#I mean what he did do the legwork to try and confirm it

[raventhekittycat]

I just realized it's really weird that Akai recognized the shrunken Shiho just by accidentally passing her on the street, but Ran didn't recognize Shinichi when staring him straight in the face in his own house.

[jamlavender]

Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss: Mrs Coulter, misogyny and the His Dark Materials TV show

The show went hard on misogyny as a vital part of Mrs Coulter’s backstory, and I want to talk about how they did it, and why, and how it might have been done better. This is quite long (when is anything I write not, let’s be real) so it’s under the cut. Read on for thoughts on women, power and fictional villainy.

As a quick disclaimer, though: I’ve enjoyed the show a lot! I’m so glad they made it! Ruth Wilson is mesmerising as Mrs Coulter! There’s so much to appreciate about the show overall, including many aspects of Mrs Coulter’s portrayal. But the HDM team have also made gender politics and misogyny very explicit themes of the show – particularly season two, particularly season two, episode five – and I think it’s fair to critique that.

Let’s be clear: Mrs Coulter is a villain. She murders kids by tearing out their souls. She kills and tortures friends and foes alike without a second thought. She abuses her daughter. She upholds and advances a totalitarian regime. She’s a Bad Person, as confirmed by God himself with the unforgettable line: “You are a cesspit of moral filth.” She’s fucking terrible, but, in life as in art, many of us are fascinated by how such awful people are made. What drives someone to commit atrocities? I am keen to see such questions examined in fiction, because I don’t think exploring a character necessarily means excusing their actions, and because it’s interesting (I mean, of course I find her fascinating, I’ve written a novel’s worth of fic about her). However, after a few snarky comments (“What sort of woman raised Father Graves, do you think?”) and some subtler commentary on sexuality, gender and power (her unsettling MacPhail with the key in the bra in S1E2), S2E5 drew a weird line between sexism in Mrs Coulter’s professional and academic life and her vast and senseless institutionalised child murder, and the longer I’ve sat with that the more I’m like: what the fuck?

Look, Mrs Coulter doesn’t tear apart children to search for sin inside them and poison Boreal and break a witch’s fingers because she’s experienced sexism in the workplace and in her education. That’s… a very odd thing to imply. We have to remember that there are lots of women in Lyra’s world, all of whom will also have experienced sexism, misogyny and other forms of marginalisation (many in more expansive and pernicious ways than Mrs Coulter, who’s a woman, yes, but also white, wealthy, highly educated and very thin and beautiful), and none of them are running arctic torture stations. She will have experienced misogyny, absolutely, and that will have affected her in various ways that inform how she approaches her work, but to imply that being denied a doctorate is the reason she became a sadistic killer is frankly bizarre. Here are a few of the lines from that episode with my commentary:

“Do you know who I could have been in this world?” What does this mean? If she’d been roughly the same person in our world, the answer is: Margaret Thatcher, which is probably a step down for Marisa, all things considered, because the Magisterium is far more autocratic than any recent Tory government and would be a much easier institutional environment in which to enact her cruelty. What we’re supposed to think, clearly, is that she’d have been a different person: a scientist and a mother, and she’s had this realisation because she saw a woman with a baby and a laptop and had a three-minute conversation with Mary. This doesn’t make sense. We live in our world! It’s less repressive than Lyra’s world but it’s hardly a gender utopia. If Mrs Coulter had chosen the scientist-and-mother life (which, as I’ll revisit later, she could have done in her world but chose not to because of her megalomaniac tendencies), she’d still have been affected by misogyny here too. Our world is not kind to young mothers, nor young women embroiled in scandals, nor is the world teeming with female physicists. It might be a little better, sure, but it’s hardly as if those gendered challenges would have been solved.  

“What do you mean she runs a department?” This is just the show forgetting its own canon. Marisa, you ran a massive government organisation (the GOB), including a huge murder science research initiative in the Arctic. That’s a much bigger undertaking and much more impressive than running a university department in our world. Pull yourself together.

“But because I was a woman, I was denied a doctorate by the Magisterium.” This is the show flagrantly ignoring the source material to make a clumsy political point. In the books, there are women with doctorates (notably Hannah Relf, also a major player in the new Book of Dust trilogy) and at least one women’s college full of female scholars. Now, would that women’s college likely be underfunded and disrespected compared to the men’s colleges? Almost certainly. But saying that is different than saying “I couldn’t get my doctorate!” when women in Lyra’s world can. The show knew what point they wanted to make, and were willing to ignore canon to do so, which is frustrating. Also, given that there are female academics and scientists in Lyra’s world, and that Mrs Coulter is a member of St Sophia’s college, it’s clear that she could have lived that life if she so desired. But she didn’t want that, because being a scientist and academic at St Sophia’s imbues her with no real power, and that’s what she craves.

I’m not opposed, in theory, to exploring Mrs Coulter and misogyny in more depth, but I think doing so through an examination of the sexual politics of her life would have made a lot more narrative sense and been much more powerful. It’s better evidenced in the text – her using her sexuality to manipulate people and taking lovers for political sway is entirely canon, as is her backstory where genuine love and lust blew up her life – and it links much more closely with the most shocking of her villainy, which involves cutting out children’s dæmons to stop them developing “troublesome thoughts and feelings,” referencing sexual and romantic desire (and what Lyra and Will do to save Dust is clearly a big ‘fuck you’ to those aims). She even says this to MacPhail in TAS, “If you thought for one moment that I would release my daughter into the care - the care! - of a body of men with a feverish obsession with sexuality, men with dirty fingernails, reeking of ancient sweat, men whose furtive imaginations would crawl over her body like cockroaches - if you thought I would expose my child to that, my Lord President, you are more stupid than you take me for.” Don’t get me wrong, she’d have been a villain regardless, but I do believe that there’s a much stronger link between her sexual and romantic experiences and her murder work than between professional and academic stifling and child murder. It would have been a lot more interesting and a lot less tenuous.

However, the show is trying to be family-friendly, and digging into why this terrible, cruel woman might want to cut the ability for desire and love (and other non-sexual adult feelings, I’m sure) out of people could get dark. We know that the show doesn’t want to go there, because they’ve actively toned down her weaponising her sexuality: in the books, she has an established sexual relationship with Boreal, whereas the show made it seem like she’s been stringing him along all this time, and made it about potentially ‘sharing a life’ together rather than fucking, which was clearly the arrangement in the books. Also, I think Ruth Wilson said she and Ariyon Bakare filmed a “steamy scene” together, and given that only a single chaste kiss between them aired it must have been cut. I think they deliberately minimised the sexual elements of the text, particularly regarding Mrs Coulter (the mountain scene with Asriel, which I did still love, was also a lot less horny than in the book) and replaced that with another gender issue, that of professional sexism, as if the two are interchangeable, which they are not. This is a shame, both for Mrs Coulter’s character and also for the story as a whole, because the characters’ relationships with sex and desire are an important part of the books! (If this minimised sexuality approach means that they don’t use the TAS scene where Asriel threatens to gag her and she tries to goad him into doing it, I’ll scream). Overall, I think they missed the mark here, which is a shame because I also think it could have been done well, if they’d been bolder and darker and more thoughtful.

Why might this happen? Why might the show take this approach? Why might it be latched onto by viewers? Personally, I think the conversations we have about women and power are very simplistic, which leaves us in a tight spot when we see women seizing power for themselves (even in fiction) and weaponising that against others, not just other women but people of all genders, because we struggle to move past ‘women have overall been denied power, so them taking it ‘back’ is good,’ even if that immediately becomes a hot mess of white, corporate feminism and results in the ongoing oppression of many people. I think we are so hungry for representations of powerful women that we – producers and viewers alike – struggle to see them as bad, because it’s uncomfortable to be so intoxicated by Mrs Coulter effortlessly dominating the men around her, subverting systems designed to marginalise her for her own benefit, and generally being aggressive and intelligent and ruthless, and then realise that you are entranced by someone who is, objectively, a terrible, terrible person. It can be hard to realise that if you channelled the energy of someone who mesmerises you, you’d be the villain. So instead of sitting with that (more on this below), a lot of legwork goes into reworking her villainy into, somehow, a just act, a result of oppression, as her taking back power that has been denied to her, rather than grappling with the fact that for anyone to desire power in such a merciless way, even if they have to overcome marginalisation to get it, is really, really dangerous.

The joy, of course, is that Mrs Coulter is not real! She’s not real! Adoring fictional characters does not mean condoning their (imaginary) decisions, nor do stories exist for each person in them to fit neatly into a good or bad box so you know who you’re allowed to love. Furthermore, fiction can be a fabulous tool for exploring and interrogating the parts of yourself that, if left to bloom unexamined, might perpetuate beliefs or behaviour that cause harm to others. Mrs Coulter doesn’t need to be a feminist or taking down the patriarchy or a righteous powerful woman to illuminate things about gender, power and feminism for those reading and watching. In fact, it’s important that we explore what happens when women (most commonly white, wealthy women, as she is) continue to perpetuate brutal systems under the guise of sticking it to ‘men,’ because it happens all the time in the real world, and it’s a serious issue. Finding characters like Mrs Coulter so cool and compelling doesn’t make you a bad person, but it might tell you something about yourself – not that you want to be a villain or kill kids or whatever, but something about how you relate to your gender or women or men or power – and that knowledge can be useful! We all have better and worse impulses, and finding art that helps us make sense of ourselves, both the good and bad parts, is a gift that we should relish.

Anyway, tl;dr, Mrs Coulter doesn’t need to be sympathetic or understandable or redeemable to be brilliant – but you wouldn’t know that from how she’s been portrayed in the new adaptation.

[honeywithblueberries]

The Perks- Face to Face

I told you I was writing another one. It’s a bit meh, but I hope you like it! And there’s some light smut in it too :).

…………………….

Jack sat at the table across from the small ewe and glowered, the badge around her neck displaying her name.

Even her fucking name is annoying, the buck thought. Dawn Bellwether… Phft! Dawn! This bitch ain’t aptly named.

Skye had been initially excused from the meeting, though she took it as recommendation rather than an order. Her arms were crossed as she stood behind Jack. Her blue eyes were afire with rage but for all the good it did, she may as well have been in the kitchen. Still, the rabbit buck was comforted by her presence. The ewe simply sat calmly in front of them, unfazed by the angry predator.

Bellwether clacked away at the bulky laptop, a smug grin on her face as she did.

“Such a disgusting little shop,” she said, her eyes flicking up at the audible grind of Jack’s teeth. “My sister was here last week. Told me all about the filth and muck that was lurking here.“ The ewe tsked and paused her typing. “Can’t say I’m surprised. An owner that lets their morals fly as loose as yours? No wonder this place is a garbage heap.”

“Yeah, fresh sani buckets, sanitized sinks, up to code refrigerators and freezers with everything in them labeled and dated, and all of my employees have their food handler’s cards. Not to mention my grease trap and kitchen have been recently inspected and the fire department has already given their ‘OK’ after our last inspection.” Jack gave the inspector an almost friendly smile. “But you’re right! Such a filthy dump of free love and expression. Stick around long enough and you may get invited upstairs for our… What would you call it, Skye?” The buck gave a mockingly confused look over his shoulder at the vixen, who shot the ewe a toothy grin.

Her paws went to his shoulders as she leaned over him. “I thought we were good with calling it an orgy, handsome.” She maintained eye contact as she grinned, showing off every pearly white tooth, and lightly nipped Jack’s ear. 

The buck grinned at the look of horror on Bellwether’s face, trying not to shiver when she hit a sensitive spot. His paw rose to cover Skye’s and gave it a small squeeze. With a shake of her head, her jaw obviously, painfully clenched, Bellwether tapped away at her computer.

“Fortunately for you,” she began, her eyes focused on the screen, “the law prohibits me from inspecting a private residence.”  

“Yes, I feel myself drowning in fortune,” Jack remarked with a sarcastic smile. Bellwether merely huffed at him and continued to type.

“But be that as it may,” the ewe continued, “there’s still enough around this hovel to fail you. Or at least not give you the A you think you deserve.”

For the first time since they sat down, Jack let his temper rise out of his control. A bolt of righteous anger shot down his spine and he shot to his feet. His fur fluffed out and his ears were stiff as boards on his head.

“Like what?” he demanded. “The only thing you have on us is a grudge. The last three health inspectors have always rated us as one of the cleanest restaurants in the city and we've followed every code down to the letter. My mammals called me the Striped Dictator for the first six months we were in business!”

Skye looked at him in surprise before her ears picked up the sound of light laughter. Sandra, Bobby, and Kari were trying to hide their amusement by the register. Sandra caught Skye’s eye and nodded.

“It’s true,” she confirmed. “That was the nicest name we had for him.” Skye bit the inside of her cheek before turning her attention back to the ewe.

“So?” demanded Jack as he crossed his arms and looked at the ewe expectantly. “What possible reason could you have for giving us a less than perfect score? Or do I need to file a complaint with the health board and alert them of our previous exchange.”

With a falsely sweet smile, Bellwether stood and closed her laptop. Facing the buck fully, she gave him a look so cocky, Skye automatically put her paws on his shoulders to keep him from punching her.

“Minors under the age of fifteen can’t get their food safety cards in Zootopia.” Bellwether turned her smile towards Nick, Judy, and Gideon, who could be seen peeking out from the kitchen. Facing Jack once more, she handed him the inspection slip and gathered her things. “C minus. Tsk! Such a shame. Maybe next time we can bump it up to a C plus." Pulling her laptop case behind her, Bellwether marched towards the door. “Toodaloo!”

Both Jack and Skye glared after her, Skye more composed than her boss, who was practically quivering with rage. 

“I will snap her,” he growled, his bright blue eyes still narrowed on the closed cafe door. “I will snap her like a fucking twig.”

Skye ran her paws up his arms to his shoulders, giving the tense muscles a reassuring squeeze. 

“We can contest the grade, can’t we?” she asked him. Jack looked over his shoulder at her. “I mean, we can go to the board and file a complaint still. And challenge the grade she gave us. Clearly it was motivated by a personal vendetta and was undeserved.”

“We could, but that doesn’t rule out the fact that she’s right. The kits are too young to get their food safety cards so we’ll have to go through our parents.” Jack sighed and rubbed his muzzle tiredly. “We're going to have to get documentation."

Skye cocked her head at him. “So what’s the issue?”

“It’s not really an issue. Just annoying.” The buck shook his head and stood. “I can bet she’s going to use that against us. If she won’t change our grade after the extra legwork, then we’ll go big.”

Sandra blinked at him before looking at the todd in question. Nick just shrugged at her before the doe turned back to her boss. 

“How could you, Mr. Nit Pick, overlook those details? It’s not like you at all.” All eyes turned to the astounded buck. Sandra let a small smirk cross her face before flicking her eyes over to Skye. “Distracted much?”

Jack frowned at her, his crimson ears falling to his back as the fur of his cheeks tinted pink. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by the sounds of angry yelling. Screeching, more like. Very familiar screeching. Jack, Skye, and everyone else present rushed to the windows to see what the commotion was. A snort escaped him when he saw the ewe rush out of the shop across the street, chased by a predator less than half Skye’s size.

“Cami,” Jack and Sandra said together, laughter in their voices. 

“Who?” Skye, Gid, and Nick looked at them curiously as Judy giggled. 

“Did someone let Cami out?” Jon asked from the kitchen, excitement in his voice as he rushed to see the spectacle.

All eyes turned back to the window as a vixen only a few inches taller than Finnick chased the ewe down the sidewalk. A broom was waved at her in a threatening manner, her angry tirade audible even from a distance.

“You get out here, you horrible, awful, dirty little creature!” Cami shrieked. "Get out before I shove this broom where the sun don't shine! I deny your entry to my business!"

“It’s a routine health inspection! It's required by law!” Argued Bellwether as she tried to re-approach only for the kit fox to wave her broom and gnash her teeth.

“Get her, Cami,” mumbled Jon, his fists closed in excitement. The mammals in the shop all looked at him. “Get her, get her!”

“Routine inspection! Ha!” Cami scoffed. “Routine inspection, my sweet, little tail! You’re targeting predator friendly shops and I WON’T STAND FOR IT! Hi-ya!” The broom was swiped at her and Bellwether leapt back to avoid getting hit. "That's what I think of your silly law!"

That set off another round of giggles from the occupants of the Perk. Trying to push down his amusement, Jack remembered he actually liked Cami and her being arrested for assault would do no one any favors. Least of all, the family waiting for her inside.

“I’ll be back,” Jack laughed as he headed for the door. Skye watched with interest as the buck raced over and stepped between the two, his paws raised in a soothing manner towards the vixen. 

Her furious eyes were still ablaze as she tried to duck around the buck. Skye snorted with laughter as Jack succeeded in scooping up the pygmy fox and sling her over his shoulder. He spun to face Bellwether and address her. Though his words were drowned out by Cami's shrieks of rage and indignation.

 “You will put me down right, Hopps, or I’ll yank that sad excuse for a tail out! Put me down!” She thrashed about, Jack nearly losing his hold on her. "I WON'T STAND FOR THIS! AFTER I'M DONE WITH THIS BITCH, I'M COMING AFTER YOU!"

A round of laughter erupted from the cafe. Skye was impressed at how well Jack was handling it. She was way bigger than the kit fox, but had no doubt Cami could lay her out like a rug. 

“Give her a minute,” Jon commented, taking a sip of his coffee. Sandra nodded in agreement next to him. Kari and Bobby simply shook their heads and returned to work.

“She’ll tire herself out and crash,” Sandra chuckled and shook her head one more time before heading back to the register. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened."

And sure enough, as the ewe decided it wasn’t worth the aggravation and stormed off with a final glare, the vixen slumped over his shoulder in defeat. Jack wagged his fingers after Bellwether, his “Toodaloo!” audible as his fingers dropped to flip her back off. 

“I’m putting you down now,” he warned, as Cami took deep breaths to cool down. “Are you calm?”

“I’m cool, I'm good,” she assured, smiling brightly over her shoulder at him. He nodded and crouched to let her hop off. Only to snatch her by the back of her shirt when she lunged in the direction of the vanishing ewe. “I WILL CUT HER!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you will, killer.” He jerked her back and cautiously released her when she stopped struggling.

She gave up and settled for giving the sidewalk an angry kick before turning to storm off. Curses were muttered under her breath as Jack sighed in relief before looking into the window of the Perk and giving Skye a smile and wave. She wasn’t exactly sure why that made him so sexy, but it did.

“I’m so locking that down,” she murmured to herself with a smile and waved back. The warmth that spread through her tickled and she chuckled a little to herself before turning around. And she nearly ran into Judy. The little bunny giggled and allowed the vixen to put an arm around her shoulders.

“Sorry about that, Bun-Bun,” the vixen joked, giving her a small squeeze and walking towards the coffee bar.

“Jack’s thinking the same thing, if it makes you feel any better. You don't need it, but you have my blessing," Judy grinned then skipped away.

Skye smiled after her, her ears twitching at the sound of the door opening. She turned to greet the buck, leaning against the bar and crossing her arms, her eyes silently inviting him to join her. He returned her grin with one of his own, leaning next to her once he approached. 

"So…." She began with a smile. "Cami?"

He huffed and rolled his eyes. But they did light up a bit with humor when the kit fox was brought up.

"She owns the little bistro across the street.” Jack leaned into her space, her muzzle moving in, nearly touching his. “Mostly caters to predators, but she has an amazing black bean burger. She's a little…." 

"Perfect," sighed Jon from the coffee maker, breaking whatever trance they were under. They blushed and looked over to him. .

"Bonkers,” Sandra gave the raccoon a droll glare which he ignored while he refilled his coffee. He was obviously day dreaming about whatever a guy like him dreamed of. “Bonkers, is the correct adjective. She’s nice and fun, but balls to the wall insane. Jon has a little crush, " the bunny added with a small smile. “Nevermind Cami’s like ten years older than he is and married.”

The vixen gave a light chuckle, before turning to Jack with a mischievous smile. “Whatever gets him going. Jack, can I talk to you in private? We really should go over that… meeting.”

Sandra nearly choked on her drink. Jon ducked his head to hide his smile and reached for the kits to herd them into the kitchen. Nick and Judy looked back towards their siblings and rolled their eyes but complied. Gideon paid no one any mind as he went right back to making his cookie list.

Jack- being a red blooded male and very good at reading between her lines- got it. His blue eyes became wide when Skye gave him a final, lingering look and moved to the stairs. He was so stunned that for a moment he could only watch her walk away from him, that lucious tail giving a far too appealing flick. She was halfway up the stairs before he came to his senses and tried to not make his haste too obvious.

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered, smiling as he gave a distracted wave towards the remaining employees and rushed after her. “Totally! We gotta lot to talk about after that visit. We gotta stay…” his mouth went dry when she turned to face him at the apartment door, completely out of sight of the main lobby. One white paw undid the top few buttons of her shirt and Jack’s train of thought was completely derailed. “...on top of…” He swallowed when another button came undone and the edge of her bra was revealed, “...of the…. thing....”

The giggles and scoffs from down below were ignored. Easily, in fact. Even Sandra’s offer to start making the appropriate phone calls fell on deaf ears. Skye opened the unlocked door with one paw, the other snatching him by the collar and crushing her lips to his. They stumbled over the threshold. Jack’s paws went to her hips and the door was kicked shut. Her paws stripped him of his shirt just as her ass found the dining room table. He helped her onto it as he finished unbuttoning her shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. Once it was out of the way, his paws went to her jaw to continue their kiss.

“I’ve been dreaming of this since I first saw you,” he mumbled as his mouth and paws began to explore. Jack dragged his lips down her throat making her groan and clutch at his shoulders. Her knees went to his hips trying to drag him closer and properly wrap her legs around him. His paws moved over her body, thumbs slipping under her bra strap but pausing until he got permission. She dropped her own to his belt buckle, feeling him pause and huff into her fur, inhaling her scent as deeply as he could.

Jack pulled back, panting heavily, and both sets of eyes dropped to her paws before meeting again. Her shifting hips put enough pressure on her target that he had to bite his lip to stifle his groan. A paw left to cup his jaw and brought his gaze back to hers. Blue met blue while Jack composed himself enough to focus.

“What do you want from me, Jack?” Skye asked, her voice laced with uncertainty. Jack smiled at her as if it was obvious.

“Forever,” he answered. “I want forever.”

Again, his collar was grabbed and their lips crashed together. 

“I need you,” she muttered against his lips. “All of you…”

“I’m yours…” Was the passionate response.

Both sets of paws moved to the other's pants, frantically unbuttoning. Skye had his belt undone and was ready to shove them to the ground just as he managed to slip hers away from her hips. She pressed herself close against him, lifting and shifting to get them off and onto the floor. All she wanted now was to strip him naked as fast as she could.

And she would have…. if the door hadn’t banged open.

…………

“They’re going to do it somewhere gross,” Bobby muttered. Nick, who had grabbed a bus tub, pulled a face of disgust. 

"Bobby!" He protested. Judy had begun to help Kari pull orders together and shared a short giggle with her. Nick caught her eye. "Why aren't you more grossed out by this?"

Judy shrugged and gave him a smile. 

"I'm a bunny," she explained, boxing up cookies. "Some of the things I've walked in on still give me nightmares." The doe shuddered and earned a laugh from the young todd. "There's a reason some stereotypes exist. Jack isn't nearly as bad as some of my other brothers and sisters. At least, not while I'm here."

"Not while you're away, either," Sandra confirmed. "The last doe I saw him with was when Adrian Bogo got married last year. They were only together for a few weeks but we didn’t really see her at all. She cheated on him to try to make him jealous because he was so focused on work. I don’t think he ever noticed she stopped coming around." She winked at Nick who was listening in curiosity. “It takes a lot for Jack to notice someone. And Skye is something else.”

Her comment brought a smile to Nick’s lips. All he wanted was what was best for Skye, being his sister and all, and he wanted to make sure any future brother-in-law was worthy of her. Being related to Judy was a huge point in the plus column, but he owed it to his big sister to keep his eyes and ears open. She had such rotten luck with todds and dates in general.

"Your sister picked a good one,” Sandra stacked the orders together and passed the slips to Judy for double checking. Taking another tray of fresh cookies from Gideon she headed out to the display counter.

“The best one,” Judy assured. She also took up a tray as she and Nick exchanged one last smile before he got back to his task. Though she almost ran into Sandra who was paused in the doorway, staring intently out the window. Kari was also frozen, her brow furrowed and ears alert, staring intently at the car that parked in front.

“Isn’t that your brother?” the corasc asked. 

Nick and Judy looked past the older mammals, the doe recognizing the beat up SUV. Tom had it since high school and the thing ran on prayers and stubbornness. Nothing anyone could say would make him give that hunk of junk up and he avoided driving long distances specifically so his ride would last longer.

“What’s Tom doing here?” Judy asked to no one in particular. Tom’s dark brown ears were straight as rods, his brows furrowed as he strode to the door of the cafe and marched up to the register. 

Judy maneuvered around the adults to speak with him. But he cut her off before she could open her mouth. 

“Where’s Jack?” he demanded.

“Uhhh….” Her eyes involuntarily looked towards the stairs, his following before he made towards them. Panic filled her, darting around the bar to try to stop him. “Tom! Wait! You can’t go up there!”

Tom ignored his little sister and took the stairs two at a time. Judy was almost caught up when he banged the door open. The sight of his brother half dressed between the legs of a mostly nude predator had him backing up in shock, his nose twitching like mad as he took in the scene. The amorous couple gasped and Jack spun around trying to use his body to keep Skye out of view. His paws snatched up his shirt, which Skye had dropped next to the table after relieving him of it, and passed it to her. She accepted it gratefully with a blush spreading over her ears and cheeks. 

“Tom?” Jack gasped out, frantically trying to redo his belt and pants. Noticing his little sister behind him (along with over half of Perks staff) only made his fluster worse. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you working the market today?”

“Mom and Dad gave me the day off because I told them I had to see you right away.” His brown eyes were focused on the vixen behind his brother, watching her slip the tee-shirt on before hopping off the table to fetch her pants. Jack didn’t care for the appreciative gleam in his brother’s eye. “Maple’s been ranting and raving since she came home this morning about how unbalanced you are.” He met Jack’s gaze, his eyes full of humor with a touch of disbelief. “I’m guessing this is what she was talking about.”

Skye, now fully dressed, turned to face the newcomer with a nervous smile on her muzzle.

"Hi, I'm Skye. I'm Jack's new… GM…" her blush intensified, realizing how their situation must have seemed to his brother. 

Tom bit his lip and pulled an expression that had her confused. Like he was trying very hard not to laugh. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Skye," he croaked out. His throat was cleared before he continued. "I'm guessing you're the reason our sister is screaming the burrow down."

Skye narrowed her eyebrows in confusion. She turned to Jack, who was rubbing his temples with his back to their audience. Realizing he now had everyone's attention, the stripped buck tried to furtively adjust his pants. He turned to make eye contact with her.

"What's he talking about?" She demanded. 

"I didn't want to upset you," Jack took a breath and braced himself when Skye's expression became stormy and suspicious. "My sister had stopped by and saw us at the bar the other night. She came to the shop on your day off, we got in a fight, and she stormed out. I didn't tell you because she's a major speciest bitch, Skye, you didn't deserve to be subjected to it."

She didn't hesitate to stride to him, pulling him back into her arms with another kiss. 

"I don't want this to come between you and your family," Skye said as soon as they pulled apart. "This can't destroy everything you worked for."

"Everything I worked for is here in this room." Jack smiled and kissed her again. Pulling back, he gave her a satisfied grin before scowling over her shoulder. "And I would appreciate some boundaries not being broken, thank you very much. "

Tom had been choking on his laughter, leaning on the door frame with Judy patting his back with concern. Nick, Sandra, Kari, Bobbie, and Jon looked between the two brothers. From the bottom of the stairs, Gideon's tentative "Hello?" had them snapping out of it. 

Sandra looked horrified once she remembered the young todd was left alone downstairs. "Be right there Gid!"

Everyone but Nick followed her to rejoin Gideon downstairs. Nick's eyes were filled with suspicion and narrowed in on Tom. The brown buck was starting to compose himself and straighten up, putting his arm around Judy while turning to face their still shirtless brother.

“Sorry!” He said before pressing a kiss to his baby sister’s head. “Judy, why don’t you and your friend head down stairs? I'll be down in a bit.”

Skye felt a bit of protective annoyance sneak down her spine at the action. Her intelectual side knew this mammal was closer to the doe than she was, but close proximity with her made Skye’s sisterly instinct kick in. She must have growled because Jack turned to smile reassuringly at her. Once the door closed, he led Skye to the couch and took a seat next to her. Tom was waved towards the chair and Jack to a breath in anticipation for all the questions. From Tom AND Skye.

“So,” Tom cleared his throat and studied his paws, “How long has this been going on?”

The couple gave each other curious looks.

“I think since day one for me…” Jack answered with a smile.

“Sounds about right.” Skye grinned back and pulled him in for a kiss he happily returned. They shocked Tom more by getting a bit carried away. His shock wore off just as his brother’s paws went up the back of her shirt and he cleared his throat.

“Okay, but what’s the time frame?” He had a bit of an edge to his voice when they parted with embarrassed expressions and even more reluctance.

“Two week-mfpt!” came Judy’s voice before it was muffled with a giggle and soft “Shhh….!”

“Nick!”

“Judy!”

“Down stairs, please!” the trio ordered together. The pair on the other side of the door giggled louder and rushed down the stairs. 

Tom was half turned in his chair facing the door when he began to shake his head. “I heard from Quentin that she was talking to a fox in the city. I’m guessing that’s him?” Jack nodded with a laugh. The situation was really quite ridiculous, but at least Skye was laughing with him. And he was very aware that she was wearing his shirt; it was really doing something to him. Really, REALLY doing something to him.

“Yeah, that’s my brother,” the vixen slumped back into the couch. 

Close enough to Jack so he could pull her into him. It was bizarre for Tom to see his normally uptight brother so infatuated with something other than work. SO bizarre, he had to stand up and shake off the chills he got from the constant state of shock. When he returned to his seat, he took a breath and made his request. 

“Okay, I’m just going to ask you both to go back and just catch me up on what’s going on.” 

Jack grinned at his brother and got up to head for the kitchen. Shooting a quick text to Sandra updating her on the situation, he pulled open the fridge and grabbed three beers. 

“I hope your meter’s paid up,” he said, passing him and Skye a beer each before settling back down with his own. “It’s a long story.”

…………

Greg was hunched over in his tent with every article of clothing he had pulled on. On occasion a drop of water would drip onto his nose, courtesy of the many holes in the roof of his tent. His sleeping bag was drenched but fortunately his clothing was waterproof.

It had been raining non-stop since they had set up camp. They hadn’t even been able to start a fire, getting only as far as setting up shelter before the area was flooded with a late spring storm. Fortunately, they had all been scouts together, and thought to bring rations that didn’t need to be heated.

But that was a small comfort as they gazed miserably out at the pouring rain.

“This sucks.” Greg smiled at the sound of Marco’s voice. The badger’s eyes could be seen glowering at the rain from his own tent.

“Yeah,” agreed Andrew, the meerkat, as Victor (the ferret) laughed next to him. “Whose bright idea was this?”

“Wilde’s,” Victor supplied.

“Said the group of males who claimed camping would help them get in touch with inner predators.” The todd shuddered as a particularly large drop of rain water landed on his nose. Looking up, he groaned as the once invisible tear in the seam now showed a small glimpse on the soggy canopy above them. “Though I’m willing to call a truce in this episode of Male Vs Wild. I mean, if anyone else is interested.”

There was a brief pause before his friends scrambled to their feet to pack up their things. With much slipping and sliding, tents, coolers, and sleeping bags were broken down and tossed in a muddy heap in the car.

“All right,” groaned Marco as he climbed into the driver’s seat, “let’s get the hell out of here. And you animals are cleaning my car when we get back.”

Sighs echoed around the vehicle when the air vent warmed up. They pulled out of the camp site towards the highway, Greg stretching as much as he could in the back and relaxing. Part of him was excited to be going home early. As much as he loved his friends, he found himself wanting a bit more curvier companionship. He couldn’t go back to the bar, on the off chance Duke was there, but he had a few places in mind that wouldn’t look too closely at his fake.

But there was something to be said about vixen he saw at the gas station. She was just the sort of companionship he needed right now. And the fact that she didn’t seem the least bit charmed by him made him pant harder.

Way to be a cliche, Wilde, he thought with a smile as he dozed.

The trip back home seemed to take no time at all. Before they knew it, the wild outskirts of Meadowland became more rural and cultivated before turning into the more familiar streets Savana Central. With rain left behind, the dreary twilight they left behind was now clear and (mostly) dry city nightlife.

After being dropped off in front of his building, Greg lugged his gear up and into the apartment. It was left in a damp heap by the door as the todd savored the silence for a moment before heading towards the bathroom. He sighed in relief when the hot water hit him, soaking into his fur, taking the dirt and grime with it down the drain. Suddenly he felt very tired. The idea of going out and finding some company lost its appeal and a new idea took form. Once he was clean and dry, he fell into his bed and opened his laptop. He scrolled a bit and found what he was looking for; he leaned back and pressed play on his favorite video.

“Okay, Greg!” His dad’s voice came from behind the camera as he focused on his nine year old son in the hospital bed. “How ya feelin’, buddy?”

“Really great, Dad,” he answered, looking exhaustedly into the camera. “Nothing like having your appendix taken out to make a mammal feel alive.” 

The camera shook as Matthew laughed.

“Trust me, bud!” his dad’s voice assured cheerfully. “Someday you're going to watch this and thank me for making it.”

“Oh, honey,” his mother laughed when Matty swung the camera to her. She carried a bag of Greg’s favorite fast food for dinner and set it on his bedside. “Please give it a rest with that thing and help your daughter with your son.” 

On his bed, Greg laughed with tears in his eyes when his father zoomed in on his mother’s rump and whistled. Vivian swished her tail in irritation but there was humor in her voice when she addressed him again.

“Matty, you’re going to scar our children for life.”

“Too late,” Skye chirped from somewhere off screen. 

He could hear himself laughing off camera and the screen zoomed out again and focused on the bedridden kit. This time, Skye had come to stand on the other side of the bed and settled their little brother on the bed with him. The youngest Wilde snuggled next to his big brother and took a burger from his mom.

“I’m just making sure everyone knows who the world’s greatest family is.” The camera was flipped around and showed a close up of Matty’s nose before he adjusted it. The familiar green eyes were as bright as they had been the last time he saw him alive. “I have the world’s greatest family,” he declared. “That’s me, Matthew Wilde.” The camera went back to the Wilde’s eating their food while their patriarch amused himself.

Greg cried but was smiling as he clicked through his saved videos. But in the end it was just salt on his wounds. He felt a tug of loneliness and curled up and closed his eyes. His mind wandered to the vixen in the gas station. She was something else and if he had been in a better mood he would have gone out to find her or a vixen who looked like her. Falling into a fitful sleep, the todd dreamed about his father and their life before that horrible day. 

And part of him desperately hoped he would find what the rest of his family was finding: Peace.

…………..

 It was an interesting day for Tom. A whole new world of firsts that had been busted wide open and it was (if he was being honest with himself) a lot to take in at once. He knew there was a reason why Jack and Judy were so close. Ever since she was small, she and Jack had been like carbon copies of each other. Though she noticeably lacked his skills in the kitchen. But neither of them seem to fit the majority of the stereotypes for rabbits. Jack hated carrots and Judy had less interest in dating than her big brother.

But seeing the two oddballs in the family go ga-ga over foxes was rather… disconcerting. Almost as much as seeing the foxes go ga-ga over them. And even more crazy was Tom could see exactly what Jack saw in Skye. At least, physically. Tom was a normal rabbit in almost every regard and his own pants grew tight at the sight of the beautiful vixen in just her underwear. He wasn’t proud of his reaction, but what’s a guy to do? The vixen was hot! She and Jack made sense.

It was almost three by the time the trio had finished talking and made their way back down stairs. Skye was still wearing his shirt, something Jack was still very aware of. Turning back into the lobby, Kari and Bobby both snorted and giggled behind their paws as they left for the day. Sandra gave them a knowing smirk while Jon was showing Gid how to make different decorations with a piping bag. Nick and Judy were back by the sinks, giggling and washing dishes.

“Sandra!” greeted Tom as he held out a paw to her. “Always a pleasure to see you again.” She nodded and accepted a pawshake as he looked over her shoulder into the kitchen. “Judy? I’m leaving now!”

The doe looked over before dashing towards him to say goodbye. Tom noted the look of disappointment on Nick’s face when she did, but he carried on with his work without complaint. Judy gave her big brother a quick hug and kiss, bouncing back to her friend within seconds of leaving him.

“I’ll miss you, too,” the brown buck mumbled, feeling hurt that she didn’t pay much attention to her big brother. Jack looked over at their sister and shook his head with a smile.

“She’s smitten,” he explained. Tom’s eyebrows went up.

“It seems she’s not the only one smitten.” The brother’s shared a laugh as Skye joined them. Tom smiled at her. “Take care of my brother and sister, okay?”

Skye grinned and stuck out her paw. “Deal.” To her surprise, he batted her paw away and pulled her into a hug.

“Welcome to the family,” he whispered so low, only she could hear. Not even Jack picked it up, though he did see the happy smile on her face when she looked over at him. He was almost out the door when Jack called back to him. 

"Hey, Tom? Let's keep this between us, okay?" Tom and Skye looked at him in confusion. "I want to tell Mom and Dad myself, face to face. With Skye next to me. Soon," he added with a reassuring smile at the vixen. 

The brown buck grinned at the pair and nodded. Giving a final wave, he left for his car. Skye gave Jack a kiss on the cheek, relishing how he pulled her close and nuzzled into her neck. They pulled away from each other to give Tom a final wave though the window as he drove away. Just as they had turned to restart their day, when Brook and David appeared, walking and chatting as they reached the door. Both teens smiled at the couple when they entered.

“Hello, Mr. Hopps,” greeted Brook politely, looking from one to the other. “Hi, Skye. Are Nick and Judy around? We were hoping they might be able to come with us to the Canal district. There’s a boat parade and festival going on.”

The pair in question had spotted their friends not long after they had entered and rushed out to greet them.

“What are you guys doing here!” asked Judy, her voice filled with excitement.

“Boat Parade in the Canal District.” David answered, winking at Nick. “There’s a really good ice cream place nearby. Are you in the mood for some ice cream, Nick?”

The young todd grinned and looked down at the doe. “I think I can go for a scoop.”

Judy rolled her eyes, but smiled and looked over at Jack.

“Can we go? Gideon will love it and it gets us out of your fur for a few hours.” Judy looked over to Gideon through the window, returning the thumbs up he gave her. 

“Imma call my sister and ask her now!” Gideon called out.

“And afterwards,” Brook chimed in, “I was hoping you could sleep over tonight, Judy.”

“And my parents said you can stay the night at my place!” Dave added with a grin. ”Gideon can join, if he wants and his sister’s okay with it.” 

“We’re going to have to check with your parents, but I’m fine with it,” Skye said with a suggestive smile to Jack on her muzzle. He, however, looked concerned and opened his mouth to protest only to get an elbow to the ribs from her. She gave him a look until he realized what she was insinuating.

A night to themselves, no kits, completely uninterrupted and focused on just each other.

“Yup!” He agreed eagerly. “You can go! Have fun, be safe, have fun!”

Jack double checked Gideon’s work and spoke to both Daisy and Brook’s mother before allowing the kits to leave for the day. There was electricity in the air as they completed the work day and closed up, broken briefly by Cami when she barged into the cafe, shrieking about her master plan to get rid of Bellwether for good. She didn’t elaborate beyond a cackle and victory dance, her patient husband waiting outside the cafe doors, shaking his head with amusement. Michael gave Jack and Skye a small wave and smile before dutifully following his wife back to their restaurant. Once they were out of sight, their heated gazes allowed them to go on auto mode as their employees bid them good night. Now, with the lights off in the cafe and darkness surrounding them, they calmly took the stairs up to the apartment.

But all sense of restraint and decorum flew out the window before they had crossed the threshold.

……………………….

Maple was still fuming. Pacing the house, half completing tasks, slamming things around, and snapping at anyone who came near her. Including her parents. Bonnie Hopps was massaging her temples at the kitchen table as she tried to figure out how to handle her daughter. One of her other daughters who was helping with dinner put a glass of water in front of her with cucumber and mint added to it.

“Here you go, Mama,” she said with a kiss to her head.

“Thank you, baby.” The matriarch reached for glass and smiled at her husband entering from outside, Ben following closely behind him.  

“Look who just pulled up,” Stu greeted happily. Bonnie smiled and stood to greet her son, when she was stopped by the cold, hard voice of Maple.

“Where the hell have you been?” Maple stomped into the kitchen and glared at her brother. Her siblings in the kitchen paused to gaze at her in amazement. Swearing was forbidden in the warren; both Bonnie and Stu were very militant about it. But neither had the opportunity to reprimand her before she plowed on, unbothered by her words. “Why do all the bucks in this warren think they can just run off and do whatever they want? What the fuck is the matter with you?! You’re just like Jack and, if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up just like him! A pathetic loser who can only find other bits of trash to tolerate him! Do you want to be trash like he is, Tom? Should I just drag you out to the curb and wait for pick up?”

It was well known in Bunnyburrow that Tom Hopps was the most even tempered rabbit in the area. No one, not even his parents, knew of a time he had lost his temper. He frustrated most bullies because they couldn’t get a rise out of him and it was usually he who stepped up to calm any squabbling within the family. The buck was just so damn calm and likable. When Maple wasn’t breathing fire, even she got along with him. And she was his opposite in nearly every regard.

But Tom was only mammal. And he wasn’t sure why he became enraged, but he did. Like everyone else at the Perks, he had recognized how good Skye was Jack. Even if it was just an infatuation destined to sizzle out. The two were consenting adults who were enjoying each other's company. Jack had seemed to skip over the doe crazy faze of his adolescence and dived right into workaholic. Up until his first visit home from college, Tom thought he was still a virgin. Walking in on him and a neighbor doe was shocking. But what he had now made that seem vanilla in comparison. 

That reaction from Maple was the limit for him. Tom was not going to sit back and listen to her insult his brother and the perfectly lovely vixen he had chosen to be his mate.

“You need to shut the fuck up, Maple!” That earned an audible gasp from the kitchen. “Just because you’re bitter no one wants to touch your fun parts doesn’t mean you can rag on him for finding someone that’s willing to touch his. Even if she is a-” The horror Tom felt at his inability to keep in the next word was palatable. “-fox!”

Bonnie and Stu stood staring at him with their jaws dropped. Maple looked equal parts furious and smug. Everyone else took one look at their parents and filed out of the kitchen. Most pulled out their cell phones and started taping away. Tom knew within minutes, everyone in Bunnyburrow would know about this. He buried his face in his paws, hoping he was in a bad dream and trying to keep his tears to himself. Jack had asked him for only one thing in their entire history as brothers and Tom failed him.

“What do you mean she’s a fox?” Bonnie’s voice was deadly quiet.

Maple chimed in, in her most viciously smug voice. “She’s a smelly, evil, horrible-”

“I don’t remember asking you a godsdamn thing, young lady!” Maple was shocked into silence by the harsh comment. Her mother’s eyes flashed angrily at her. “Leave the kitchen.” The younger doe gulped but didn’t move.

“NOW!” Stu’s voice made her jump and dash for the door. He strode over to the kitchen table and yanked out a chair. “Sit!” he ordered. 

Tom didn’t think to disobey. Once he was sat and joined by his parents, he braced himself for their questions. And question him they did. He wasn’t sure what happened to his resolve and backbone as he answered every question without resistance. After they had interrogated him, they sat in stunned silence before turning to each other.

“You have to call him,” Stu decided to his wife. “If I do, I’m going to scream at him and drag him AND Judy home by their ears.”

Bonnie nodded and pulled out her phone.

“Wait!” Tom begged. His mother paused to give him a very nerve wracking glare. “Please, just wait until morning. Give yourself time to cool off and at least meet her! She’s really great and has this adorable little brother who Judy has a huge crush on! It’s really, really sweet-”

“She’s bringing more foxes around our baby?” Bonnie practically screamed. She stood from her seat, trembling in fury and panting in nearly uncontrolled rage and pulled her phone from her apron pocket. “And you want us to wait UNTIL MORNING to call him? Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

This time, some tears did escape his eyes. “Please….” he begged, hoping to reach them. “Just wait. You know how Jack is if you try to strong arm him with anything. If you don’t want to lose your son, please just sleep on it.”

Stu and Bonnie glared at Tom, both standing now, Bonnie’s thumb poised over Jack’s number. 

“Fine,” she decided. She navigated away from the call screen and turned abruptly to leave the kitchen. “Stu, deal with him, please.”

Their son watched her stride away from him before he focused on his equally furious father. 

“You need to find somewhere else to stay,” the patriarch ordered with ice in his tone. “If you’re going to support this type of behavior, you’re not going to do it under my roof. Get out.”

Brown met brown as both bucks marinated in silence. Tom felt a numbness seep into him as he stood from his seat and walked back to the kitchen door. His paw fished his phone out as he turned the knob. He needed to warn his brother so he can at least be prepared for the fallout about to come his way.

“Leave your phone.” The younger buck stumbled in shock and looked back at Stu. “Your mother and I paid for it. We would like it back. Now.”

His eyes looked down at his brother’s number and contact picture and he swallowed. With a sullen nod, he turned and set the phone on the table before turning to leave again. Trudging to his car, he climbed behind the wheel and broke down. There was no way Jack or Judy would ever forgive him for this.

…………………..

Skye smiled down at Jack underneath her. His paws travelled up her thighs, sitting up once he got to her hips and kissing her. Pleasure, centered in the apex of her legs, ignited and warmth flowed through her, one of his thumbs moving gently, yet firmly, in place. Her paws cupped his face to deepen their kiss.

“You feel so good,” she whimpered when they parted. He thrust slowly and kissed down her neck while cupping her breast. 

“Gods, you’re so beautiful.” Jack slid his paws to her cheeks, wanting to see her pleasure drunk expression as he moved with her. 

He had always enjoyed sex, but truth be told, he could either take it or leave. With Skye, however, he had no idea how he lived without it. Without her. He felt he had been waiting his entire life to find her and now that she was in his arms, his world finally made sense. HE finally made sense. This realization had his passion overflowing, causing him to roll until he rested in the valley of her legs and showed her how much he wanted her.

And her moans and begs for more drowned out the constant pinging and ringing of the cell phone still stuck in his pants pocket by the front door.

[pillar--of--salt]

I was trying to fill the next prompt request in my inbox, but then the thing I started writing veered away from the prompt entirely, so here’s a random drabble instead.

///

Blake’s life is in shambles. 

He goes to great lengths not to show it at work and under no circumstances does he allow it to affect his performance, but... his personal life is on fire. Not on fire as in good; on fire as in up in flames. And he doesn’t know what to do about it except stand back and watch it helplessly. 

It is certainly almost entirely attributable to the hours he works, to the reality of being on-call 24/7, to being so subsumed by the pace and cerebral demand of his job that by the time he comes home, he has nothing left. He comes home and remembers to feed the cat and change the litter box, sometimes he remembers to clean the apartment, sometimes he buys groceries, and sometimes he even remembers to eat the groceries before they spoil. Anything more than that is beyond his capacity to manage. So it’s no wonder that Chris breaks up with him two months into dating. Blake would break up with himself, too. 

He isn’t sure how any of the rest of them do it, except that maybe they have a more permanent kind of support system to help prop them up. Jay’s got his wife, Daisy has her fiancé, Matt has roommates who are actually his friends. Nadine... well, Nadine is a mystery. She is certainly the most put together of them all, despite not having (as far as Blake can tell) a spouse or partner or a close friend. 

She’s on the phone when he appears at her door and gives the glass a light tap to get her attention. She waves him in even though she’s still on the phone, and so he quietly lets himself in and waits for her to finish. He tries not to eavesdrop, but that’s kind of the only thing he can do.

“Sorry,” she says after she hangs up. “That was just a friend.”

“Were you canceling plans?” he asks. They all have to do it so often that the assumption is almost always correct. 

“Confirming them, actually. The NSO is performing Verdi’s Requiem at the Kennedy Center tonight, and he has box seats... Anyway. What did you need, Blake?”

He only stares at her. 

“Blake?”

“I don’t know how you do it,” he blurts. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You... you and I easily work eighty hours a week, and when I go home I can barely muster the energy to feed my cat, let alone see my friends or go out or date or keep a partner or clean my apartment or... or even go grocery shopping! Not that that matters, seeing as I’m never home to eat the food I bought. And then- and then here you are, for some reason having friends and dinner plans and sometimes I’ve noticed that you have weekend plans that don’t just involve sleeping or working! You go to the symphony! I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to the symphony!”

She stares at him for a long time, lips pressed together. 

He swallows, feeling the blood drain from his face. “I’m- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to- That was incredibly out of line.”

She looks as if she’s trying to work out what to say. “I don’t have a cat,” she settles on finally. 

“You- what?” Whatever he was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. 

“I don’t have a cat I worry about feeding. I don’t take the time to clean my own condo, I just hire a cleaning service to come every week and take care of it. I don’t go grocery shopping, I just have them delivered to me most of the time. Hell, sometimes I even have my wine delivered.” She chuckles. “And if I have other errands I don’t have time to run, I pay my neighbor’s teenage son to do them for me.” 

Blake takes that in. It... it all makes a lot of sense, actually. How she could seem so put together with almost no time in her own day. “Oh,” he says.

She explains, “Once I got old enough to be able to afford to live and not just keep my head above water, I decided I liked my life best when I didn’t have to worry about those things, so I outsourced them. I only seem like I have it all together because I have other people doing most of the legwork for me. But when I was your age...” She shakes her head. “I certainly wasn’t handling anything nearly as gracefully as you are. No matter how out of sorts you feel.” 

“Graceful is absolutely not the word for whatever I’m doing here,” he grumbles. 

Nadine smiles at him—a real smile, a rare one. “You’ll figure it out, Blake. It has been a grueling couple of weeks, but eventually it’ll get better. And you’re doing better than you think you are.”

“I’ll just... keep telling myself that.”

“And I’m here if you ever need anything.”

[casebasket]

The Mystrade Treatise

I am long, long out of the Sherlock fandom, but I still have a soft spot for mystrade after ~ 7 odd years (the only thing I really cared about in the show), so when a friend asked about mystrade I hit them with a spontaneous 2000 word block of text. I thought I’d share it as an homage to the still quietly existing community of mystrade shippers out there. Basically, in this essay I will argue for my interpretation of how the BBC TV show Sherlock (2012) establishes an implied relationship between Mycroft, (The Government) and Lestrade (The Force) in the subtext. This analysis will be broken down to two parts: 1) show chronology / their history and 2) their compatibility, which can be further split into 2a) personalities and 2b) external circumstances. 

(The beginning is the only formal(ish) part of - I’m calling it a treatise -, the rest of the piece is written in “I typed it all in messenger app” style. This all came out off the top of my head, so if you think I’m missing something I’m open to the callout)

TL;DR: I’m still mystrade trash and I’m pulling the receipts on mystrade canon

1) Their history - it's clear they know each other and are in communication with each other since the very beginning - and very likely even before - the events of the show. Just a show tidbit, the ending of the pilot episode has Lestrade watch John and Sherlock walk away happily staring into each other's eyes and tell Donovan about their potential as partners, whereas the actual first episode replaces him with Mycroft talking to his assistant Anthea, which shows their character parallels. In one aspect, their role as "aggravated older guardian" is a shared one and one that - rationally, but in fanon - allows them to commiserate with other another. Also, Mycroft kidnaps John in his very first day of him meeting Sherlock, so reasonable to conclude he did the same to Lestrade, so they've clearly met. And, I believe it's canon that Lestrade helped Sherlock with his drug problem, so he's clearly run into Mycroft, whether it's because his brother's OD'd or found with possession or whatever whatever. The possibilities are endless.

We have hints of them knowing each other throughout the show - in season 2 episode 2 the Hound of Baskerville (I am surprised and appalled I know this off by heart instead of more important things), the duo meets Lestrade in a tavern where he's clearly back from holiday and when Sherlock eggs him by basically calling him Mycroft's lackey, he, aggrieved, says "I don't just do what your brother tells me", which is a line I still unfortunately remember over 5 years later, and that is the first precedent set in canon that they clearly communicate. We can interpret this line, given the circumstances, that Mycroft asked him to cut his vacation short to go check up on his brother, and Lestrade, being whipped, was like fine.

This is mere speculation, but in that mini episode, Many Happy Returns, Lestrade is listening to Anderson go on about his conspiracy theories on how Sherlock is still alive, and at the end of it he passes a newspaper article about Sherlock, and he smiles at it like he KNOWS he's still alive somewhere even though he just walked out calling Anderson on his bullshit and dismissing his theories, and I like to interpret that as Mycroft told him Sherlock's still alive. Plus, when Sherlock greets him after his two year absence, the way Lestrade reacts is less “am I seeing a ghost because you’re supposed to be dead” and more “you’re finally back I already know you were alive because my boyfriend Mycroft told me”. 

The first time we see them in frame together (in the mystrade community this is famously known as the 29 frames moment because they only showed up for - 29 frames, like 2 seconds) was in season 3 episode 3, where Sherlock goes missing and everyone looks for him in the hidey holes they know of. Lestrade is seen in Mycroft's office while Mycroft tells him about potential hiding spots. Honestly he did look hella dismissive and rude but you know what? Everyone was stressed. But this shows not only is Lestrade trusted in his secret government offices - and likely this was the secret one because it looked like a cellar - but he trusts Lestrade implicitly. When Sherlock is about to leave on a plane, Lestrade's in a pub watching the TV screen when Moriarty's face is all over it and the very next scene we see Mycroft on the phone with someone getting the news that this was happening. Coincidence? I think NOT - Lestrade called up Mycroft and told him, CANON.

And then there's the Christmas special or whatever it was, about the abominable bride, and yes, this one is set in Sherlock's drug fevered mind, but that only means that, in Sherlock's mind, he sees the two of them as a set (Sherlock ships it confirmed lol). During the whole episode when we see the canon versions of Mycroft and Lestrade they are together as a unit. When John leaves him, Sherlock's mind goes to the most reliable thing in his life to help him, which is his brother (and his brother's boyfriend) and his friend Lestrade to help him, together. Sherlock asks the two of them to help him dig up a body and they share a Look, which is clearly Mycroft's way of asking Lestrade to do the dirty work of actually digging and Lestrade resignedly concedes because there is no other way to analyse the Look, and in the next scene we see Sherlock and Lestrade digging in a grave while Mycroft holds up a lantern because Mycroft doesn't like legwork and Lestrade, clearly his boyfriend in Sherlock's mind, understands this and is willing to accommodate.

And then we have the whole of S4, or as I like to call it, Johnlock hell but mystrade victories!, because in s4e1 when Mary is shot in the aquarium, the first person they look at is each other, indicating they take some level of comfort or seek it out from one another in a room full of other people, also the two of them arrived together so they clearly coordinated, also when the gun was lifted Mycroft looks shocked and steps back a bit while Lestrade moves forward in a “ready to step in” protective gesture, and this all happened in the same frame, and there are gifsets of this happening, and everyone was quietly screaming (Johnlockers in pain, mystrade shippers in "look at them sharing a frame together look at these scraps we're getting"). In the second ep we don't see them together but we do see Mycroft getting hit on by Lady Smallwood and he looks hella uncomfortable about it, while Lestrade is talking with another detective and Sherlock shoots him down telling him she's not the one (because clearly we all know who is the one and Sherlock knows it's his brother).

Oh yeah also jumping back to S3, Mycroft is saying no one can match him and he sees everyone as goldfish but Sherlock is like oh really and was lowkey concerned about him and that's how the mystrade fandom got this whole goldfish thing and it's adorable (special shout out to duchessclovery ‘s masterful fanvid romcom series A Fish Called Greg), and in the wedding ep Sherlock calls Mycroft to attend the wedding but he refuses, and Sherlock says "specter in the feast" to entice him and I like to interpret that as him lowkey jabbing him with a *in*spector in the feast because Lestrade was there looking tired and lonely throughout the whole ep lmaaaaaaaaaaaaao.

Anyway back to S4E2, Mycroft is getting hit on, Lestrade is the most tired we've ever seen him, Sherlock is trying to waive off Lestrade's suitors to save him for his brother. Why is Lestrade so tired? Yes, he's questioning a suspect or something, but also! maybe it's related to his love interest getting hit on, who knows???? And lastly, the last ep of S4, the golden era of mystrade, at the very end of the episode after we've seen Mycroft at his most vulnerable, Sherlock asks Lestrade to "take care of him (Mycroft). he's not as strong as he seems". This was an explicit request by Sherlock, addressing Lestrade correctly for the first time, to take care of his brother, and Lestrade says yes. Of course I will. S4 ended with the promise of the him taking care of Mycroft and honestly I don't care about the entire episode except that part

 2)    A: their personalities: so, Mycroft, as his colleagues know him, is ~ the ice man ~. He's hard to know, even harder and more stubborn and isolated than his brother, and on top of that he's like, contractually obligated under his top secret government job to not be known. That makes him, and this is canon as Sherlock discussed his loneliness with him in S3, even more lonely than his brother, and probably, as much as he likes to think himself more accommodating than his brother and he can definitely pretend for the sake of appearances, more difficult to deal with than Sherlock if he really sets his mind to it. But he's not a complete block of ice - after all, ice can melt - and he has soft spots for his family, esp. his unruly little brother, and by extension (maybe more necessity than real care, but still) the people his brother affiliates with. Because Sherlock is so tricky to deal with, I believe he has a soft spot for people who share that softness for his spiky sibling, and no one cares for Sherlock as he does except for Mrs Hudson, John, and Lestrade. Lestrade's done it for even longer than John, and in the show plays a somewhat paternal figure to Sherlock despite him causing him even more stress sometimes than solving cases for him would relieve. Lestrade is shown to drop everything to help Sherlock when he needs it, and is considered one of his best friends when Moriarty put a sniper on each of Sherlock's closest acquaintances (Lestrade was a target). Lestrade always saw the good in Sherlock despite everything, and believed he could be great. Very few sees the same potential, or shows that level of kindness for - lets be honest here - someone we would want to kick in real life. Lestrade's kindness and patience, enough to deal with Sherlock, surely can be extended to involve Mycroft, as Mycroft's protectiveness extends somewhat to Sherlock's friends.

And this is not a one way street of just Lestrade being kind and accepting. The people Sherlock surrounds himself with appear dull, and have "normal" lives, but secretly either have a florid past (Mrs Hudson) (and her present with the race car and her quick thinking when the flat gets ransacked) and/or crave adventure and danger and intrigue (John) (Molly). Lestrade is the probably the same. He seems aggravated by Sherlock but still like him a whole lot and truly care for him, and you don't go into policing if not for some kind of excitement. He has a failed marriage with his wife who boringly cheated on him with a PE teacher, like how predictable and cliche, and they broke up. Lestrade is loyal, and he wants to fix things, but in the end it doesn't work out. The show doesn't really tell us why, but given what we know of his work and his habits, he probably spends way too much time on the job and in part, neglected his home life. That isn't to say the cheating his wife did can be condoned, nor was it justified, but it does tell us that Lestrade is a workaholic who craves excitement and adventure which explains his attachment to Sherlock. Who else can match that with him in a relationship? Another workaholic who surrounds himself in government intrigue and MI6 bullshit cloak and daggers who also share a soft spot for the most annoying detective consultant, of course!!! For all we know from the show, Mycroft is Lestrade's one constant relationship outside of work. Their common interest is keeping their shared loved ones safe. Beyond that, even though Mycroft feels bored by everyone because "no one is as smart as i, hohoho", Sherlock used to be the same but he found John. We see Lestrade able to hold his own against Sherlock sometimes too, and he is a detective inspector, so as much as Sherlock likes to call him dumb we know that Lestrade's actually pretty smart. If he can hold up his own against Sherlock, he can hold up his own against Mycroft. Mycroft needs someone with the patience to go through all his bullshit, and Lestrade needs someone smart and interesting and protective, because as a protector himself sometimes you forget you need someone to protect you in turn. And that is basically their whole thing - two fierce guardians, trying to protect the world, finding they also need protection, and finding it in each other (end of season 4). Also there's this scene where Lestrade is sitting by his desk with his feet propped up while he eats a donut and says "not my division" which looks exactly like this scene where Mycroft is sitting by his desk with his feet propped up looking smug, or as the mystrade shippers like to call it, "boyfriends picking up each other's behaviours". Essentially, the johnlock relationship sort of parallels the mystrade relationship in that we have a smartass, spiky, secretly vulnerable one paired with a badass, patient, relatively more sunny one. But more mature. And also preferable. The two of them share some kind of relationship that has reached the point of nonverbal understanding, as we can see in their quiet glances towards each other during the few times we see them on screen together, that requires a level of trust and time. 

2)     B: compatibility in external circumstances - this is a short one, it's mostly that they're both workaholics who needs someone to understand their unpredictable work schedules, and also how minimal their social life can get being a) married to work and b) work can be classified and you can't tell anyone about your case files / government coverups. No one could understand the need for secrecy and getting up in the middle of the night for a case/subterfuge than Mycroft and Lestrade, as their career roles work in tangent with each other. And they share (1) chaotic child between the two of them, so they just. get it when one receives a call telling them to fish this loud annoying bitey man child out of the Thames. Their jobs get in the way of establishing close relationships, so who better to relate to than another who live the same kind of life and can understand?

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Club La Flèche.

So, how are things on the front of the Four Horsemen?

*Everyone gathers in Kokichi’s office once again, ready to make their next move.

Well, as for how Club Conservatrice is faring, there’s good news and bad news.

What’s that?

Bad news is the place has officially been closed for business under Shozo Asayoru’s orders.

Good news is the establishment is still standing. Meaning Rokuhana and Aisaka are currently on leave, but not confirmed to be sacked.

But I dunno how long that’ll last, if what she told us is true.

Given the type of man Asayoru presented himself as, I honestly believe her.

I really hope they turn out alright. After learning the truth about their situation, I can’t bring myself to hate either of them.

Misuzu was a little cold, and Misako was quite annoyingly cunning...But they were both good people who only wanted to protect their family in the end...

Actually, now that you say that, that’s the point that I’d like to bring up...

What kind of man do you suppose Hayamoto is? We’re going after him next, yeah?

I don’t know, and that’s the main issue. It was easy to get information on Rokuhana, but we don’t know enough about Hayamoto in order to actually target him.

So what do we do?

Kana, do you know anything about Hayamoto that may help us?

Sorry, but no. I knew who the Four Horsemen were, but I never actually met any of them before the night that I joined up here.

I didn’t even know that much about Rokuhana. Hayamoto is far out of my reach.

Well, from the way he was acting, he seems to be a respectable gentleman. He even asked us to go easy on him.

Well, from what I could tell, he was clearly the oldest of them. Not by that much, but I’d say he’s about...6 or 7 years their senior?

And don’t jump to conclusions. Rokuhana may’ve seemed respectable, and yeah, she did have an ulterior, slightly redeeming motivation to do it, but she still drugged Kana and cheated in our competition.

We can’t say for sure if Hayamoto won’t do the same. It seems to be part of the Four Horsemen, you have to act at least a little bit scummy.

Even so, we can’t say for sure until we know who we’re dealing with.

So what should we do?

It seems this case is gonna require a little bit of legwork. 

Let me guess. You, Syobai and Kokichi are gonna scout him out again?

Um...no, sorry, I can’t...

Why not? Headache?

No, no, it’s not that.

I just...I promised Kibin that I’d go out somewhere with her tomorrow. I’d like to cover Hayamoto as soon as possible, but you can’t bail out on a girl last minute. It’s not cool.

A girl? Kuripa, you have a girlfriend!?

No-hoho..., she’s not my girlfriend. Just my roommate.

I’ve met her before. We didn’t get to know each other very well, but she did try and comfort me when I was upset over Fujita. She’s pretty cool in my book!

Yeah, but I need to tend to her, and also I agreed to help her learn about housework. I’m gonna have to miss out on whatever plans we’re throwing tomorrow or today.

That’s fine. I wanted to run solo for a bit anyhow.

Solo? What do you mean Mr Ouma?

I wanna check out Hayamoto’s club. I need to see just how he runs his business.

Depending on what I find, it might give us time to prepare for our competition against him.

But are you sure about that? I can come in for backup if you need me.

I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.

I’ll bring smiles for the fans...

And this gun for the haters...!

WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!?

Calm down, it only shoots pellets!

Still, Mr Ouma...please be careful with that...

I will Kana-chan, don’t worry. I lied about taking it with me anyway...

Huh?

Sorry, if you’re gonna work here, you may need to get used to his fibbing.

Yeah, he does it all the time. It’s very annoying.

I’d say that’s bad management, but you’re at least more honest than my last boss.

I wouldn’t bet on that...I’m just honest when it matters.

So...what are we gonna do in the meantime?

Does...does everyone wanna come round my place? I’m going out with Kibin tomorrow, so I wouldn’t mind a Kyojin’s meeting while we wait.

Is that ok?

I’ll take you up on that.

Very well, provided no one minds.

[apex-academy]

Chapter 4: Six Chambers, One Loaded (#29b)

Ichiriki is busy kicking debris around the remains of the coffee shop.

“Find anything?”

“No. Just the same old, same old around here.”

“Ugh, what a pain. Some other loser decides to get all stabby, and I have to do the legwork?”

“And how do I know you’re not that loser?”

“Well, first, I’m the only person here who isn’t one, period.”

“Second, I was busy. Right around here, actually.”

“In the coffee shop?”

“No way, moron!”

“Next door, in the auditorium.”

“We were making fun of the absolute worst CGI in the absolute worst Bollywood ripoff movie.”

“We?”

“Me and the purple guy.”

“Sorry, must have forgotten his name.”

“............”

Ignoring his poor taste, it’s not much of an alibi if Kaichi can’t confirm it. Might have something written in his journal, but even if he doesn’t, that wouldn’t mean much. There are plenty of reasons he may not have archived something so superfluous.

Not a bad strategy on Ichiriki’s part, unless someone else tries to do the same.

“Any other ideas on the case?”

He shrugs.

“I mean, for all we know, she did it to herself.”

“She seems like the type.”

If he wasn’t half a foot taller than me, I would slap him. He’s not worth the effort, anyway.

“Just try to be helpful for once in your life.”

“Ha! I’ll do whatever I want.”

“Then don’t be surprised if we vote for you just to get you out of the way.”

“...”

I’m leaving before I do something I’ll regret.

[BACK]

[sage-nebula]

@nerd-bastard replied to your post: “I’m going to make numerous posts about season two of The Dragon Prince...”

well said. i'm still a little raw after vld, and part of me is still upset that the writers deemed it necessary for them to die, but yeah, p much everything you already said. i'm willing to try and trust them based on how clearly important social justice is to their story.

First, I’m sorry this reply is so late! I laid down to rest pretty much immediately after I wrote that post last night and then slept for . . . a long time, haha. But I do want to reply to you, because I have seen a lot of comparisons to VLD ever since The Dragon Prince released, but I really, truly believe we don’t have anything to worry about here. I truly believe there is not even a sliver of a chance that The Dragon Prince will end up anything like VLD. And if I can pass a bit of that reassurance onto you, then I want to (or at least, I want to try).

(Note: This is very long, and also full of VLD negativity / salt / criticism.)

Before anything else, I just want to say that I completely understand being burned by VLD. I don’t know how much you know about my personal feelings on it given that you just started following me recently, but I actually dropped the show after season six because the way Lotor was treated in season six made me so upset that I had to miss work the next day because I was so physically ill from panic attacks. I’m a mixed-race child abuse survivor myself, and so to see Lotor treated the way that he was---to have JDS and LM confirm in a post-season interview that their intention really was to say, “unless you have a good parental figure in your life [like Keith had Shiro, was the example they used], you’ll end up evil and/or just like your abusive parents” was just too much for me. There were already a thousand reasons why I was upset with them for things they had done in VLD and in interviews (e.g. how they used the slur “half-breed” to refer to mixed-race characters, their treatment of female characters such as the generals, and so on), but that was the final straw. I know what happened in seasons seven and eight because it was impossible for me not to hear about it given how big the fandom is, so I know all about the queerbaiting with Adam and what their intentions were with him and Shiro’s sexuality, but I didn’t actually watch myself (outside of select bits of s8 because I couldn’t resist childhood flashbacks for Lotor), and I will not watch anything JDS or LM work on ever again. They have no respect or care for people like me, so I will not have any for them.

So I completely, completely understand still feeling hurt and upset over VLD. Believe me when I say that I am in the same boat, and I have nothing but empathy for you. But I also really, truly believe that we have nothing to fear when it comes to The Dragon Prince and its crew.

To begin with, just some base comparisons:

Voltron: Legendary Defender was produced by DreamWorks Animation, and though both LM and JDS have said that they were fans of the original 80s Voltron series, I think it’s far more believable that they accepted their roles of executive producers for VLD more because of the paycheck and the career boost it would give them than anything else. Surely, DreamWorks decided to create and air a new Voltron series because of the revenue it would bring them, given that it was already an established franchise in the past and it came ready-made with plenty of toy ideas. Likewise, being at the helm of a product that would already garner plenty of attention and exposure for them---and a massive boost to their careers if it was successful---would no doubt be attractive to LM and JDS. I don’t believe that VLD was ever a passion project for any of them. It was a job. It was a job that maybe had the potential to be fun, but it wasn’t something they came up with themselves because of a love for the story or the characters. And keep in mind, I’m not trying to bash them by saying this, I’m just stating what I think are the facts. Plenty of creators in television and even film sign onto projects they don’t necessarily love so that they can get the money and boost to their careers to make the things they do. That’s just how the business is sometimes, and I think that’s what happened here.

But that’s not the case with The Dragon Prince. The Dragon Prince is being created by Aaron Ehasz, Justin Richmond, and Giancarlo Volpe. Aaron and Justin founded WonderStorm in order to make this show (and the game that will tie in to the show). They had the ideas and passion for the story and characters first, before they made their studio. And that’s just it: Their studio of nineteen people exists solely to tell this story. Particularly since we know that Netflix doesn’t have an overhead for the content they air, this means that Aaron, Justin, Giancarlo, and everyone else can do whatever they want with this story. They don’t have executives twisting their arms behind their backs. But more importantly, they’re also telling this story because they want to be. Since they’re a small indie company, this was actually something of a risk for them; they’re not guaranteed more seasons, they’re not guaranteed financial success, and if The Dragon Prince failed, that could mean the end of their company. So they’re not doing this for critical acclaim or money (especially since they all could have gone to other projects being created by major companies like DreamWorks if they wanted more money or exposure). They’re doing it because they have a story they love, that they want to tell, that they want to share with others. All nineteen of them are here because they care, not because it’s “just a job” that they have to do in order to make money or get more exposure and fame.

And that might be all fine and dandy, but just because you’re doing something as a passion project doesn’t mean that you’re doing right by those you want to represent, right? I would agree with that, but I think we can already see massive differences between VLD and The Dragon Prince when it comes to representation.

VLD was originally acclaimed for its representation due to having characters with different racial backgrounds in the main cast. The fact that Shiro was disabled was also critically acclaimed as well, because he was a disabled main character who was still allowed to be a hero. The thing is, however, that VLD’s representation is by and large shallow. They don’t really care about actually representing anyone as much as they care about getting the accolades and praise for doing the bare minimum. As a few examples:

Shiro is disabled, but his disability might as well be a cosmetic difference than anything else. We see Shiro affected by his PTSD a grand total of once (when Sendak was mocking him in season one), and we never see him really impacted by his arm. Keep in mind that I am NOT saying that his character arc should have revolved around his disability. Writing disabled characters with their disability as their only personality trait is horrible writing, and would be even worse than what they actually did. But what I am saying is that while losing his arm and having it replaced with galra tech should have been something traumatizing for Shiro, we never actually see that. We never see him experience phantom pains from his missing limb (which he could do even with the galra arm, as we see with Edward Elric and his automail in the FMA manga). I can’t remember a time when the arm malfunctioned or broke down to the point where he only had one arm in a potentially dangerous situation, and had to cope. Instead, in all honesty, his arm just looked cool and gave him a ton of abilities he wouldn’t have without it. Whereas Edward Elric has phantom pains with his automail, has it break repeatedly, can’t go into very cold or very hot temperatures without risking serious injury and so much more, Shiro’s arm is pretty much there just to look cool and offer convenient solutions to galra problems. He’s disabled, yes, but he’s not shown actually having any of the experiences that disabled people with prosthetic limbs in real life have.

Similarly, we find out in season seven that he had a chronic illness . . . but we never actually see him experiencing that in the show itself. He had a chronic illness as we find out in flashbacks, but in seasons 1-6 he was never shown actually suffering from that chronic illness. The reason given is that Haggar had it removed while experimenting on him (which . . . makes his kidnapping a good thing because he would have died otherwise? What??), but the point still remains that while Shiro could have been excellent representation for people with chronic illness had we seen him have at least some effects of chronic illness on the show (needing medication at the least, or having some fatigue symptoms, or something), he wasn’t, because without being told that he had chronic illness in flashbacks in season seven, no one would have known. I’ve seen people say that he’s supposed to be representative of the chronically ill, but in my personal opinion invisible representation is not representation. It feels an awful lot more like JDS and LM just wanted to slap another representation label on him without doing any of the legwork and call it a day.

They included more female characters, but used them as plot devices or supports for male characters. I distinctly remember a pre-season three interview when LM was gushing about how excited she was for Lotor’s generals, because they were generals now instead of being a part of a harem as they apparently were in the 80s version (I didn’t watch the 80s version, so I couldn’t tell you). But at the end of the day, Acxa, Zethrid, Narti, and Ezor were glorified plot devices or supports for male characters, and other female characters on the show didn’t fare much better. A quick rundown: 

Acxa was defined by her relationships to either Lotor or Keith. She was either Lotor’s most loyal general, wanting to carry through his vision or support him endlessly, or she was so moved by Keith’s sparse interactions with her that she wanted to do everything that he did. It briefly seemed as though Acxa did have her own motivations when she turned on Lotor in season four in order to protect Ezor and Zethrid, but in season six that was wiped away by showing that it was all a ploy and that she never lost her loyalty to Lotor in the first place. Don’t misunderstand, I love her relationships with Lotor and Keith as I write them in my works, but I also take care to give Acxa her own backstory and motivations that aren’t dependent on her relationships with those male characters. In canon, we didn’t get that. Not at all.

Narti was a disabled character who was both blind (unless linked with Kova) and mute. She was also abruptly killed off for no reason other than to give Lotor and the other generals a reason to separate. Narti was never given characterization, backstory, or a real purpose in the narrative. She was apparently trusted enough by Lotor to be given his beloved cat, but that ended the moment he struck her down. I used to think that perhaps this was foreshadowing for how he’d react when he found out about Shireplica, which would in turn set the rest of Team Voltron against him, but that wasn’t even it. Instead, it was just that Narti was seen as disposable by LM and JDS, possibly because since she was blind and mute, they didn’t consider her as worthwhile as the other generals. Disgusting.

Ezor and Zethrid were plot devices. In the beginning it seemed that they surely had motivations and character arcs of their own. Ezor was the most upset about Narti’s death, and was the first to call for mutiny, whereas Zethrid only agreed after the first attempt at the rift gateway failed. But as the seasons continued it became more than clear that they were only there to do as the plot commanded them to do. Zethrid suddenly wanted to conquer things in season five despite agreeing with Lotor’s vision before. Ezor was “glad to be on Lotor’s side again” in season six despite being the most upset over Narti and the first to call for mutiny in season four. I fully believe that the only reason why they were written as a couple in later seasons is because they were the only two remaining generals of Lotor’s who didn’t already have another potential love interest (as Acxa had Keith). I also believe they only miraculously survived in season eight due to backlash to their deaths in season seven. But whatever the case, it’s clear that Ezor and Zethrid were not given consideration as individuals. I can’t even list them individually here because that’s how little consideration JDS and LM gave them. It’s goddamn sad.

Krolia only exists to be Keith’s mom. That’s it! At first it might seem as though she did have her own motivations and goals when she was introduced in season five. It seemed highly likely that she left Keith behind because she believed in the cause and the mission to overthrow the Empire, something that she and her son would end up having in common (because Keith would likely make the same choice). But in season six, this was dashed. No, she was perfectly happy to abandon the mission and war to have a family, and only left because she wanted to protect Keith. Fuck the billions of people who were enslaved and dying that Krolia could have cared about---fuck her friends and found family in the Blade of Marmora that she could have cared about, fuck everything else she had going on in her life before she crash landed on Earth that she could have cared about---no, she only cared about Keith. And her role in the show from that point onward was just to be his mom, too. She did end up leading the galra alongside Kolivan later on in season eight, but everything she did was for Keith. She didn’t have any interests, any passions, any goals or opinions that weren’t tied to him in some way. She wasn’t created as her own character, she was created to be Keith’s Mom and that’s it. Disappointing. More important female characters were able to stand on their own for the most part, but even they were done dirty in similar ways. Pidge’s entire character arc revolved around wanting to find her father and brother, for the most part. She had little brief spots of wanting to connect with nature here or there, but for the most part it was all about her male relatives and how she wanted to find them. Her character was never explored more deeply than that. And Allura just wanted to follow in Alfor’s footsteps. All the choices she made with regards to wanting to be a paladin or an alchemist were all because her dad did it first. Rather than giving her an arc about wanting to carve out her own legacy, or realizing that she should want that because Alfor wasn’t the perfect paragon of goodness she believed he was, she instead just wanted to make him proud and that’s it. She was defined by how well she lived up to his legacy. (And that’s not even getting into the misogynoir of her ending, my god.) At the end of the day, LM and JDS wanted to get props for having Strong Female Characters™ without actually writing female characters in a strong way. It’s shallow representation at best.

And finally, the issue of queerbaiting and Bury Your Gays with Adam and Shiro. Prior to season seven, JDS and LM announced that Shiro was gay and had been in a relationship with another instructor at the garrison, Adam. Fans were promised that we would meet Adam and season seven. They generated as much buzz and fanfare as they could, got everyone excited . . . and then not only was it not evident without knowing beforehand that Shiro and Adam were romantically involved, but Adam died about five minutes after his introduction. What they essentially did was pull a JK Rowling: We only knew that Shiro was gay in season seven thanks to them telling us beforehand (similarly to Dumbledore’s “reveal”), and Adam died immediately so there would be no chance of a reconciliation. Shiro did later get to marry a man and have a kiss and all, which is at least something (though the fact that we didn’t get to see that relationship develop is highkey disappointing), but that doesn’t change what they did in season seven. To make matters worse, JDS admitted in his open letter that they knew they were doing the “Bury Your Gays” trope, but that they (paraphrased) “hoped that the reveal of Shiro’s orientation would overshadow it.” I.e., they just wanted the brownie points for saying, “Hey, Shiro’s gay!” instead of actually showing him in a loving relationship with another man and letting the story tell itself. They didn’t want to actually write a queer character or queer relationship; they just wanted the praise and positive buzz for saying they did.

And that’s the same pattern that almost all of VLD’s representation falls into. With the exception of the racial diversity on the show (and even that fails in some areas, such as the writing hinting that mixed-race galra are treated badly, but never delving further into it, though at least we did have skin color diversity among the human characters), VLD’s representation was shallow and only there for brownie points and accolades. The VLD staff did not actually care about representation; they just wanted the awards for having a diverse show. As far as I can recall, I believe that they only started talking about queer representation once people started pestering them about it on twitter. To that end, we could even surmise that it was never originally planned (which would explain why Shiro did not ask Keith about Adam after first waking up in season one, because even if they had broken up, Shiro had planned on marrying that man; you can’t tell me he wouldn’t have cared or been curious), but that they just slapped it on once they saw it would garner positive publicity after shows like Steven Universe aired. Everything LM and JDS ever did was for their own glory; it was never out of genuine care and consideration.

By contrast, The Dragon Prince has given us both representation and care. As another brief rundown:

General Amaya is a deaf character who speaks in ASL and who was created by the crew working with deaf and hard of hearing individuals to make sure she was portrayed authentically. The crew has said in numerous interviews that once they decided to make Amaya deaf, they worked with numerous deaf and hard of hearing people to make sure they were portraying her authentically. They had deaf and hard of hearing people doing ASL in the studio so that the animations were accurate and authentic, too. They didn’t just decide that Amaya was deaf and call it a day; they actually worked with people in that community to make sure that her portrayal would really speak to others in said community, that she wouldn’t be an offensive stereotype or a shallow presentation. And even more than that, we see how Amaya’s disability has informed her character and arc. While she can read lips (and the ability she has to do so is a bit realistic, but that’s been addressed by the creators saying they did a bit of leeway for the sake of the story flow), she still has an interpreter with her in her season one appearances, and we see that her soldiers have learned ASL as well. In fact, it’s because one of the soldiers knows ASL in season two that he is able to tip Amaya---and only Amaya---off to the fact that there are sunfire elves holding him hostage. Amaya being deaf doesn’t define her character, but we do see how it informs her character (and her relationship with her sister, when she and Sarai share a dirty joke that those who don’t know ASL don’t understand!), as well as how it informs and affects the plot.

The female characters are ALL well-rounded, and none of them are dependent on male characters for their arc. Honestly, I have so much to say about the lady characters in The Dragon Prince that I could be here all day if I tried to do a rundown like I did above for VLD, but the simple fact of the matter is that all of the lady characters---even ones we only get glimpses of, such as Sarai---show that they have thoughts, motivations, and character arcs that aren’t dependent on their relationships with male characters in the show. To try to keep it brief:

Rayla was raised and trained by Runaan to be an assassin, and she does want to get Azymondias back to the dragon queen, yes. But she’s also motivated by the sense of shame she has over her parents abandoning their duty as Dragon Guards to flee for their own lives instead. She’s motivated by a deep, internal sense of Right and Wrong that pushes her to hesitate to kill those who aren’t attacking her, and to defy Runaan’s orders once she learns that the egg wasn’t shattered after all. This same internal sense of Right or Wrong has her questioning her job as an assassin in season two, and pushes her to defend the defenseless dragon that Soren and Claudia want to chop to bits. She cares quite a lot about Callum and Ezran, given that it’s heavily implied that they’re the first friends she’s ever had her own age, but she’s not afraid to argue with (or even temporarily separate from) them in order to do what she feels is right. She’s her own character, and even if any of the male characters were removed, she’d have enough to stand on her own.

Claudia was taught dark magic by her father, Viren, and she cares a lot about her brother Soren, yes. However, she also has clear passion and love for dark magic; she considers it “fun” to turn chains into snakes, gets super excited when she has a new breakthrough, and is fascinated by magical ruins and artifacts. She studies magic not because she wants to be like her father or because she wants to make him proud, but because it genuinely fascinates her and she loves pushing her own potential. She’s also impatient and frustrated when her “shortcuts” don’t work out; she uses dark magic for convenience, as seen when she uses it to make pancakes, and she throws tantrums when things don’t go her way. She also has little regard for lives that aren’t human. She’s her own character, and even if any of the male characters were removed, she would still have enough character and motivation to stand on her own.

Sarai was Harrow’s wife, and mother of Callum and Ezran. Lesser shows would have just left her as that. But even though we’ve had hardly any time to get to know Sarai, we see that she was so much more than that. We see little details, like how she had a sweet tooth and felt that dreams that weren’t dirty were “boring.” We also see how she was Harrow’s closest adviser when she was alive, and how she “advised” him through sparring matches. We see how she was passionate that all life was sacred, how she argued against killing Xadians for the benefit of humans, even those humans in her own kingdom. We see how she was willing to stand by Harrow even when she disagreed with him, and that she didn’t let go of her disagreement, but still did what she felt was Right. And we also see that even when she disagreed, she could still see when the success of the mission was more important than anything else, as she gave her life to save Viren’s so that the people of Katolis and Duren would live. Sarai was her own character with her own motivations, and would have been strong even if she hadn’t been Queen of Katolis. These are just three brief examples, but the way that characters such as Amaya, Ellis, Lujanne, and Aanya were portrayed follows these same lines. The female characters in The Dragon Prince are written to be people rather than Strong Female Characters™. Aaron Ehasz and Justin Richmond never bragged about having strong female characters on their show, but they didn’t need to for us to see what a diverse and well-rounded cast of female characters they have.

Finally, the queer representation. In season one it was strongly hinted that Runaan and Tinker Elf from the credits were in a relationship, and I’m of the opinion that Aaron recently confirmed on twitter that Runaan is in fact queer (because when someone asked him if Runaan was the queer character who died, Aaron said “we all know Runaan isn’t dead :)” which would imply that while he’s not dead, he is queer). Unfortunately, they’re not happy together just yet, but I have hope that Runaan will be saved in the coming seasons, that we’ll get to meet Tinker, and that we’ll get to see them happy together. I hope so. Then there’s Aanya’s mothers. I already spoke about this in the post you replied to, so I won’t go on about it at length again, but I will point out that no one on the crew bragged about having queer representation this season (it was a Hypable reviewer who brought it up), nor was their relationship ambiguous in the show itself as Shiro’s and Adam’s was. Moreover, when Aaron addressed the fans, he agreed that fans had a right to be upset that they were, promised more representation in the future, and asked us to trust him. Rather than growing angry at the fans who were upset and liking petty salt posts defending him on twitter the way JDS did before admitting that all he wanted were brownie points, Aaron sympathized with the fans and promised to keep listening. And with the way they improved the animation after hearing fan feedback, I believe that they’ll take this to heart in the future. We already know that Ezran’s choice at the end of this season wasn’t originally planned, but that they went with it because they listened to his character. This tells us they aren’t married to their plot, and are instead writing to character. I believe that they’ll take all this into consideration moving forward.

No show is perfect, because no content creator is perfect. I’m not saying that The Dragon Prince hasn’t or will never make mistakes. But I am saying that we have already seen five billion times more care and consideration from the crew of The Dragon Prince than we ever saw from VLD. All the cards are in place for The Dragon Prince to truly do right by its story, characters, and fans, and that comes right down to the crew and what they’ve already shown us. Any depth and care that VLD had came from the fans rather than the creators or the show itself. With The Dragon Prince, we see depth and care within the first episode or two, and that has never lessened. I completely understand being burned by VLD, because I was, too, but The Dragon Prince is an entirely different project by an entirely different team from an entirely different studio and is on an entirely different (much higher) level. VLD’s sins have no place here, and I truly feel that we have nothing to worry about.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 8

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

To see the version with art by Dara, check it out on Ao3.

Tag for all parts up so far.

A/N: Ernesto bit off more than he can chew. But then again he's been doing that since chapter one, let's be honest.

***

“The anniversary of your first date, are you serious?”

“Of course I am!”

“Who even keeps track of that crap?”

“I do!”

“Well, I don’t see you celebrating the anniversary of our first drink together!”

“I was fourteen, I got sick, and you laughed your ass off while I hurled my guts in the bushes.”

“Heh. Fun times.”

“I did not have fu--”

“Just try not to drink too much this evening, got to make a good impression. Put on your nice suit. We’re going at nine – bring the songbook, all right?”

“Ernesto, I told you, Imelda and I are going--”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of us possibly getting a proper contract with a record label! It’s a huge leap forward, Héctor - we can’t just let this chance pass us by!” Ernesto argues, and now there is an edge of real frustration in his voice. “It’s what we’ve been working for the past-- I didn’t even keep track of the years. Our dream, amigo!”

Héctor bites his lower lip, already feeling guilty – but of course, the guilt doubles when he pictures himself telling Imelda their date night is cancelled. Same old, same old – the crippling fear of disappointing either, or both at once. “What if I give you the songbook?” he suggests. “You’re Mr. Charisma – I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own.”

A scoff. “Of course I could-- that’s not the point! Why am I always the one putting in the effort here?”

“Qué?”

“You know what I mean! You write the songs, fine. You play and sing – fine. But every time we need to get in touch with the right people, and sell what we’ve got for what we’re worth, I am the one doing all the legwork!”

“I...” Héctor begins, only to pause, passing his cell phone to his other hand to gain a few moments. That is true: Ernesto is the one to get them most of the work, and thank God he does. Héctor is perfectly happy writing songs and playing at home, singing with Imelda as they twirl around her workshop or in the kitchen… but none of it would get him any money, none of it would pay any bills.

Where would he be without Ernesto by his side? Nowhere, that’s where. Probably still in Santa Cecilia, doing odd jobs. Without a family. Without Imelda – if Ernesto hadn’t convinced him to try their luck in Mexico City, they may have never met again there and clicked the way they had. He owes him everything, and he’s letting him down. Again.

When he shares such thoughts with Imelda – never all of it, of course; just musings on how he doesn’t feel he’s doing enough to work with Ernesto to build their success – she dismisses it all with a shrug,

“You write the songs,” she says. “Seems only fair he puts in the PR work.”

Maybe it is true, but still--

“Is Imelda there?” Ernesto’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Héctor blinks.

“Huh?”

“Get your ridiculously big ears checked. I asked if Imelda is there.”

“She’s in the workshop.”

“Let me speak to her.”

“… Are you well?”

“If you can’t see reason, maybe she will. She’s more practical than you are when you get your head stuck in heart-shaped clouds. Let me speak to her,” Ernesto repeats. Héctor does as he says, walking in the workshop and handing his cell phone to Imelda with an apologetic look.

“Ernesto,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow at him before she takes the phone.

“Imelda speaking. Are you chickening out for Thursday? Not that surprising, truth be tol--” she trails off, and blinks as Ernesto starts speaking at the other side of the line. Her eyebrows go up almost to her hairline, and she glances at Héctor, but she listens quite intently, hardly interrupting. The anger Héctor feared fails to make an appearance.

“I see? What record label again? Oh. Yes, I think I heard of it. That’s… good,” she finally says, sounding mildly impressed. “Not bad at a-- when? Tonight? Short notice, that. We’re taken tonig-- oh. Of course he told you.”

Under Héctor’s slightly anxious gaze, she taps her fingers on the bench and keeps listening. “Watch your mouth there, you’re on thin ice,” she warns, and gives a faint smile. “That’s better. All, right, I guess… Yes. I see. No-- wait a minute there, I’m loaning you my husband-- why on Earth would I dogsit for you?” Imelda listens again, and sighs. “If you walk them first and if you can guarantee I won’t spend the night trying to clean up after some mess on my carpets. All right, give me a moment.”

Imelda covers the receiver, and looks at Héctor. “Do you want to go?”

Well, he’s not precisely dying to, but… “I think I ought to,” he admits. “But our date--”

“We’ll catch up. This is important for you, too,” she says, practical as always, and Héctor smiles. Relief is like a weight lifted from his chest.

“Te amo.”

“Lo sé.” Imelda blows him a kiss, and brings the phone back to her ear. “All right, he’ll be there. Yes, the songbook – I’ll remind him. Don’t make him drink too much. Yes, you would – come on, we go way back.” She rolls her eyes, but her lips curl in a smile. “So… you’re confirming all will go ahead on Thursday. Hu-uh. We’ll see about that,” she adds, smile widening, and ends the call. “Believe it or not, he actually got you two a great chance for a contract. You’d be loco not to be there.”

Héctor smiles. “Oh, but you do make me un poco loco,” he says, gaining himself a tap on the nose.

“Good thing I’m here to bring you back down to Earth,” she mutters. “Come, we’re going out.”

“Are we?”

“We’ve got a date, remember? Since you’re taken this evening, it will have to be now.”

“What about those shoes?” Héctor asks, glancing at the workbench, but Imelda grabs his chin, turning his head back towards her.

“I’ll finish this evening, when we’ll both be in business,” she says, and smiles. “Ice cream?”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t mind eating mud, as long as you’re in the picture.”

“I know. I did get you to eat mud before.”

“I was four. And those mud cakes looked far to good,” Héctor points out, gaining himself a laugh and a kiss. They go out, have ice cream, and it is a lovely date – just the two of them, and the feeling of not being good enough doesn’t resurface once throughout it.

***

“Maybe they’re already there.”

“We’re forty minutes early, Ernesto.”

“Right, right,” Ernesto mutters, tapping his fingers on the car’s wheel. By some miracle, they were able to find a parking spot right across the cantina. All right, he had to steal it under the nose of another driver who’d yelled something about their family lines from mamá’s side that somehow involved goats, but he has no regrets. It isn’t the right time or place to be playing Mr. Nice Guy. “We should walk in at about the same time, no? So that we don’t seem desperate but also don’t make them wait.”

“… You’re overthinking this.”

“Someone has to, given that it’s the chance of a lifetime,” Ernesto grumbles, but the shove he gives Hector is lighthearted enough. His friend laughs.

“Relax, I’m sure we’ll be fine. And if it doesn’t go through--”

“It must.”

“-- There will be other chances, amigo,” Héctor adds, and Ernesto makes a face.

“Chances are scarcer than you think, and I’m not getting any younger.”

“… You’re not even thirty yet.”

“I will be next month, and I’m not famous yet,” he points out. They have a reasonably good following, and they make reasonably good money, but it’s not the fame he dreamed of, the fame he wants – must – achieve. The kind where people recognize you in the streets, and admire you and love you, and the whole world becomes your family – one that will never turn its back to you.

Héctor may have found his comfortable spot in life, one he’d be happy to settle in, but Ernesto has not. He needs more, and will not stop until he has it.

“We still have time,” Héctor is saying, and something about the good-natured patience in his tone grates his nerves.

“I found a white hair, Héctor!” he blurts out, causing him to blink, staring at his hair.

“Oh? I never noticed--”

“… Not on the head.”

“Ah.” There is a moment of silence before Héctor starts snickering, and soon enough so is Ernesto, leaning back against the driver’s set. They snicker and snicker like idiots, and when it finally dies down Héctor checks his watch.

“If it helps you relax we do, in theory, have enough time for a hand job,” he mutters, reaching to place a hand on Ernesto’s thigh. “So I can check out your white hair of doom.”

“Pfft. Hands off,” Ernesto mutters, trying to ignore the sense of heat in the pit of his stomach, and slaps Héctor’s hand off. “We must make a good impression, and we don’t want to make a mess of ourselves.”

A sigh. “Fair enough. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Good. Don’t mess this up for us, and I promise I’ll give you the best blowjob of your life.”

Héctor grins. “I’ll remind you once we’re back. Don’t worry, it will be all right. They like our music, and as soon as they have taken a look at the new ones in my songbook--” he starts, only to trail off with a sudden look of dread, hands patting at his coat’s pockets. “… Uh-oh.”

Oh, Christ. “Héctor. You do have the songbook, right?”

“Well. Do you mean right now, or--”

“For fuck’s sake – you had one thing to remember!” Ernesto growls, dread turning into frustration, and he turns the key in the car’s ignition. “All right-- if we go fast and ignore a few red lights, we might be able to make it home by-- what’s so funny?” he snaps when Héctor laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

And holds up a very familiar red songbook.

“Hahahah! Your face-- you should have seen your face!”

With a groan, Ernesto turns off the engine and lets himself drop back against his seat. “Pinche cabrón,” he mutters, heart still stuck somewhere in his throat. “I’m going to fucking kill you someday.”

Héctor laughs again, and clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Language, Ernestito. Language.”

“You can forget that blowjob,” Ernesto grumbles, and gets a pat on the shoulder.

“You should relax,” Héctor says. “Come on, let’s get in and have a drink. I’m sure this… Antonio?”

“Armando Abascal. Please don’t call him the wrong name.”

“This Alejandro Pascal--”

“Pendejo.”

“-- Won’t be offended if we have a drink while we wait,” Héctor finishes, and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Come on, stop worrying. I’m sure it will be fine.” He meets Ernesto’s scowl with a grin. “I feel it in my bones. All will go well.”

***

“I take it the meeting went well.”

“Pretty well. We won’t know-- ay, sí, like that-- for sure until next month, once the board has met, but-- ah!-- he was… impressed,” Héctor gasps out, smiling at her. His face is all sweaty and he’s leaning back on the couch, shirt open and trousers to his ankles, with one had in Ernesto’s hair. He pulls it lightly. “Told you not to worry, didn’t I?”

On the floor in front of him, Ernesto hums around his cock before he resumes bobbing his head, a little faster now. Imelda chuckles, and sits on the couch next to Héctor, giving him a deep kiss.

"I knew you’d do well,” she murmurs, pulling back just a little and cupping his cheek. His arm slips around her waist. “No one in their right mind would pass up the chance to have you under contract, mi amor.”

“ Mmfph.”

“... And him too, I guess,” Imelda mutters, smiling a little. As annoyed as she still is at him, seeing him pleasure Héctor like that does something to mellow her. She has to admit he’s not bad company… as long as his mouth is otherwise  occupied. Not a bad sight either, with his lips stretching over Héctor’s cock, his cheeks hollowing as he bobs his head.

It feels almost wrong to admit he’s good at anything – he’s not bad at all with the guitar, a good singer and an excellent dancer, though hell will freeze over before she says as much – but if the look on Héctor’s face is anything to go by, he’s got a real talent for blowjobs, too.

“Ah, damn-- I might-- not be able to hold back much… longer,” her husband gasps, and Imelda leans in to kiss him again, whispering against his mouth.

“Let go. He’ll swallow,” she says. Her hand sneaks down Héctor’s chest, over his thigh and then on his hand, resting on Ernesto’s head. Her own fingers slip in his hair; it isn’t as soft as Héctor’s, but not unpleasant to the touch whenever it’s not coated with... whatever gels he keeps putting on it. “Won’t you?”

There is a muffled groan, almost covered by Héctor’s gasps, and Imelda pulls away from his mouth to lower her head on his thigh, her lips only centimeters away from Ernesto’s ear. “To the last drop,” she whispers. A moan and Ernesto’s head jerks forward, swallowing Héctor’s cock down to the base, cheeks hollowing and lips stretching, nose buried in his pubic hair. Imelda reaches beneath Héctor’s lifted thigh, cups his testicles and gives one single, gentle squeeze.

“Ay-- madre de Dios--!” Héctor chokes out, and his hips rise and fall in a few jerky motions, causing Ernesto to grunt – but not to pull back, on no. He doesn’t do that until Héctor has collapsed against the couch, hair disheveled and mouth hanging open, legs twitching; only then does Ernesto lift his head, letting his softening cock slip out of his mouth. He looks up, breathing fast, and wipes his lips with the back of his hand before smirking.

“Good, huh?” he asks, and looks at Imelda; his expression turns, if possible, even more smug. “Would you like to be next?”

That gets Imelda to raise a skeptical eyebrow. Last time he tried to eat her out at Héctor’s suggestion, he’d sucked – and not in the good way. It was painfully obvious he’d never in his life given a woman oral sex: it was dull at best and annoying at worst, with his tongue just all over the place as he lapped at random. In the end, she had to tell him to quit embarrassing himself and let Héctor do it properly.

“Wasn’t last time enough?”

“Don’t I get a rematch?” he challenges. Héctor’s arms lace themselves around her waist, and he nuzzles her neck.

“Let him give it a try,” he says. “If it’s still that bad, I’ll take over.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Ernesto says drily while Imelda gets rid of her underwear, pulls her skirt up to her waist, and leans back against Héctor’s chest – legs spread and sex exposed, already wet.

“You know that wasn’t you, so don’t start,” Imelda says when Ernesto slips a finger inside, and he rolls his eyes – but, instead of giving some kind of remark, he just buries his face between her legs, closes his lips around her clit, and sucks.

“Ah--!” Imelda lets out a startled gasp, and her hips twitch at the sudden pleasure. She reaches to grasp Héctor’s hands around her, hard. All right, so that is a pretty good start, if she says so herself. There is surprise and maybe some annoyance – he wasn’t supposed to be good, what happened? - but it is mostly drowned out in pleasure while Ernesto presses his tongue against her clit, circling it, and slips a second finger in her at the same time, pressing down just in all the right spots.

“Shh, relax,” Héctor murmurs against her temple, kissing her hair. “Just enjoy.”

“Did you--?” Imelda manages, turning to press her face against his neck. Did you teach him, she means to ask, and he understands immediately.

“Just gave a few pointers,” Héctor replies, and he does sound surprised himself. There is a chuckle, the lightest scrape of teeth across her folds – he’s keeping them open with his thumbsd now, giving him full access – before Ernesto pulls back. The sudden lack of sensation in her sex – the lack of contact, of heat – nearly makes her whine. Her legs twitch and she almost, almost wraps them around Ernesto’s shoulders to pull him closer and make him continue.

And thank God she was able to hold back, or he’d never let her live it down.

“Oh, I got someone to show me the ropes,” he says, twisting his fingers briefly. “As it turns out there are better ways to teach a skill than calling someone a mindless hoover, would you believe it?”

He says that with such a supremely offended tone that Imelda can’t help herself: she burst laughing, causing Héctor to snicker and Ernesto to huff.

“What’s so funny now?” he demands to know.

Imelda glances down. He’s looking up at her in clear confusion from between her spread legs, and she smiles. He does look better like this, with his hair disheveled and the smugness gone from his features. “Not half bad, but wait until I come to brag,” she says. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there is something stirring at the thought he went to another woman to learn - that he has been doing this to someone else. It is none of her business, of course, and the sensation doesn’t quite border into annoyance, so he does her best to ignore it.

What he does and who he beds when not with her and Héctor is, after all, not her problem.

Unaware of her thoughts, Ernesto grins. “Not a long wait, then,” he says, and his tongue is on her the next moment-- in her-- and a finger is pressing firmly against her clit, making small circular movements. Soon enough he’s eating her out as though he’s been starving for the taste of her. It doesn’t drive her up the wall the way Héctor could, because he doesn’t known nearly as well what truly makes her lose control, but it is good.

He will be insufferably smug over it, no doubt, so Imelda figures she may as well let herself enjoy it. And she does, gasping and trembling, leaning back against Héctor while he whispers in her ear, kisses her neck, fondles her breasts. Orgams hits her like a wave, and she clings to her husband’s arms while her hips shudder, buckling against Ernesto’s face as he reaches beneath her, gripping her ass and lifting her up against his mouth. She knows better than to fight the tide, and so she does not - although she does muffle her moan against Héctor’s neck.

When she comes down from her high, Héctor’s mouth against her temple murmuring how beautiful she is, how much he adores her, Imelda feels too sated to be really bothered by Ernesto’s smug expression as he stands and looks down at her. He looks all the world like he’s scored some great victory, but her mind is somewhere where annoyance cannot reach, it seems. Imelda hardly notices the smirk: all she focuses on are her juices glistening on his face.

“Well?” Ernesto is saying, and she finds herself smirking back between pants.

“It’s nice to see… you can improve, after all,” she says, and lets go of Héctor’s arms with one hand to reach up and grasp Ernesto’s hair, pulling his face closer. He winces, taken aback, but doesn’t try to pull back. Her smile widens at his confusion. “You could use some more practice.”

Ernesto scowls. “Can you just admit it was good?” he very nearly whines.

“It was.” She lets go of his hair, and runs her hand down his cheek. “But it can be better.”

“And how?”

“... Do you want us to tell you, or you’d rather we show you?” she asks, letting her hand slips off his cheek in what’s almost a caress. “On Thursday, maybe. If you’re good.”

Oh, there is something there for a moment - a flicker of huger, naked desire in the midst of apprehension for what awaits him in two days’ time - but in the end, he hides it all and nods.

“On Thursday,” he says, and he almost manages to keep his voice firm.

***

“You will not speak unless spoken to.”

“… Right.”

“Repeat.”

“Come on, I got it--”

Whack.

“Ow!”

“ Repeat.”

Somewhere on his right, he hears Héctor snickering. How can anyone find it in himself to be amused with a collar around his neck, he has no idea – but at the moment, his attention is entirely taken by Imelda. With her hair tied back and the jacket, she looks all the world like a teacher.

Except that his teachers back in school were more likely to carry around a stick then a riding crop, were usually well above the age of fifty and, did not, with one memorable exception, wear high-heeled, thigh-high black leather boots.

Plus, while some of them were a complete pain in the ass when it came to detention, Ernesto honestly cannot recall any of them ever using him as a footstool, least of all while he was naked from waist down. He glowers at her for a moment, but she returns his glare with steely eyes. There is a challenge in them, he can read it clear as day.

If you don’t think you can handle it, you can say the safeword. Come on. Go ahead.

You wish, Ernesto thinks, but bites back the retort. “… I will not speak unless spoken to,” he grits out. Imelda nods in approval, idly scratching Héctor under the chin with her free hand, and her gaze stays fixed on him. Her eyes look somewhat darer, more heated, the pupils wide. She shifts her feet just a little, and Ernesto can feel the hardness of the heel pressing against his spine. “You will do as I say.”

“I will do as you say,” Ernesto repeats, not quite as grudgingly, because hell knows how distracting she is. He briefly catches a glimpse of the look Héctor is giving him – I know, right? – before Imelda speaks again. She is holding the rod again, and letting the tip trail down his lower back, brushing just barely over the crack of his ass. There is a shudder he is unable to suppress entirely. If it makes her feel smug, she doesn’t show it and he is inwardly… well. Not grateful, but something not too far away either

“In my absence, you’ll to as he says,” she adds, running a hand through Héctor’s hair. He grins at him, and Ernesto swallows. He’s been on his hands and knees for a few minutes now, and they have seen like this before, but somehow he just now starts to feel truly exposed in a way that is both exciting and somewhat frightening.

“I’ll do as he says,” he manages. Heat is pooling in his groin and it must show, because the next moment Imelda’s legs shift and one booted foot is beneath him, pressing his half-hard cock up against his belly. It makes him shudder.

“And do you know, why that is?” Imelda is saying, brushing the boot against his cock a few more time while the rod traces his ass. He shakes his head.

“Speak up.”

“No,” Ernesto says quickly, and dares peer up again. The pleased look is back on her face, and it’s a relief. He quickly tells himself it’s because he won’t be struck again.

“Because you have control over nothing, Ernesto,” she says. The words alone make him suddenly feel like he’s on fire, but then there is a sudden pressure against his cock from her booted foot, and Ernesto gasps.

“Ah, fu--”

Whack. The rod comes down across his ass, leaving a thin line of fire and tearing a cry from his throat. “AH!”

“You know what that was for,” Imelda says, her voice almost sweet. “Don’t you?”

“S-sí.”

“And what was it for?”

“I… misspoke.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“I-- no.”

“That,” Imelda says, running the rod down his back almost tenderly, “was not a question.”

Ernesto shuts his eyes, bracing himself for another blow, but none comes. She smiles at him – Christ, the way she smiles – and turns her attention on Héctor. She unclips the leash from the collar he’s wearing, runs a hand through his hair. “Mi amor.”

“Diosa,” he breathes, and for a moment they just stay still and say nothing more, gazing at each other in a way that makes Ernesto’s insides clench – with childish disgust, he will tell himself later, like he could ever hope to really fool himself into thinking what he felt was anything other than longing.

“… Get him ready,” she finally says, and gives him a kiss before standing, and looking down at Ernesto again. “One more thing,” she adds. She crouches, and lifts Ernesto’s chin with the tip of the rod. He stares at her with wide eyes, breathing already quickening, pulse racing. He is vaguely aware that this isn’t how he’d pictured himself reacting; he was supposed to resist, to make a point. But now… now he can’t even bring himself to remember what point he was supposed to make anymore. “Tonight, you’re ours," she says, and pulls the rod away.

Close to crying out for the sudden loss of contact – he’s already so painfully hard, he wants them, he wants so much and he wants it now – Ernesto chokes out, “I’m yours.”

He is rewarded with that pleased smile again, and the rod brushes over his throat in a caress before she stands. “Take off that undershirt and get down on your elbows. Forehead to the floor,” she orders, and he does; both actions make him feel even more exposed than before. “Now, mi amor. You have a minute,” she says, and he hears her heels clicking on the floor as she walks off – probably to get rid of the clothes. At least, Ernesto hopes it’s to get rid of that. He needs to see more of her skin than this.

“All right, amigo. Hope you’re ready.” Héctor’s voice reaches him as though from very far away, along with a pungent scent he recognizes immediately as that of fresh ginger. He peers up to see Héctor is holding it up in front of him: a peeled ginger root, carved to be roughly the size and shape of a cock. There is a notch near the widening base that, he was told, will keep it locked in place unless it’s pulled out.

He knows what is coming, they have talked it all through, but there is still a sense of utter unreality. Talking about figging and how it works is one thing; realizing your best friend is about to shove a ginger root up your ass is... quite another.

"Ready?” Héctor asks, brushing back his hair, and Ernesto finds it in himself to scoff.

“O-of course,” he mutters, and leans his forehead on the floor again. The tiles are cool against his heated skin. He stays still as Héctor gets behind him, running a hand down his back and gentle fingers down the welts that, he knows, Imelda’s blows must have raised. They seem to burn even more at the touch, no matter how delicate.

“You’ll have a lot more of these by the time we’re done,” he muses aloud, the leans down to brush his lips across his lower back, causing Ernesto to shiver. “But don’t worry, I’ll be taking good care of you.”

Then start now, Ernesto almost says, but the words never make it past his lis: the next moment Héctor is running the fresh ginger root down the crack of his ass, presses its tip against the hole, and starts pushing it in, slow and steady. Ernesto’s cock twitches and he bites his lower lip, but he doesn’t make a noise. He refuses to.

And at first, there doesn’t seem to be much to make any noise about. The root goes in smoothly enough, if slowly - lube would lessen the sensation, apparently, hence the extra care - and for a few moments that’s it. Ernesto is about to scoff and ask if that’s all, but Héctor places a hand on his ass and chuckles.

“Give it another few moments,” he says, and goes to sit on the bed in front of him. He’s wearing the high-heeled red boots Imelda apparently made specifically for him, and slides a foot beneath his chin to get him to look up at him. He’s grinning from ear to ear, the pendejo.

“It should kick in just about now,” he says, just as a tingling sensation reaches Ernesto’s addled brain. And once the tingle starts, it doesn’t stay just that for long. It’s like tinders turning into a wildfire; suddenly it burns, and burns, and burns.

“A-ah-- shit--” Ernesto blurts out a few profanities, and clenches his hands into fists, bringing his head back down on the tiles – or rather, on Héctor’s boot. He instinctively clenches around the root, but it only makes the burning worse, so much so he cries out.

“No worries, It’s perfectly safe,” Héctor is saying in a somewhat sing-song voice, sounding like he’s having the time of his life. Ernesto takes a mental note to kick his ass at the first chance, possibly once his own has stopped feeling like someone shoved in a hot poker, and gives in to his next instinct – trying to push it out.

“You can’t get it out, but of course you’d try,” Imelda speaks up suddenly, and then her boot is resting against his ass, and something – the heel? – is pressing the ginger root deeper still. Ernesto hears her laughter over his own cry, and drops his head back down on the floor. “Didn’t you say you could take it?” Imelda muses aloud.

He can, of course, and he will. It is a relief, being able to think of it that way; it is purely a matter of pride now, of refusing to back down - not of arousal. Never mind he’d hard and panting and so, so desperate for more touch.

And he does get the touch, sort of; he feels the tip of the riding crop brushing up his spine and then back down, so slowly, raising goosebumps on his skin. He focuses on that, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his ass, the prickling in his eyes, the heat on his groin-- and, then, suddenly, the rod is lifted and comes back down, hard.

He knew it was coming, but nothing would have prepared him for the intense burning when he instinctively clenches his ass at the blow. It gets a choking gasp out of him, and something spills down his face, but Christ, he’s still so hard. The part of his mind still capable of rational thought registers a pause, with no blow following the first, and suddenly Héctor is crouching next to his head and brushing back his hair. “The safeword--” he begins, and Ernesto shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he gasps. More, he thinks, but the plea doesn’t leave his lips. He refuses to acknowledge it, let alone to utter it. “I don’t need it.” Stop holding back.

“Yes, yes. But if it’s too much--”

“It’s not,” Ernesto snaps. It’s not enough.

“All right,” Héctor says, and next thing Ernesto knows the blows have resumed - whack, whack, whack - across his ass and thighs and lower back, and Héctor is pulling down his underwear with one hand, the other grasping his hair in a vicious grip. The tip of his cock is pressed against his lips, already wet, and Ernesto parts them to allow it in, let Héctor sink deep in his mouth, deep down his throat with a loud groan.

Well, not like he can say the safeword now, Ernesto thinks. Of course they agreed beforehand to other ways he can get them to stop immediately, but that’s a neglectable detail. His mind is a little too taken by the cock thrusting in and out of his mouth, the pull at his hair, the maddening burning sensation in his ass and where the blows have landed, how painfully hard he is.

Then the blows stop, the rod is thrown away - he hears it clatter somewhere on the floor - and he can’t hold back a whine in the back of his throat when the root is pulled, almost yanked out of him. The burn is still there but oh God, he feels so empty.

“Do you want it back?” The ginger is pressed back against him, barely slipping in before stopping. Ernesto whines again, trying to push back, to be stopped by Héctor’s grip in his hair. A sharp slap on his ass causes him to cry out around his dick, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“That was a question,” Imelda says coldly, and rakes her nails down his back, hard.

Héctor pulls back enough to slip out of Ernesto’s mouth, and he coughs, head spinning. “I-I…”

“Do you want it back in you, or not?”

Ernesto swallows. He longs for Héctor’s taste, he longs to be filled again, he needs to come and he knows what he must to. When he speaks, his voice is a weak croaking sound. “Y-yes.”

Her nails sink into the sensitive skin of his ass. “Beg.”

“Por favor,” he blurts out. Normally he would be so embarrassed - so ashamed - for giving in so easily, but right now he doesn't care. He needs more; shame can wait another day.

“Por favor what?”

“Put it back,” he chokes out, and sniffles, his chest seizing up in a sob. “Please.”

Imelda shoves the root back in him roughly, a hand suddenly tightening around his cock and giving it a squeeze, and that’s all it takes. Climax is like a blow, and the cry that leaves him fades into a sob, which he muffles against Héctor’s stomach. He slumps down, or at least so he thinks, because everything spins and suddenly he’s on his back, staring up as Héctor and Imelda tower over him. Héctor is still hard, a big stupid smile on his face, and Imelda looks impassable as always, holding up a pair of handcuffs.

“We’re not done yet,” she says, but there is a pause - a chance for him to say it is enough.

Ah, but is it?

Shuddering, lightheaded from his orgasm, ass and back on fire, Ernesto licks his lips and says nothing. Imelda smiles, and nudges at him with one booted foot. “Get up. On the bed.”

He does, barely able to stand on shaky limbs that feel like jelly. He’s turned on his back, cuffed to the bedpost; then Héctor is coating himself in lube, Imelda lowers herself on his face, and what follows is a whirlwind of pain and pleasure, moans and pleas, cold lubricant and heated skin. He loses himself to it. Imelda was right - tonight, he has no control. He gave it up willngly. 

And he’s not scared.

***

“Now that wasn’t bad at all, was it, amigo? Just relax,” Héctor is saying, the first words his mind can truly register once he comes down from the high of another orgasm. The handcuffs are off, and his friend is massaging his wrists to restore circulation.

Ernesto can hardly feel his hands, and they will probably feel like pins and needles later, but he doesn’t care. He hums, face burrowed in the pillow, as Héctor lets go of his hand and speaks again. “I’ll get you something for those welts. And the bite marks. And… everything else.”

Ah, yes. those. Ernesto had forgotten about it all; the sting seems so very, very far away. He just nods and leans his head back down on the pillow, heart hammering in his chest and breathing fast. He hears footsteps, a drawer being opened and he knows Héctor must be getting some salve - but what does grab his attention is something else entirely: absence.

Imelda is not in the room anymore.

Somehow, that stings more than anything else did throughout the whole evening. Even as Héctor returns to the bed and starts spreading salve over his backside, Ernesto finds he cannot even enjoy the soothing coolness. He scowls and struggles to lift himself on his elbows.

“Where--” he starts, only to shut his mouth when there are more steps, Imelda’s own. He lets himself drop back - he won’t look at her now, he suddenly feels something will break if he does, he has never felt more fragile in his life - and shuts his eyes, trying to pretend he never looked around for her in the first place, expecting some sort of mockery.

“How are you?”

Her voice is quiet, and the mattress tips slightly as she sits right by his head. Eyes shut, Ernesto swallows before speaking. “Fine,” he rasps.

“Good,” Imelda is saying, and suddenly her hand is in his hair, brushing back the dishevelled locks. “You look fine, too,” she adds, a hint of humor in her voice that sounds nothing like mockery. All the retorts  he thought up seem to vanish in his mind, and Ernesto can only blink in surprise just as she lifts his head and lets him lean it back down on her lap.

She is still naked, her skin is so warm, and she doesn’t stop stroking his hair. Ernesto closes his eyes, and lets out a long sigh. Above him Héctor is still spreading soothing salve, massaging it into the reddened skin with light touches, occasionally pausing to place a kiss on a welt.

“I’d be careful not to sit around too much for the next couple of days,” he murmurs against his skin, and gives a small laugh. “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

He could deny it. He would, if not for the fact his eyelids feel so heavy, their touches so soothing. He is so tired, and sated, and he finds an argument is the last thing he wants. So he just nods, and leans his head into Imelda’s touch. She cradles his head, and her thumb brushes across his cheek before she leans in and places a kiss against his temple.

“I’m running you a warm bath. Think you can stand up in about twenty minutes?”

Of course, he should say. I don’t need your help, he should sneer. But he could melt there and then, so he doesn’t. “If you help,” he murmurs, and feels her smile against his skin.

“We will,” Héctor says. His hands go up and down his back in long, soothing strokes. “Stay for the night.”

“My dogs--”

“I’ll walk them and get them here, once we’re done with you,” he reassures him and really, that’s all it takes. Ernesto closes his eyes again, sated and boneless, and rests there under their touch, their scent in his nostrils and hushed words in his ears. All is right in the world.

For a time.

***

[Back to Part 7]

[alteriius]

Dysphoric

FANDOM: Final Fantasy XV PAIRING: Noctis/Prompto WORD COUNT: 2,311 LINKS: AO3 | FFN

Trans Prompto, dysphoria and a little bit of bed sharing. If this is the type of content you enjoy and you like my work, consider buying me a coffee! Also open to requests!

“Admit it, we're lost!”

“We are not lost.”

Prompto Argentum is the first to admit that Noctis isn't much of a liar. Hell, his honesty is probably a hazard to Lucis, as far as most its politicians are concerned, but that mattered little. He could say with confidence that most people preferred an honest king to a liar, even if he came baring disheartening information.

But as much of a liar Noct wasn’t, that didn’t mean he couldn’t tell one. Being a blunt guy didn’t mean he wouldn’t pretend that he knew where they were going until it was clear that he’d lost their way well over an hour ago.

“Dude, we're totally lost. There's the coeurl we killed like thirty minutes ago!”

“Okay, for on thing, that was maybe twenty minutes, but fine, yes,” Noctis says with an eye roll so aggressive that Prompto wouldn’t be surprised if they rolled right out of his head. He leans heavy on his “good” leg, eyes scouring the trees for their destination to no avail before making their way back to Prompto. “We’re a little lost.”

“Finally!” Prompto says, raising his hands toward the sky, as if reciting a silent prayer to the Astrals, thanking them for this blessing. Noct’s half-hearted glare stops him from actually singing his praises to the Six.

“You're more than welcome to show me where I should be going if you know so much better,” Noctis says with a wave of his hand, gesturing at the foreign landscape stretched out before him.

Oh, hell no.

“Right, uh, buddy. Pal. Kinda defeats the point of a camera man is he taking the lead.”

There’s another roll of his eyes, but Prompto doesn’t miss the way Noct’s lips twitch upwards into a smile that gives away his amusement.

“Yeah, you just wanna take pics of me falling on my ass,” Noctis says and Prompto touches a hand to his heart, offended by the mere concept that he would enjoy the opportunity to ruin his friend’s reputation. But he doesn’t have the chance to continue messing around, if only because they need to be adults for once, instead of letting Iggy do all the legwork for them.

“We're gonna have to camp soon. It's getting late,” Noctis says and any glee Prompto had found in their antics disappears. He groans at the idea of sleeping on the ground again. This would make the fourth night in a row—and this time, he couldn’t even blame Ignis being cheap.

“Ya know, I think we need to convince Ignis that sleeping on a giant magical rock that sends a smoky wisp thing up into the air to alert everyone to where it's at is probably not very beneficial to our health.”

“Tried it.”

A laugh spills from Prompto’s lips as a smile spreads across Noct’s face. The two of them walk onwards in the dimming light, searching for anything that might resemble safety once night fell. It’s the aforementioned sliver of smoky light that leads them to their destination and it’s not until he takes a running leap to the top of the rock that he realizes how shit out of luck they are.

“Aw, man,” Prompto says aloud, letting loose a whine as he swivels on his heels to look at his friend. “We’re gonna freeze our balls off out here, Noct.”

That was to be expected, but it somehow slipped his mind that as infinite as Noctis’s internal storage apparently was, their camping equipment had a home in the trunk of the Regalia, rather than the Armiger. Tents, sleeping bags… Come morning, they were both going to have nasty colds and aching backs to match.

“I have, uh…” Noctis says, pausing to hum softly before something flickers into existence in his hands, pulled from the Armiger. “This?”

This is a just a single, solitary blanket, not particularly thick and superior to what Prompto could offer—which was nothing—but it does little to make him feel better about the night they’d be spending away from their other comrades.

“That’s… not gonna get us very far.”

“Yeah, but it’s all we’ve got,” Noct says, shrugging off Prompto’s observation before he tosses the blanket to him. It covers Prompto’s face and by the time he’s wrestled it from the top of his head, Noctis is disappearing over the edge of the rock to retrieve a few pieces of firewood so they don’t actually freeze to death.

Apart from this sad little blanket, a fire was going to be their only means of staying relatively warm.

A sigh leaves his lips as he tips his head back for a moment to look at the stars starting to appear in the sky amidst the warm hues of the fading sun.

Looks like he's stuck prepping their, uh… sleeping arrangements.

Their camp is a sorry one. It can hardly be called one at all, but the sky is clear and the daemons are distant, so despite the chill in the air, they still had plenty to be thankful for. The fire isn’t going to stave off the cold as much as he’d like, but it’s better than nothing and it’s easy to ignore the chill in the air when he’s teasing Noct for cheating and using magic to start the fire.

It’s easy to ignore the temperature that’s steadily dipping sitting here with Noct, sucking down dinner that was little more than a nice meal of enhanced cup noodles. It’s not until they’re getting ready to underneath their single, solitary blanket that he begins to feel the cold. Their jackets are peeled away, laid down to defend them as much as possible from stone beneath them.

The rest should be easy. Years of knowing Noctis had given them time to have plenty of sleepovers in the past. There were perhaps too many times where Prompto ended up crashing at his place—in his bed—because he’d missed the last train. Not to mention, Noct was his best bud. The only real tragedy here would be if he wasn’t allowed to cuddle away the cold with him.

Noct is the first one to find a home in their shoddy sleeping arrangements. That’s no surprise. What he’s not expecting is for Noctis to stop him before he can crawl in to join him.

“C'mon, man, I'm freezing my junk off out here.”

“You’re not wearing that to bed.”

Violet blue eyes find a sudden interest in the stone beneath his feet more than the face of his friend. He can’t help biting down on his lip, chewing on the tender flesh there for a moment as he mulls over how to win the ensuing argument.

Anyone with half a brain would know what Noctis was talking about—and it’s not the pants he’s borrowed from him to keep the cold from clinging to his skin like it would if he slept in his boxers as per usual.

“Aw, come on, man. Don't be Ignis,” he tries, wringing his hands in front of him, chest constricting the minute the words were out of his mouth. That is 100% your anxiety, he tells himself, not wanting to believe it’s anything else, despite the likelihood of it.

The way Noct’s face scrunches up at the mere suggestion that he’s even remotely similar to his adviser elicits a breath of laughter from Prompto, though he knows a loss is in the cards. All he’s doing is prolonging the inevitable.

“I'm not ‘being Ignis’. You can't sleep in a binder, Prom.”

“Uh, and I can't sleep with my tits, like, on you.”

“Like they’re any different than mine.”

From day one, it’s been obvious that Prompto was the only one bothered by the disparity between his identity and his body. The only “disturbance” that had occured due to Prompto’s confession was Ignis being surprisingly upset that he hadn’t been told in advance so he could tailor meals more appropriately to minimize the negative impacts of what Prompto liked to call his “monthly hell”—and Prompto couldn’t have been happier to say that the extra effort wasn’t necessary.

But Noctis had known longer than Gladio or Ignis. He had found out back in high school, when his stupid uterus had decided to be on anything buta schedule and Prompto had been forced to tell the prince of his fucking country that he was trans and could he please go buy him a couple things because he couldn’t very well walk down the street bleeding everywhere.

Words could never express how grateful he was to have a friend that would not only go out and do exactly that, but would also deal with the weeksthat the press spent trying to track down who he was dating.

So if there was any one person that Prompto should feel comfort being around without a binder, it should probably be Noct—if only that was enough to will away his dysphoria.

“Prom,” Noctis says, voice as soft as it is stern. It’s the tone of his voice that dissolves whatever drive he has to keep his chest as flat as possible. Much as he hates the fat sacks hanging from his chest like a pair of anatomically-infused weights, sleeping in a binder is a bad idea.

Noct's right. He knows this; he knows that the ache in his chest isn’t anxiety.

“Fiiine, just… turn around, would ya?”

Noct does as told, but that doesn’t mean Prompto’s satisfied.

“And close your eyes.”

Prompto can’t even see his face to confirm whether or not he actually does it, but he decides that maybe—just maybe—Noct is trustworthy enough to assume that he did as told.

“And cover them with your hands!”

“Prom, really?” Noct asks, though Prompto hears more amusement than irritation in his voice, despite the exaggerated sigh as his hands move up to comply with Prompto’s demands.

“Listen, I'm not taking any chances with you after that time you grabbed me, Mister!”

Noct sputters, ears flushing bright even in the dim light as he tries and fails to make anything but words. It takes him so long to figure out how his mouth works that Prompto’s already stripping his tank off when he says, “It was an accident! Besides, you’re one to talk! You had your hand on my ass how many times today?!”

“Dude, I have to make sure you still have one after all the lazing around you do. Think about how disappointed Lady Lunafreya would be if her husband was assless?”

“Hey, I have an ass!”

“Yeah, sure, buddy,” he says with a laugh as he peels off the tight, black binder, letting loose a breath of sweet relief that came with the first opportunity he’s had to breath properly all day. But the absence of it reminds him of another issue as the air hits his bare skin, causing a shiver to rock his body. “Hey, uh… Don't suppose you have an extra shirt? Iggy had all of mine for washing… And the tank is a little…”

Tight, he wants to say, but the thought of how it would emphasize a part of his body that he hated second most was enough to make him cringe. But as always, Noctis doesn’t question him, doesn’t second guess whatever is on Prompto’s mind.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he pauses to fish through the armiger a moment before retrieving one of his spare shirts and Prompto was grateful when he reached back without looking to hand it to him. He doesn’t scold him for pulling his hands away from his face to do it, either. “Here.”

“Thanks, man.”

It’s when the shirt is in his hands that he knows he’s been more than blessed by the Gods, given the friend that he has.

“Oh, Noct,” he whispers, tone exaggerated. “My favorite fabric. How did you know? Not even my nips will suffer tonight.”

He hears a huff of laughter from his friend, but the joke that follows has Prompto gasping in mock offense.

“It's my subtle way of saying, ‘Please keep your shirt on’.”

“Like you haven’t seen ‘em before, your highness.”

Both of them chuckle at that, knowing the truth of it. It’d be hard for Noct not to see his bare chest once of twice when he was constantly getting his ass kicked. How many times had he needed to help bandage a wound that he’d waited too long to grab a potion for?

Prompto pulls on the shirt offered to him, relishing in the familiar soft fabric that was easy even on the most sensitive of skin.

“Okay,” he says, signalling to Noct that he can finally turn back around. This time, their eyes meet and a smile lights Prompto’s face as Noctis opens up the space he’d previously closed off for his sake. He’s quick to settle into their makeshift sleeping bag, laying close—too close by the standards of some—to his friend and curling an arm around him. “Give me your best octopus impression.”

Noctis wastes no time in leeching off Prompto’s natural warmth while Prompto suffers a few minutes through the chill that’s settled into Noct’s limbs. He spots a hint of the same tired smile he’s been seeing all evening before it disappears into blond locks.

“Night, Prom,” Noct mutters, voice already slurred from sleep. He was going to wake up with a stiff back tomorrow. He was going to wish they'd never wandered out of Gladio and Ignis's field of vision, but he had none of those regrets right now.

“Night, Noct,” he whispers, the soft snoring he gets in response eliciting a giggle from him that fills his chest with warmth instead of the usual anxiety.

Nah, this couldn’t be counted among his regrets, no matter how sore his back would be come morning.

[ayearofpike]

Spooksville #17: The Thing in the Closet

Pocket Books, 1997 115 pages, 11 chapters ISBN 0-671-00265-1 LOC: CPB Box no. 379 vol. 5 OCLC: 37188955 Released July 1, 1997 (per B&N)

Cindy is afraid of her closet, like many kids are. But her fear shows itself as justified when a green monster bursts out of it and drags her to another dimension. How is she going to find her way home? Will her friends be able to help her? And where did this monster come from anyway?

Here’s the kind of thing this genre did really well: an exploration of what might happen if those childhood fears we all have were founded in reality. I’m not sure that any of the Spooksville titles preceding this do it so directly; there’s a lot of world-building and thinking about what makes this particular town so weird, and so the associations aren’t quite as direct up to now. But this is a typical worry that kids have, and Cindy acknowledges it in the beginning, even thinking that the place where she lives and her age should preclude her from having such a generic anxiety. But none of that means that she doesn’t see a weird green glow with no discernable origin in the middle of the night.

She tells the Spook Squad about it over breakfast donuts (this being a Saturday in December, I have to assume based on the mention of Christmas pajamas later on, and quick tangential aside: for a dude who loves turkey as much as Pike seems to, based on how often his characters eat it across his work, I’m surprised that he jumped right over Thanksgiving). Tira is with them, a little later than I anticipated, and her life experiences in being half-possessed give her a sixth sense when it comes to understanding emotions and expectations. She picks up on a lot of fear in Cindy’s room, centered around the closet in particular, when they all go to her place to check it out. But there’s no glow right now, and they think maybe it has to be nighttime, so Adam tells Cindy to call him if it comes back that night.

Of course it does, but before Adam can make it to Cindy’s house she’s gone. He rousts the rest of the squad, which manages to convene in Cindy’s bedroom in the middle of the night without waking her mom or brother, and they try to piece together what might have happened. Tira senses fear even stronger than before, but the glow still isn’t present. So Watch posits that maybe the critical element isn’t the closet itself, but Cindy’s fear. It allowed the supernatural whatever-the-hell to open up some kind of dimensional portal and has now taken her over to the other side. So how are they going to track her down if none of them is afraid of their closet? Do they know anyone who might be so frightened of every little think that they could coerce him into opening another portal?

Hell yeah, Pee-Pants is back! They pound on his window and Sally basically terrifies him into instantly opening a portal, from which emerges a glowing green slime monster with tentacles. It tries to grab Pee-Pants, but Watch and Sally fight it down and then they and Adam manage to pursue it back through the portal into its own world. It takes off, but then they hear more footsteps, followed by a voice asking if they are friends of Cindy Makey’s. 

Yes, she’s here too — her monster successfully dragged her through, but this mysterious voice belongs to a young warrior who killed it and has been endeavoring to get Cindy back to the capitol city of this realm. Unfortunately, they were beset upon by a group of monsters — Shadows, he calls them — who captured Cindy and have tied her up in preparation for a feast. They get up to the monster camp and distract them with a flashlight, which allows the local warrior to untie Cindy and they all get free, with surprisingly minimal pursuit by the monsters.

They approach the city the next day, meeting a war caravan going the other way. Local Warrior has explained that his uncle is the king, and they are fighting a battle against a small fiefdom that has decided it doesn’t want to pay taxes. Even he is surprised to learn, though, that the general of this force has conscripted Shadows at the king’s command. After all, the only thing Shadows want is to see people suffer, to feed on their fears and woes. But arguing against it does nothing, except net a one-way trip for all the kids to the dungeon. Luckily, Local Warrior has a girlfriend whose dad is highly placed, so she’s able to sneak down and bust them out. But now, if the king isn’t going to listen to them or help them, how do they get home?

Well, home is just on the other side of the Curtain of Dreams, the locals explain, pointing at the green sky, which does look like a physical object, and maybe lower than the sky on Earth. They confirm that it actually rests on the peaks of the highest mountains, and one is just a day’s ride away. Unfortunately, the king’s horses are faster, and he catches up with them before they can figure out how to get through the curtain. And he’s got Shadows. Watch, though, has an idea, based on a simple thought: how do you banish your fears? You realize they’re irrational and maybe even silly.

And sure enough, pointing and laughing causes the Shadows to melt into goo. The sudden loss of half his fighting force makes the king start to realize that his alliance with monsters was maybe not the best idea, and so he apologizes to his nephew and agrees to let the Spook Squad go. How do they get out? They just yell at Bryce and Tira through the curtain, who are still in Pee-Pants’ room, and who stick their hands through the portal and fish them up out.

Obviously this story could have been more deeply considered with a higher page count or greater expectation upon audience, but it works pretty well for what it is. And coming back to it (or really, coming to it for the first time) as an adult, I get a lot more layers and levels than I might have if I’d read this when I was the target age, even though Pike doesn’t explicitly stack them up. It still seems well-considered and nicely structured despite its not taking a deep dive. As someone who does like to do a little bit of the legwork in understanding literature, I think maybe that absence makes it work even better.

[cbk1000]

Not that I was on the fence about it, but my boss 100% confirmed I will be immediately looking for another job as soon as we’re through the loan process.

I don’t know if I actually updated you guys on this part, but we have an accepted offer on the property, and we’re now in the feasibility period, which means getting estimates on how much it’s going to cost to develop the land to make sure it’s affordable (power, hooking into the well, leveling a spot for the house, etc.). The realtor has been checking in with me and we’ve also been going back and forth with the power company trying to get an estimator out to the property. Consequently, I took several calls today at work while scanning in papers (you can keep feeding paperwork into the machine while talking on the phone, so I don’t have to stop every time and go to the break room or something).

So my boss (the male one who blocked us on getting a raise back in the fall) stops by and tells me maybe I should work half days. I said I’d rather not; I make little enough as it is and we’re kinda’ trying to buy a house right now (I didn’t add the snarky part about not making enough). He then reamed me out for being on the phone every time he came by. I pointed out that I was working through the phone calls. I apologized and said I was going back and forth with a realtor and the power company trying to get some stuff settled and he said to take care of it before and after work like everyone else. Oh, ok; you mean before and after business hours of the places I need to contact? Thanks for the advice. He then said to take the calls on my lunch break; I said I do make and take calls on my lunch break; the realtor was updating me on something we’d talked about earlier. I told him I would tell the realtor to solely call me during my lunch break.

Here’s the problem: we’re on a time crunch. I only work half days on Fridays, but I can’t push everything off till then because we only have 30 days (and we’re already partway into that 30 day period) to get everything priced out and make sure the property will work for us. At the end of that 30 day period, we have to decide whether we want to proceed and close on the property, or back out (if we back out during this period we can still get back the earnest money we paid). It’s not feasible for me to try and cram everything into my lunch break; stuff is going to spill over. I cannot push off some of these calls. Also, legally, employees are entitled to two paid ten minute breaks a day (which I never take). I thought about telling him he could count it as my goddamn breaks even though I was working during the calls and that he could check my fucking phone logs and see that the length of the calls altogether didn’t exceed the twenty minutes of paid break time I’m entitled to by law, but I thought that might not be helpful and would probably escalate to a screaming match, because I was really fucking pressed. 

He also said ‘he was tired of us watching movies and all the other shit’, and I almost snapped at that point (I think my sister did too). LIKE WHAT FUCKING MOVIES. WE HAVE NOT SO MUCH AS TURNED ON THE RADIO IN THE LAST FOUR MONTHS BECAUSE YOU MADE OUR RAISE DEPENDENT UPON US NOT HAVING ANY BACKGROUND NOISE. What OTHER FUCKING SHIT. All our work is done. We’re not behind; today when I left I had scanned in the last of the paperwork and was down to one records request I didn’t quite have enough time to finish. I do not understand what he wants from us. We’re not behind on either paperwork or records requests; nobody is complaining about finding records in the wrong charts. We do not start shit with other employees, which seems to be all anyone upstairs does. 

I would understand him being upset at paying us a job that we’re not doing. But I am literally. Working. Through. These. Phone. Calls. If you see me on the phone, then you see me scanning paperwork while talking on the phone. You. Can. Check. The. Length. Of. The. Fucking. Calls. (I think it was like 15 minutes total including a few calls from the realtor and one I made to the power company to set up an appointment for an estimator to come out and evaluate how much it’s going to cost us to get power to the property). 

Do you really think you are being taken advantage of? You pay us four dollars less than the average wage for our experience level in this field. You have not given us a raise in 3 1/2 years (and I had to ask for the last one because it had been about four years since we’d got one). We have both done two jobs at the same time without any pay raise (my sister had to work the job alone for three months even though she was promised at least part time help; I used to work as a personal assistant to his wife on top of medical records). I have worked here for almost 13 years. You know I do not regularly take a shit ton of calls while at work. You know there are extenuating circumstances. You know we are buying property right now and trying to build a house. I am not trying to cheat you, for fuck’s sake.

I thought maybe I should just start ducking into the break room to take the calls instead of working while talking to the realtor, but I’m worried he might get on my case about that. I know we’re entitled to breaks, but he might decide I’m in there too often even if I show him the call log and the actual length of the calls I’m taking.

I’m just so fucking stressed. Mr. Jenn has been out of town a lot on jobs, so I’ve had to do a lot of the legwork on this so far (and he’s going to be out of town again within the next couple of weeks); I don’t know what to do. I can shove off a lot of it on him for now because his boss knows what’s going on and won’t jump up his ass, but he’s going to be out of cell range on this job that’s coming up (it’s the long one I’ve been complaining about), so no one will be able to get hold of him. But if I take any more calls at work, I’ll have my hours cut in half. That means I’ll be making about $600 per month. We can afford that on our current bills with the wage Mr. Jenn makes, but we’re also trying to put money away so we can not only cover the down payment comfortably, but also have a large safety net still in the bank. 

I just...is he worried he won’t be able to afford another Ferrari if he doesn’t cut my wage in half?? You literally drive a Bentley. And a Ferrari. And you live in a mansion. My wage has gone up $4 (after starting out at the minimum wage rates of over a decade ago) in 13 years. Maybe I am being unreasonable, but I honestly don’t think it’s fair to act like I’m robbing him. I’m sorry my personal life is more hectic than usual right now (I’m really not sorry, actually; life happens), but I am still getting my work done. And you know that; you can see us taking phone calls. You can see that we’re not behind on paperwork or records requests.  

I honestly don’t know what the fuck to do. He has me over a barrel; I can’t quit right now while we’re in the middle of the loan process, otherwise I’d have probably said, “Ok, well, you can underpay someone else to do this shit job; I’ve got a lot on my plate right now” and walked out.

[trbl-will-find-me]

Every Exit, An Entrance (26/?)

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option. Read from the beginning on AO3

The first story breaks in the Buenos Aires press, a front page, side column feature about mysterious footage and documents depicting an attempted abduction in the city at the height of the invasion.

There are details from the leaked After Action Report, quotes from the aftermath of the initial attack, and follow up with survivors. It’s an article focused on the facts, backed up by a respectable bit of legwork, and blessedly free from the taint of sensationalism. It’s picked up quickly by the local news, and then the national. The wire services begin to circulate it shortly thereafter.

It’s a curiosity, not a headline, a reminder to the public that, despite the devastation, there were those who fought back, who did what they could to push back the incursion wherever the aliens appeared. It is a reminder that those who fought remain cloaked in intrigue, in governmental denial and official non-existence.  She wagers the story is enough to spark the demand for more --- nothing like a mystery to spark a readership’s curiosity.

Shen seems to agree, offering her a quiet nod of congratulations as the story continues to spread.

The game is afoot.

“Commander,” Central greets her as she steps into Mission Control.

“Central. Anything interesting?”

“Dr. Vahlen would like to see you. She has concerns about recent events.”

Her heart stutters.  “Could you elaborate?”

“She’s concerned the research team’s work may not be secure.”

She draws in a small breath and lets it out slowly. We still have time, she reassures herself. “Dr. Shen made it clear the intrusion didn’t impact weapons development work or interrogation logs.  That data is still secure.”

“Her concerns were more … academic in nature.”

The comment catches her off guard. “We won a war, and she’s worried about someone scooping her credit?”

“She’s of the opinion that the discoveries made over the course of the Invasion will lead to significant advances; she’d like to ensure her name, and the names of her people, are attached.”

She can’t say she’s unsympathetic. Academia has never been kind to women, particularly not to women in the hard sciences. She can’t argue Vahlen’s brilliance or skill in managing her department. They would never have survived the initial onslaught, let alone the full scope of the conflict, without the woman’s passion, dedication, and astonishing talent for assembling disparate scraps into a coherent analysis. There is no doubt in her mind that Vahlen is deserving of accolades; she had just hoped to keep their work out of the realm of ‘publish or perish.’

“Has Dr. Shen expressed similar concerns?”

“No, but he does have an updated timeline for global Firestorm coverage.”

“How bad?”

“Start of the second week of March.”

She cocks her head. “That’s not too terrible, given the past few weeks. The update should soothe the Council’s nerves.”

Bradford meets her gaze, but is silent for a beat. The meaning is clear: Don’t kid yourself, Lizzie.

“We can only hope, ma’am.”

She hopes none of the men on duty notice the way she tries to bite back a grin. “Keep an eye on things here. I’ll go try to reassure the good doctor.”

--

She is running out of time. The scouting team is due back within the day, and she is still empty handed. She has nothing of use, save for the confirmation that she should absolutely not eat any meat offered to her.

It’s not for lack of trying. She has been out and about with the crew every night til late, being regaled by their exploits.

They’ve made in-roads, certainly. There seems to be a budding, if mostly friendly, rivalry between the sharpshooters and their Reaper contemporaries. Thomas has already been slapped by no fewer than three of their allies. No one, however, has dared to partake of the cuisine.

But, if they have uncovered anything of use, they have let to mention it in her presence.

She may be without recourse.

It is late and she is freshly dressed from an all too brief showers when the knock comes at her door.

“In!” She calls.

Central’s hands tremor, but there is a light in his eyes. “I think I got your intel.”

“What? How?”

He settles on her couch. “Sally’s a known quantity to enough of Volk’s people. They let a few more things slip around her than they really should.”

“I’m listening,” she says, settling across from him.

“There’s a growing chunk of people who think Volk’s lost his way.”

“In deciding to work with us?”

“No. That thing that took Mox? The Reapers have their own, but officially, he doesn’t exist.”

“Why would ADVENT confirm? They gain nothing from it.”

Central shakes his head. “Not ADVENT. Volk. This thing shoots up their camps and slaughters their people, but he won’t hear talk of it, let alone addressing it.”

She furrows her brow. “Why?”

“Rumor has it this thing used to be one of them.”

She weighs her next question carefully. “Is it true?” He shrugs “Volk won’t talk about it with anyone, inside the Reapers or out. I’d say that gives the claim some weight, but I don’t have proof either way.”

She chews on her lip. “So, he lost one of his own and ADVENT’s using it against him. Now, his people are suffering for it and it’s wearing thin. Is that right?” “That’s the gist of it.” She can feel a grin spread across her face. “Dissent in the ranks. God, that’s gold. How’d you get it out of Sally?”

“Didn’t have to.”

“She volunteered?”

“Sort of. Might be fairer to say she runs her mouth if she’s playing a clean game of poker.”

“She know you overheard?”

“Who do you think she was playing against?”

She chuckles. “So, things are better on that front.”

“They’re stable,” he says. “Less shouting.”

“That’s gotta be a relief.”

He lets out a sigh, and nods. “I don’t know if things will ever really be better, not after what I did. But I’ll take whatever improvements happen.”

“Life’s funny, John. You never know what’s coming.”

He meets her gaze for a moment, and she realizes what she’s said. It’s a level of familiarity, of intimacy she wasn’t intending to inject.

But, there it is. She can’t quite bring herself to regret it.

“Yeah, Lizzie. I guess you’re right.”

-- There is a giggle and a knock at her office door. She sets aside the next batch of files to be released and locks her desk before responding to the summons.

Steph Royston stands before her, ruddy cheeked and pajama clad, a box in her hand.

“Ma’am! We’re gonna get Molchetti drunk off shitty boxed wine for my bachelorette! Come celebrate!”

She can’t help the chuckle that escapes her lips. “It seems you already started.”

Royston grins. “Bernard and I got into the gin. It’s gonna be a good night.”

“You are gonna be so hung over for your wedding.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got til five o’clock tomorrow to pull myself together, then.”

Her eyes dart from Royston to her office door and then back. She has work to do, responsibilities to attend to. She can’t risk the momentum that’s begun to gather. She should stay in, should focus on the task at hand.

But it’s not every day that there is something to celebrate, let alone something as momentous as a wedding. It’s not every day she’s summoned from her professional duties to partake in some decidedly un-professional fun. It’s not everyday two people beat the odds to make a run at happily ever after.

Oh, fuck it, she reasons. You’ve never thought twice about stopping to grieve. Is death somehow more worthy than life?

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s go see you try to get Isabella to touch a drop of that stuff.”

Royston smirks. “Bernard thought I should put it in a bottle, but that seemed cruel.”

“So, you’re just gonna feed her box wine?’

“Oh, no. Devorah is.”

Looking back, she won’t be able to really explain the sequence of events that leads them up, up, and out into the cold of the Kansas night. She suspects the wine played a part, yes, along with the revelation that Hershel had gone her entire life up until that point without once having ever thrown a snowball.

There they stand, under silent January stars, beginning to shiver as the cold bites through their coats. There is snow in their hair and blood in their cheeks. Hershel cackles and lobs another wintery projectile at her girlfriend, who retaliates in kind. Steph sits on the ground nearby, and raises a toast to the moon before flopping backwards onto the powder.

When the cold finally wins out, when they can no longer tolerate the sting of the air on their skin, they stumble back into the base. Central catches her eye with a look of fond admonishment. She offers him a terrible wink, and Steph covers her mouth in a futile attempt to suppress her laughter.

“Commander.”

“Central,” she grins.

She’s asleep when he crawls into bed that night, waking only when he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“I can’t believe you broke protocol for that,” she says, quietly.

She snuggles closer to him. “Hershel had never thrown a snowball. It seemed important to fix.”

She feels his laugh deep in his chest. “Certainly, a moral imperative.”

“You ready for tomorrow?”

“Are any of us?”

She laughs. “Probably not.” --

They are gathered in Volk’s tent —-herself, Central, Shen, Tygan, Volk, and Kate Starling, Volk’s second-in-command—as the scouting team, newly returned from the field reviews their findings.

The news is good, better than she could have hoped for, really. Pratal Mox is being held in a nearby ADVENT detention facility, one that a skilled covert operative should be able to penetrate with little difficulty.

“That’s great,” Lily offers. “But the second we cut through the security protocols on that door, the whole region’s security grid will light up. We’d have to be in and out.”

“We’ll keep Firebrand on standby and arm everyone for a tough fight,” Central says. “It’s less security than we faced for Gatecrasher, and we still managed.”

The Commander nods. “Right, Outrider, you’ll take point---“

“Oh, so you’re sending one of my people to go rescue your precious Skirmisher. I hope this doesn’t turn out to be a waste of resources, Regan.”

She closes her eyes and draws in a breath, then opens them again. “Would the rest of you excuse Volk and I for a minute?”

The others rise and make their exits. Central offers her a small nod of encouragement.

“Volikov,” she says once she’s certain they are alone. “In twenty years, you’ve held ground. I’ll give you that. In your own little corner of the universe, you’ve traded some measure of your humanity to keep ADVENT at bay. I’m not here to pass judgment.”

“What we have now, though, is a chance to push back. To retake some of what should be ours. That means working as a team. You, me, the Reapers, the Skirmishers, anyone we can get on board. And if you can’t take your head out of your ass, play nicely, and support an alliance, then I will find someone here who can.”

“Are you threatening me, Regan?”

“I’m just saying that if you can’t act in the best interest of your people, I’m sure someone here can.”

“The best interest of my people? And what would you know about that?” “Only that you’ve got a chunk of your population who thinks you’re no longer operating in the best interest of their survival. Seems your boogeyman has too much blood on his hands for them to ignore --- unlike you.”

“You know noth---“

“I know your people are tired of you hiding your head in the sand, and pretending that you don’t have something stalking you. I know, when it comes to those things, you and the Skirmishers have more in common than you’d like to think. I know that all it takes is proof that someone else has a gun that’s every bit as good as yours, and a few whispers in the right ear.” She stands, and brushes a speck of dirt from her jacket. “You placed Dragunova under my command and, until such time as she expresses a desire to leave, she will remain under my command. We’ll get the Skirmisher back, and we’ll put a stop to that thing with or without your help. But when we come marching back here with her head on a pike, I hope you’re ready to learn how loyal your people are.”

Volk stares silently up at her; she wonders if he sees the way she shakes.

“You better make sure you know damn well what you’re doing.”

“You should take your own advice. It’s my show, and I’ll run it the way I see fit.”

She turns, and makes her way out into the dark of the night. She finds her staff, along with Starling and Dragunova, gathered around a nearby campfire.

“We’ll move in the morning,” she says. “Dragunova, you’ll take point. We’ll send Kelly and Thomas for any close combat concerns, and Zaytsev in the event of needing medical care en route back. Starling,” she continues, turning her attention to the other woman. “We’ll be in touch as soon as we’ve got Mox back. Thank your people again for me.”

Starling nods. “Understood.”

She falls in next to Central as they make their way back to the ship.

“And?” He asks, quietly.

“That did it,” she offers, voice barely above a whisper. “As long as I didn’t sign us up for more than we can really handle.” “More than we can handle?”

“We’re gonna have to kill the Assassin.”

“We were gonna have to do that anyway.”

“We don’t even know where she is.”

“We’ll find her.”

[blazehedgehog]

Thoughts on the Zippo and SoaH City leaks being confirmed?

I mean, what is there really to say? "Oh I guess some of that stuff turned out to be true."

I'd still be wary trusting what that guy has to say. Because, like, back in the day, you had video game magazines, and they had rumors sections, right? And those were:

Legitimate "off the record" stuff they'd heard from people close to something.

Genuine rumors ("a friend knows a guy who overheard at a bar that somebody might...")

Stuff that was totally fake that the magazine would make up so that #1 didn't look too suspicious.

And why did they do this? Because they had to sell magazines! They had to sell advertising space! Publishing articles was their whole business model. It was how they paid their staff and earned a living.

This is also why we published rumors on TSSZ. It was a useful tool to drive people to our site. I know we all recoil and scrunch up our noses at "clickbait" but there's also a reality to business and to some degree "we printed something unbelievable so please look at it and also look at all the advertisements around it because that's how we keep the lights on" is just a fact you have to accept. Clickbait is a spectrum of different article types, and some are better than others.

But I want to ask you why Zippo is trying to pitch himself as "the guy who tells you the future." Not all of his blogs are like that, but a growing number of them are. And near as I can tell, he doesn't run ads on his blog or anything like that. What is he clickbaiting you to do?

It's hard to write this kind of thing without it sounding like an attack, but I'm not trying to put anyone on blast or shut him down or get him to stop or whatever. Whatever result he's chasing, best of luck to the guy. But he is cultivating a brand as "the leak guy" and I think that's maybe a little weird.

Because, like, as I said, I hear things. Some of them are from people I trust wholeheartedly, some of them are from people I can't verify anything about, but I keep that feather in my cap anyway. But I don't run this blog as a thing where I go "hey I heard about this Sonic Colors remaster back in, like, July of 2020." I would generally not like to betray the trust in which I have heard these things, because that's how you drive people away and stop hearing those things.

It also doesn't really feel like my information to give out, a lot of the time. If I said it, it would be third or even fourth-hand information at that point ("a friend knows a guy who overheard at a bar that somebody might..."). But rarely did I put in the legwork to get that information, I'd just be repeating what someone else told me, which means I could be stepping on some toes if it's part of research for something I'm not a part of. I'd rather not scoop someone else just because they told me something in casual, trusted conversation.

(Which is why, towards the end of TSSZ, I'd mostly keep my mouth shut. Because even if TSSZ would benefit from what I'd heard, the people I'd hear those things from might need that information and I'd rather not cannibalize the work of friends in the press. It'd be like cheating off of someone else's homework.)

I just treat it as, "If the information makes its way to me, it's probably made its way to someone else too" and leave it at that. That doesn't mean everything Zippo or anyone else posts will always be right, it just means I don't want that kind of attention as being the insider guy. That's not a status I'd personally flaunt, and even just making the posts I did about it made me feel extremely guilty and like it was a betrayal.

[mamabearpeters]

The End.

It took me 8 years.

8 years together, 4 years married and 2 kids later to finally come to terms with the fact that I had always loved him more.

The rose-colored goggles that had melted onto my face didn’t seem to clear up until just last year when I started reading the book, “Why Is He So Mean To Me?”

I thought to myself, wow. I ask that question all the time… maybe I should read this.

Let me tell you – I wasn’t prepared.

I was not prepared for the reality check I was about to receive in between those pages.

The book is a story of survival, written by a woman who divorced her verbally and emotionally abusive husband, illustrating the chaotic dynamic of an enabler-abuser relationship.

When I tell you it felt like I was reading about my own life, I am not exaggerating. Never have I ever felt so … almost violated… by words on a page. I felt like someone twisted off my cranium and took a peek inside. Feelings I had that I couldn’t even figure out how to put into words had jumped out of that book and smacked me right in the face.

Getting hit with a brick like that will really clear things up for you.

I’m not sure why it took this book for me to finally get it, because we had done couple’s counseling too.

After our very first session together, I had a private session with our counselor and by the end of it, my personal “homework” was to look up “narcissistic personality disorder,” and see if any of it sounded familiar. She said she suspected he may have it.

Our counselor Camille was the first real confirmation that what I was dealing with was indeed abuse. She was a sassy black woman and we both loved her. She wasn’t afraid to call either of us out on our bullshit, but she knew how to get through to him somehow too. Camille had even called him out on abusive behavior, on the spot, right during our sessions.

The worst part is, it was nothing I didn’t already know deep down. I started seeing red flags a year into the relationship, but I made excuses…for the next seven.

It didn’t matter.

Because bottom line, you can’t force someone to love you.

You can’t force someone to truly care about you.

You can’t force someone to communicate with you.

You can’t force someone to put effort in.

You can’t force someone to listen.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not an easy person to be with, but I loved him with every fiber of my being. I still do, and I don’t even really know why.

Yes, I’m stubborn. I was spoiled as a child. You can’t match me in an argument, I’m quick-witted and loud. I have control issues and I’m a neat freak. I know.

But when I fall in love, I reach a nearly unhealthy level of devotion. I was always willing to try, to fix things, to work on it, despite knowing deep down, I should have walked away by now. My parents taught me that a real marriage can see the ugliest of days and still come out together, as one. I may have deserved someone else, but I wanted him. I wanted this family, this life we built. We just finally got it together, I couldn’t let it fall apart so soon.

Every time things got bad, I asked him why. Why are you so mean to me? He would tell me why he was unhappy, explaining that was the reason he was so mean. So I made it my mission to fix whatever it was. Usually, it was an external factor, nothing I was doing directly necessarily. I would spend hours researching, doing necessary paperwork, making calls, making moves, doing the legwork to give him what he needed so then he could be happy and he could love me again.

He wasn’t happy with his job, so I gave him a military career that he’s absolutely amazing at. He hated his piece of crap vehicle. He was tired of being over 30 and not owning a home. So, I spent years establishing and building his credit, taking care of all the paperwork, working with the realtors and lenders to get him a new car and house. Then it was not having enough time to do things he enjoyed with friends, so I planned these things for him.  He didn’t get to see his oldest daughter enough or on a regular basis, so I filed for court-ordered visitation for him and all of the following violations until they started following a schedule correctly.  I fought for him. I fought so hard.

Every time I came back after fixing the problem, and said, “Okay, I fixed this problem, but you’re still mean to me.” There would be a new reason, so off I went on another mission. I’m not sure why I didn’t catch onto this sooner.  I’m not sure why I didn’t realize there would always be a reason.

Once I had Kora I think is when I finally stopped and said, “what more could you possibly want from me, I have given you everything.” I finally started to get angry because I had someone else to give everything to now.

Meanwhile, I was neglected. I wasn’t allowed to talk about anything emotional or marriage-related unless we scheduled a time in advance that he approved of, based on what was most convenient for his sleep and work schedule, and sometimes mood. Intimacy was also on his clock. There was zero initiative for romance, dates, flowers, in fact I was ridiculed for even wanting those things. “Hugs and kisses don’t pay the bills,” he once told me.

I was belittled. I was stone-walled. I was laughed at, made fun of. I was degraded. It seems so obvious from the outside. Like, hello, why the hell didn’t you just leave? Right. Because, it’s just that easy.

He’d convinced me that I deserved it all. My demands of him were too grand, unrealistic. I made him do it. I made him act this way, so what did I do?

I tried harder to be better, as if to earn his love. As if one day he would wake up and see what a wonderful wife I’ve been, thump himself on the head and go, “duh! What was I thinking?! She is so good to me and I haven’t treated her well. Starting today, I’m going to change and start treating her how she deserves to be treated because she deserves the best.” A girl can dream.

I’m not writing this to make him look bad. I’m not writing this to avoid being the bad guy, because honestly, I am used to being the villain by now. He always made me out to be and probably will now too. I am writing this because I don’t know how else to cope other than to write about my experiences.

It never made sense to me and still doesn’t.

Why he would willingly choose to throw away the life we (I) built, and for what reason? Like, how dare you. I am the one who should be giving up and throwing this away, putting my foot through the floor screaming enough is enough. You have the audacity to act like you have any reason in hell to want this marriage to end? I’ve dedicated nearly a decade of my life to making you happy. How much better could it get for you?

Oh that’s right.

Because I started demanding respect, and I never did that before.

I started calling him out on abuse that I always tolerated before.

I started demanding actions instead of false promises.

I went to war for what we had and he couldn’t even lace up his boots.

To this day, I still don’t know if he really loved me. I could never decipher what was true and what was a lie. Was he only being so nice because he was drunk, or did the booze cause his guard to fall down and this is how he truly feels? Did he say that nasty thing because he was angry, or was it how he really felt and he was no longer biting his tongue?  Was he just being defensive when he said he wasn’t worried about losing me? Or does he really not care whether I stay or go? But then, I make my moves to go, and there he is on his knees at the last second. One foot out the door, and he finally decides to “show” that he cares.

Spoiler alert, it doesn’t last.

Now, was he begging me to stay because finally realized that he loves me and doesn’t want to lose me? Or is it because he doesn’t want to lose the convenience of having me and only puts in minimal effort at the last possible moment when he has to?

To this day, I still don’t know.

But I do know this.

I was begging for the bare minimum.

My needs were neglected for years.

He was never on my team.

I was not respected.

I allowed all of it.

 To have to walk away, still being madly in love with him will be the hardest thing I ever do.

[lilianding3910-blog]

Going To Family Members Counselling May Well Curtail The Divorce

Do you need an attorney to support you appear to an agreement with your spouse? Most most likely not. With online divorce, you previously have an notion of how you want to break up house, debts and child custody. You gained't have an lawyer charging you a price to notify you that you require to concur on some things. What an online divorce provider will do is put together the Separation Settlement for you right after you have presently agreed to the conditions. This arrangement is typically included with most online try these out solutions. There even some that offers a cost-free Separation Settlement. All you would have to do is signal and have your wife or husband signal and get notarized.

Character (ethical lifetime); right after acquiring your taste you now will need to asses his or her character. This has to do with the particular person's actions online divorce these kinds of as mood, emotion, likes and dislikes, curtsy, hospitality and so on.

Most probable not. But for individuals that believe that online divorce is not lawful, all you are executing is eliminating the attorney. You even now will need to file for divorce and do all the things that an attorney would do. You will just be undertaking all the legwork for on your own. Your divorce forms will be the exact same as the forms you will get from your lawyer. The factor that will really bake your noodle is that the online try these out companies use the identical computer system systems most attorneys use to draft all your forms.

To get people summary, it is quite essential confirm all the relevant facts situated on codicils and prior wills. When you're heading to to design and style new will, be specified earlier will has a total invalidation. Previously than that , the development is ineffective, and it'll only direct to troubles. The up coming interval, the online divorce couples have to verify relating to the ages immediately after they get breakage. Try out to substitute the healthcare director personalities, electrical power of lawyer, and facts relating to the guardian for youngsters, burial likewise memorial expenses.

Not plenty of facts. try these out is not about filling out forms--it is about knowing your scenario and generating selections. To fill out forms, you will need to know what it means to check out 1 box fairly than a different or file a single sort fairly than another. You need to know in which you are, what's heading on, the place you are heading. This info is both completely inadequate or fully missing on all internet sites I've reviewed.

It is just about unforgivable for a gentleman or a girl to cheat on their partner. Some people will commit yrs pretending like they don't know what is likely on when they know their husband or wife is dishonest. They might do this since they assume this is how they can safeguard their little ones or due to the fact they just don't divorce papers believe it is going on.

The emotional wounds you provide to every single other will carry more than to any foreseeable future interactions. Although there is generally therapy available publish-online divorce, you will need to have a lot less therapy and have much more dollars remaining immediately after legalities are about if you get the job done together to settle your differences.

Even today, I am nevertheless stunned by the volume of accomplishment I experienced, sales of $30,000 to $50,000 for each month with really low overhead, considerably less than $1,000/month. People inquire me how I did it and fairly truthfully, the notion is straightforward, find a will need, fill the need to have, make and they will come. I had online divorce cornered the current market early in the game, my websites ended up grandfathered into the search engines.

The street to martyrdom is challenging, lonely, and unfulfilling. A single crucial to flourishing following try these out is to set self-treatment at the best of your precedence list. Sure, I stated the top. Following all, if you are feeling depleted and fatigued you are not heading to be of a lot support to everyone else. You ought to be informed of your individual needs and take obligation for getting care of by yourself. Your motivation to self-treatment is 1 of the most crucial items you can give yourself -- and your little ones and beloved types. Here are some tactics to get the ball rolling.

Dorian finds Joey in Kelly's mattress and quickyl walks out . Right after they put on some apparel they inform Dorian to come back in. Dorian informs them of what Echo did and reveals them the Sunshine with Echo and Sam on the protect. Joey tells her he filed for online divorce so Dorian tells them to get married rapid. She gives them tickets to the premiere of "Vickerman" but Kelly states Zane has a manufacturing the similar night time.

In get to watch the data you can go to New York Condition divorce papers Department of Wellness, Corning Tower Empire Point out Plaza, Albany, NY 12237 (there are quite a few other workplaces who can give this facts - far too many t listing listed here!). Challenging restrictions use to exactly who can get accessibility this data: the spouse, the husband, a human being with a Point out Get. Proof of Identification will be required.