-1960′s New York City and I don’t care about those aesthetics at all

I don’t have it planned out very far for plot, but basically a gremlin thief boy of 17 has a strange ability to manipulate how gravity effects him, and seemingly nobody else in the world has this. But one day during a break and entering situation, Geno finds another boy with an ability, and from there they decide to try sticking together a bit to figure out why, and maybe put together a heist against a mafia boss in the mean time (two stealy boys)

This is very close to being historical fiction aside from abilities, which are /extremely/ rare in this world. I’m very inspired by Artemis Fowl and A Separate Peace for tone, and plan to have middleschool boys as my target audience. Though I love fantasy and such, this one’s still a bit close to my heart anyways

Anyways literally nobody asked for this I just do this to myself. I seriously wanna start practicing comic making skills, but I can’t do that too much for a daily thing when I can usually put in an hour at best. I’m trying to find a sweet spot for it all, but it may yet be awhile before I can post literally anything that sheds light on who the heck any of the chars I post are.

I want to though, and I’ve been running this blog for years now, so best to assume it’ll get there someday. I have still written a lot and planned out things, so progress still happens behind the scenes. Aside from the last few months but that’s not uncommon for this time of year. If you actually read this, thanks euchjsd I don’t think many will, but having it here makes me feel a bit better

[glitchlight]

castlevania s4 thoughts

this is basically a live tweet thread but I didn’t live tweet it because a) spoilers for something fairly fresh and b) [ASSHOLE]’s name is all over this, as he was apparently fired after his role had wrapped up anyways.

the tl;dr for s4 and the whole of the series imo is “Incompetent Writing Well Executed” because there are frankly juvenile editing and pacing mistakes everywhere but the animation, voicework, and design are often exceptional.

i also think it’s constructive for creators to develop a strong editorial eye and to be able to see what the flaws in other works are, and what works well, a lot of my thoughts are specifically tied into that, and also criticism since I basically watched it because I have friends modestly interested in finishing it but not wanting to touch it because of [ASSHOLE]. this contains modest spoilers but a lot of the later plot details i refer to only obliquely.

-boy it doesn't feel great seeing [ASSHOLE]'s name as the first name on the title card. I get giving people their due in writing but you could've had a slighly longer title card to elevate the people who worked on it aside from [ASSHOLE] so we can celebrate them. -you could teach the first half of the first ep as what not to do in setting up plot threads it's that blatantly obvious -lenore and hector are basically different characters from s3 because [ASSHOLE] needed to introduce more intrigue to Carmilla's court. -Women need trauma to be villains hack shit. -must we introduce a morally grey androgynous woman of color badass who doesn't care about the deaths of her allies -fly demon becomes a character just cause people liked his scene lol hack shit -isaac remains easily the best and most interesting character in the series (aside from the problematic elements of his character) -fantasy "i'm blocking your number" scene is funny -Vampire Lady Hot -THEY GENDER FLIPPED GRANT??? -boy the animation budget for episode 4 got slashed for no reason?? it looks way worse than the preceding material. -cool st. germain's back and the girl he's into is literally a voiceless random badass-- the fourth such one this season? [ASSHOLE] is a hack but come the fuck on. - I personally liked the implications St. Germain was from a different physical reality than ours or at least a different timeline (such as with the triangular notebook, which I know was a real thing but serves a different purpose as shorthand in a series when it passes without mention like that) but him being from europe still is boring. - the library dimension is fun but would be less jarring if it weren't so visibly 3D in a series that ostensibly aims to be 2D - Yet Another Nameless WoC Morally Grey Badass Facilitating White Male Plot huh. - I get that we're doing a "St. Germain is of the same as Dracula" plot here and that "in service of love people do terrible things" but it's undercut by how much I hate St. Germain as a character and don't give a shit about him. - also, furthermore, i just straight up hate narratives that have to tell you a villain's motivations in detail by giving them perspective. it's hack shit.   - the infinite corridor is a weird plot element that doesn't really add anything to this story beyond a fabled otherworld and some cool aesthetics. -god lenore you interupted hector last season saying "the real people are talking" and now you care about him?? [ASSHOLE] is an idiot. - this entire series of fights is rendered toothless by remembering alucard can literally control his sword with his mind and is just holding it for plot convienence. - this scene of sypha and trevor both, separately, doing what they do best is a good scene. i've been critical of a lot but this is a good scene. - we're triggering the endgame now? like right now? Carmilla's been in one scene. Like I know the prior seasons have been criticized for being too much set up but this is literally set up into climax already?? - well here's where the money from episode 4 went. - You spent all that time in season 3 setting up the sisterhood and then didn't make them the villains of season 4 huh. Fuck off. That's so fucking stupid. - AND HECTOR AND ISAAC?? YOU HAVE FOUR MORE EPISODES YOU ABSOLUTE CLOWN - I am Russian I am Soldier - Soldier boy having the same rant as carmilla we get it vampires are bad -stock-child-laughing-soundeffect.mp3 - "Of course I'm insane!" "The fuck what now?" is actually a kind of fun line. - [ASSHOLE]'s writing style isn't so much a puzzle box plot, one of many moving parts intricately sliding together, so much as heaps of mud being flung at the page from a half dozen different hands. It all sticks together but it does so messily and only with great violence. - this is just a kaiju -Where did this second vampire army even come from, who the fuck is Dorgon or whatever? Was this written for Carmilla's army then got changed because that would make way more sense than this rando -Boy I'm not comfortable with this slur being thrown around even if it's usage is complicated. -the inversion of the invasion in dracula's castle hall is a nice touch. - they did the op as fight music thing. - ah damn this guy has the same fight gimmick as a character i was gonna do dope though - Sypha continues to have the best fight scenes which makes up for her not having a character arc this season in [ASSHOLE]'s eyes. - That plot twist is okay I guess but it's very funny that he talks like that. And says Fucked Up. - I can't believe that after one of the biggest critiques of season 2 was that there were a bunch of vampire fights with nameless voiceless vampires who don't matter and you don't care about, it ends the exact same way. at least the fights are weirder and better than the kind of lifeless scene in S2. - This trope is so common but still works. - This ending is, par for the course in this adaptation of Castlevania, rather anti-climactic - You had to make the shoutout, and i bet you felt so clever [ASSHOLE] - Is that finale worth it in the end. like hell yeah good animation but fuckin didn’t make a lick of sense. - that bit of cleaning up got me to cry but only because i'm a tender-hearted idiot. - this ending is far too tidy (Hack shit) and the sequel hook is bullshit dumbfuckery. - FEET

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #19- Ambulon and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

We got a major reveal at the end of last issue, and now it’s time to put the rest of the pieces together so we can finally understand the mystery that is the Ultra Magnus situation.

So back when Magnus’ seemingly lifeless body stole a shuttle, fucked off into space and landed on the moon, Tyrest was there to greet him.

And by “greet him”, I mean punch through the windshield and carry him bridal style, as if he weighed no more than a baby bird, into his moon base.

Pharma did his thing with his crazy new hands, Magnus was saved, and he woke up shortly after his lifesaving operation. Then Tyrest punched Magnus in the face, because fuck the healing process. He’s an engineer, not a doctor, he doesn’t deal with the SOUL and FEELINGS or anything like that.

In the here and now, Rodimus is still trying to comprehend the fact that his SIC isn’t dead, and is also actually another, much smaller guy with a mustache. Minimus Ambus attempts to explain just what the hell is going on, and we get back to our flashback.

After some good old-fashioned face violence, Tyrest showed Magnus around the place, specifically the terminal he’d set up for his on-the-fly, real-time law amending. With how many war crimes the Cybertronian race has committed in the last several million years, I’m sure it was needed.

Dang, wonder who pissed off Big Brother.

Magnus is more concerned about how it is exactly he isn’t dead right now, and also why his boss looks like a swiss cheese party platter.

Turns out that Tyrest isn’t actually mad at Magnus, just disappointed. He went and read his diary while the operation was happening, and in the 18 months that the Knight Quest has been running, Tyrest has deemed the work done to be unsatisfactory. Instead of arresting criminals, Magnus had been handling infractions so minor, most people wouldn’t have even noticed them. Tyrest doesn’t know where he went wrong.

Well, Tyrest, it was probably the anxiety that manifested itself as OCD, because you picked someone without factoring what the end of the war might do to them. Magnus needs structure to flourish, and if he cannot find it, he will make it himself. I mean, look at all this:

No wonder he was struggling on the chaos engine that is the Lost Light.

Still, Tyrest wants nothing to do with someone who’s cracked under the pressure (lack of pressure?) and the deal was that Magnus only got to be Magnus if he did what Tyrest wanted. Tyrest divests him with the literal push of a button.

Good grief, he’s naked!

As Minimus Ambus mourns over the loss of his stature, both literal and position-wise, we get back to the present, in a double-page spread no less, as Minimus tells everyone about the storied history of the Magnus Armor. Ultra Magnus was originally an actual person, but then he died, and Tyrest was kind of bummed out about that, so he decided to make up a lie (lying, while perhaps morally dubious is not illegal, so he’s allowed to do that) that Magnus faked his death, and then built the armor. There were at least a few wearers of the armor prior to Minimus, some of who were even known by the other crew members. Whenever someone got offed, their hand would spasm and press a recall button in their palm, which would bring the Magnus Armor, and the dead body inside, back to Tyrest.

You can tell he’s still real shaken up about losing the Magnus Armor, because he’s truncating his words. Poor guy.

Minimus asks what exactly happened after he got stabbed, seeing as he was too busy dying to really pay attention to the Overlord plot. Rodimus tells him it’s been handled. Brainstorm jumps in, wanting to know about the other things on Minimus’ resume, which leads into Minimus revealing the fact that he is a Point One Percenter, and something known as a Load Bearer. Load Bearers circumvent that niggling little issue that we saw presented in the “Shadowplay” arc, where spark strain due to not being able to handle a different frame type would outright kill you. Minimus doesn’t have that problem.

Tailgate wants to know how exactly it is that Minimus isn’t dead, seeing as he was clearly on his way out prior to his grand theft auto. Tailgate may have a personal interest in that sort of information, what with still being terminal and all.

Everyone’s real handsy this issue.

Minimus lets Tailgate know that Tyrest’s medical equipment is off the hook, and we get a reminder that Tailgate’s got basically a day left to live. Harsh, Roberts.

Back in Minimus’ flashback, Tyrest sort-of apologizes for punching him in the face, and laments on the loss of one of his greatest Enforcers of the Tyrest Accord.

Oh, so you DID know that this was a possibility, and instead of ordering your subordinate to go make that follow-up appointment with the only therapist on Cybertron- which, while being borderline sectioning, would have at least kept Minimus from sending emails to Rodimus about how he was spiraling- you just let it happen. The Vector Sigma pulse wave went all over the galaxy, there’s zero possibility you didn’t hear about the end of the war before Magnus loaded up on the Lost Light and didn’t call for a year and a half.

Anyway, so Tyrest’s got a new Enforcer lined up, seeing as he’s going to retire the Magnus Armor after all the shenanigans Minimus got dragged through while wearing it. Let’s see what we’re working with.

I thought we were supposed to have separation of church and state, what the hell?

In the present, Rodimus has questions, mainly about why there are so many people in this prison cell. Minimus admits that he asked to be put in here, to try and prove Rodimus and friends’ innocence on the charge of harboring a criminal, by recording their conversation and proving that they had no idea what SKIDS deal was.

Yep, Skids did a bad, and Tyrest wants him in jail.

Minimus also drops the bomb that everyone else in this cell is going to get he death penalty for that whole “crimes against creation” thing. I mean, all Tyrest has to do is wait for a little while and Tailgate will be dealt with, no sweat.

Minimus pulls a device out of his hip compartment, uses it to disrupt the electro-bars of the cell (it’s cool, he was an undercover cop for this whole thing and can therefore break out of prison without it being a crime), and goes to have a chat with his boss about all the weird new stuff he’s shoved into the Autobot Code in the last year and a half. Rodimus doesn’t really want him to leave, but there’s no time for that, because the cell just got a little more full.

Uh oh, Swerve’s badge has gone missing again. Rung, why don’t you slap yours on his crotch, that way Minimus won’t try to murder him when he gets back?

While this is happening, Whirl and Cyclonus are standing on the rim of a smelting pool, absolutely not having a dick measuring contest.

Luna 1 said Bi Rights.

There’s a structure built over the pool that looks an awful lot like living quarters, but is probably actually a prison that violates the Geneva convention. Whirl suggests they find some weapons and go hog-wild, but Cyclonus is more concerned about finding something. When Whirl asks what in the hell he could possibly be looking for in this sort of crisis, Cyclonus turns into a moody teenager.

Well, at least he’s respecting Tailgate’s wish to keep his looming demise under wraps. Not that Cyclonus tells anyone anything anyway.

Over in the Luna 1 medibay, Ratchet is being subjected to having his very fucking soul threatened with a paring knife. Pharma’s having what probably an inappropriate amount of fun, especially since he’s realized that Ratchet took his goddamn hands after the shitshow that was Delphi.

It turns out that every single piece of tech that Ultra Magnus ever repossessed is floating around on Luna 1, even the stuff that really ought to have been destroyed. This is why they were able to save Magnus from certain death at the start of the issue. Somehow I’m not surprised that Tyrest kept all those toys for himself. Corruption of an authority figure? In my Cybertronian Justice System? It’s more likely than you think.

Some of the little art quirks in MTMTE are added in by Milne- see Brainstorm holding any handgun ever if you’d like an example- but I know for a FACT that Pharma humping Ratchet’s headless body was specified by Roberts.

Ratchet, unimpressed and likely mildly queasy by the display going on before him, proposes that Pharma’s afraid of failure, which is why he hasn’t taken his hands back. Pharma disagrees, and a wager is set to see who the better doctor is- winner gets to keep the hands.

Over with the fly boys, alarms are going off in a deserted building, as Whirl struggles to open a door with his claws. Cyclonus takes over on door duty, and asks why Whirl hasn’t gotten his shit fixed yet.

Whirl’s worried that if he gets help for his trauma, he’s going to lose a huge part of himself as a person, and then where will he be? Of course, he says it in a much more Whirly fashion, full of vitriolic self-blame, but reading between the lines is fun. Whirl fires the “let’s get into each other’s personal issues even though both of us hate talking about ourselves and also each other” missile right back at Cyclonus. He wants to know about Cyclonus’ facial situation.

Cyclonus doesn’t like this question.

Then he gets stabbed with a sword.

Back with the docs, it’s apparently much later, as Ratchet’s just woken up from surgery and has a body again. He gets up from the operating table and finds that Pharma’s gone ahead with setting up their gentleman’s wager.

First Aid seems less than pleased with the current situation. Ambulon’s arms are long as hell in this panel, and he doesn’t seem entirely present in the moment. Maybe he’s practicing Rungian Re-Experience Therapy.

Pharma wants to cut both of the boys in half to see who can put the pieces together back the fastest. Ratchet tries to deescalate the situation, because he’s usually pretty good at it, but Pharma’s set on using his chainsaw attachment on someone today.

Ratchet attempts to console his coworkers, saying that their Springer-on-Pova treatment be over soon, and they’ll get a nice lollipop at the end for being such brave little robots.

Then Pharma cuts Ambulon in half, in a way that Ratchet hadn’t accounted for.

We’re gonna need a little more than some bandaids and a kiss to make it feel better for this one. It’s amazing what censorship laws will let you get away with when the blood isn’t red.

Speaking of blood, Cyclonus is more or less okay with being stabbed, because Whirl did him a solid and chopped his assailant in half- lengthways- with a super sweet sword he found in the armory they just opened up. Cyclonus pulls the blade out of his midriff and we finally find out what happened to the Circle of Light.

Back in the prison cell, Perceptor’s been given the job of doctor, even though Rung, Swerve, and Chromedome are all here and at least somewhat closer to being general practice doctors than our science sniper.

Seems like Swerve filled everyone in on the situation on the Lost Light off-panel, which is good, because they’ve been in the dark up to this point.

Chromedome hypothesizes that the reason Skids is a wanted man has to do with that mysterious gun he was holding when he fell out of the sky all the way back in issue #2. This is the point where Skids wakes up from his stabbing and admits that this is probably what happened, even though he still has no recollection of ever stealing the gun or even it existing up until he entered the story, but he apologizes for the trouble anyway.

Shh.  Someone’s coming down the corridor. It’s Star Saber, and he’s brought yet another prisoner to stuff in this cell.

And there’s something else. Can you hear it?

Is… is that music?

Are those the beginning synth riffs of “Tainted Love" by Soft Cell?

Over with Minimus, we’re treated to a taste of Tyrest’s personal brand of disinterest, then get a quick run-down of the birds and the bees. The forging process is a little more convoluted than originally implied, needing Primus to send out a pulse wave through Vector Sigma in order for the Hot Spots to be ignited.

Then the pulse waves started to slow down, Nova Prime had a little freak out, and cold construction was invented to prevent the Cybertronian race from becoming an endangered species.

Minimus of course knows all of this, because he, like basically half of the cast of MTMTE, is old as shit. What he DOESN’T know is that cold construction isn’t managed the way that anyone thought that it was, because there was a government coverup going on about the whole thing. You don’t splice sparks to make a new one, you use the Matrix to create new life.

I know, it’s crazy.

Tyrest was on the team that fiddled around with the Matrix until it started spitting out robot zygotes, and he’s now convinced that they bled the Matrix dry. Nobody tell him what happened to the thing after the war ended.

Wait. If the pulse waves have stopped, and the Matrix is busted beyond repair, doesn’t that mean they can’t make any more Transformers? Once they finish up on their stockpile of sparks, that’s it. No more. The Transformers are a protected species now, we’ve got to treat them like giant pandas.

One of his team members stole the Matrix and hid it in the black market, so its strange, mystical baby powers could never be used again. Except someone obviously found it later on, because we have half of it on the Lost Light. Minimus isn’t sure why any of this is actually relevant to the current situation, or why Tyrest feels guilty about pulling a Eugenesis Fulcrum and finding out where babies come from.

Tyrest is convinced that by draining the Matrix, his team somehow corrupted it, and all the sparks made by this corrupted Matrix are straying further and further from Primus. This is why Rodimus and friends have been charged with crimes against creation- some of their party were created in a way that predisposes them to crime. Or so Tyrest thinks.

I thought we were supposed to have separation of church and state, what the hell? This is still the same guy who was appointed as Chief Justice by the space pope because of his levelheadedness, right?

Yes, actually, but this sudden flip in priorities and personality has been induced by the guilt he felt during the Aequitas trials. Tyrest turned to self harm to deal with the weight of it all, and one day tried to go for what in most species would have been a suicide, by drilling with his drill fingers into the spot between his eyes. Instead, he most likely gave himself a lobotomy and became a religious zealot, fully believing that the gods are real, and he can go visit them by using his super-cool space portal.

Outside the moon base, Whirl and Cyclonus have freed the Circle of Light, and everyone’s ready to kick some ass. Both the fly boys have found themselves a Great Sword to play with, further cementing Cyclonus as our replacement Drift. Rodimus will be so thrilled.

Dai Atlas, the leader of the Circle of Light, tells our boys that there used to be a lot more of his group, but a lot of folks ended up being used to build Legislators.

Hm. I’m sure that’ll never be brought up again, and won’t paint future events in a much darker light. Nope. Absolutely not.

Cyclonus thinks that they need to get a move on, because if that sort of horrific shit can happen to the Circle of Light, it can also happen to Tailgate and the others. He does specifically name Tailgate in his dialogue, but it’s not like he actually cares about the guy, right? Feelings are for nerds.

Then the Legislators show up and it’s party time.

Wonder how that’s going to work out for you, Whirl.

Back with Tyrest, it’s revealed that Tyrest’s plan has a small snag- only people completely absolved of their guilt can go to Cyberutopia to hang out with Primus and the gang, and Tyrest is feeling awful guilty. Not about his weird space-eugenics thing, but about inventing cold construction. Now, how in the world is he going to handle this?

By committing a genocide.

Minimus is, understandably, not a fan of this plan. Tyrest had anticipated that the Universal Killswitch wouldn’t be universally appreciated, and has some of the new law come into play.

And that’s a series wrap on Minimus Ambus! Let’s give him a hand, folks!