#I think I sort of implied his abilities to listen to the future in... maybe the 8th chapter of CWNB?

[askblueandviolet]

Its said that six eared macaque can hear the past present and future , iz it all at the same time all the time or do you have to focus to use it?

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💜

Previous 💜

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[whumpiary]

content warning: strong dubcon vibes, implied future noncon, abuse of power, alcohol use

-

It wasn’t often Christopher chose Cassius to accompany him to a party like this one. Champagne on trays and chandeliers from the ceiling. Men in nice suits, women in gowns.

Usually, when Christopher wanted Cass at an occasion, it was a private one. Weekends to the cabin. Trips out on the yacht. That sort of thing. Particular affairs.

Public events were usually the role of one of the other charges. Harley or Nicky or Jackson or Len. One of the bright young thing types that exemplified the kindness and generosity of a wealthy benefactor like Christopher Bergen. Which was… decidedly not the sort of bright young thing that Cassius was. Or that Christopher wanted him to be, most days of the week.

But it’s a particular kind of people, at a party like this. A particular mix of friends and colleagues. Ones who found Cass’ occasional salacious comments charming instead of vaguely scandalous. That didn’t mind so much when Christopher’s hand slid from his charge’s shoulder to his waist halfway through the night. When a fond look turned into a fond kiss.

The first couple of hours had been vaguely torturous, Cass listening again and again too the discordant pulse of for the love of God leave me alone paired with, “Paul. Lovely to see you, how’s that daughter of yours?”

Cass knows his role. Be pretty. Be beguiling. Be distraction or attraction, depending on the opponent. Be a reason to extend conversation as readily as a reason to cut conversation short.

Some things you paid for with money. Other things you paid for with attendance. And Cassius was here to make the slog of it less painful.

In the corner now, though, no one bothers them. In the corner now, they’re playing a game. One of Christopher’s favourites. One that Cass is getting better at.

“So what does he want?” Christopher says, nodding his head to a man by the fireplace in a grey check suit. He’s listening intently to another man talk, red wine in his hand.

Cass hums, reaching out. Tasting. Assessing. It’s always kinda interesting, feeling out other people’s desires. Particularly new people. He shrugs. “He wants to leave. But he wants that other guy to like him more.”

Christopher’s hand traces idle circles into the back of Cassius’ shoulder. Drifts lower and across his spine as Cass leans forward, “I would too, that’s Carl Egerton. Do you know him?”

“No.”

“Remind me to introduce you. He’s good for reputations. Has a ridiculous amount of sway in the media.”

Cassius thinks about asking why he of all people would need to know someone good for reputations. But he tucks the thought away before it can escape and make things... complicated. Christopher’s been saying more and more things like that recently. And Cassius mostly just does his best to ignore them.

Christopher inclines his head again, “And what about him, across the way, what does he want?”

A younger man in a deep blue shirt talking to a woman in a tight red dress. Hard to tell from here if the dress was sequinned or just simmering. It’s pretty, either way. She’s pretty. The man talking to her has noticed too.

Cass wrinkles his nose up, “Wants her. In a thirsty kinda way too. It’s gross.”

“And does she want him?”

“Not really,” Cass shrugs. “She might go for him but mostly she just wants food. She’s hungry.”

“In that dress no wonder,” Christopher comments, eyes dropping.

Cassius watches the woman’s bangles shift on her arm as she raises a hand to tuck dark hair behind her ear. He can’t hear them clink together from here but he can almost feel the cool weight of them, like shackles, on his own wrist.

“What does that feel like to you?” Christopher muses, after a moment, head tilting as he looks at the woman. “I’ve always wondered. When someone else wants food, or gets hungry. Does that make you hungry too?”

Cassius hums and semi-shrugs. “Not really. Doesn’t work like that,” he says. It doesn’t not work like that either. But it’s different. “It’s more like… a tug.”

“A tug?” Christopher says playfully, dragging his boy fractionally closer with a tug to his waistband. Cassius shoots him a look and snorts a laugh, swatting his hand away.

“No, not like that. It’s more like…” Cass trails off with a sigh. He reaches his hand out to play with Christopher’s lax fingers, with the gold and black signet ring he wears on his index finger. “Like the difference between hearing a song and having one caught in your head.”

Christopher hums and turns his hand up as Cassius’ fingertips trace the line of his palm. “What an interesting analogy.”

They keep going like that, through different people around the room, chatting in between. At some point, Christopher’s hand finds its way to his lower back, sneaking under the hem of his shirt there, delighting in the thrill and heat of hidden skin against skin.

“Him?”

“Attention. He’s hoping they find him funny:”

“Those two?”

“For him to stop speaking.”

Christopher keeps getting distracted from his own game part way through, stopping instead to tuck a lock of hair behind Cassius’ ear or smooth out the collar of his shirt with hands that linger. 

“What about them?”

“Mm… too far away. It’s muddy.”

“Interesting.”

Cass lolls his head back to rest against the back of the couch, head resting on Christopher’s outstretched arm.

He’s had just enough champagne that his head feels light and lovely, limbs loose, cheeks warm. Booze softens the edges. But it makes everything more dangerous too. Makes the pulse and twist of wants around him louder and more tangible. And at the same time, muddier. Harder to predict.

He soothes himself with the weight of Christopher’s hand trailing up his thigh. With the feeling of Christopher’s beard brushing his cheek as the man whispers in his ear. With what’s being whispered. With the low, thrumming wants that are slowly curling into needs.

He skims the room as Christopher amuses himself. Across a waiter handing out a tray of miniature desserts, across the woman in the red dress from earlier, across a man with a face nearly the same shade who keeps glancing at them. Cass huffs a laugh, tilting his head to the side to get a better look and earns a kiss to the length of his neck. He hadn’t intended it as an invite but Christopher hums happily and it works.

“That man wants to talk to you,” Cassius murmurs, nodding in the direction of the red-faced man, who was trying determinedly now not to look directly at them, hand fidgeting in his pocket.

Christopher pulls back, following Cassius’ gaze, only to all but rolls his eyes when they land.

“What a shame for him that I am so thoroughly occupied,” he murmurs, turning back. Cass laughs the same way liquor fills a glass.

“Who is he?”

“Timothy Lyndon,” Christopher says, leaning back in close, pressing a kiss to the corner of his boy’s jaw. He’s never this affectionate in public. Never this overt. Cassius shifts his shoulder back, pressing against the crushed velvet of the couch.

“And what does he do?”

“Wave his money around and get on my nerves, mostly.” Another kiss, closer to the jugular.

“Investor?”

“Theoretically,” Christopher murmurs with a hum, and Cassius laughs again as the breath of the word traces along the side of his neck, down the collar of his shirt, wraps around his neck like the ghost of a hand.

Cass hadn’t been picked for his ability to charm a politician or small talk with an investor. He’d been picked because he made for the prettiest decoration. The status symbol with the most charming features and the wittiest side comments. The loveliest lovely thing.

He let’s it stretch out for another few minutes, closing his eyes to enjoy the buzz of the room and his head and the hands.

“Can we go home yet?” Cass sighs, hand coming up to run Christopher’s jacket lapel between his thumb and forefinger. He pouts, making the sort of petition that usually appeals, “I want to go to bed. Get these clothes off.”

Christopher hums in thought, eyes caught on something over Cassius’ shoulder. Christopher has the fucking prettiest eyes. Clear blue, flecked through with a little gold, a single dark freckle by the pupil on the left. Story book eyes. There’s something dark and darkly curious in them now.

“Hmm. Shortly,” Christopher says, absently in delayed response. “I’ve got one last mark for you, if you’re up for it.”

Cassius tilts his head to the side, cheek brushing against Christopher’s sleeve. He hums. “Go on then.”

Christopher points to whatever he’s looking towards with a smile, “That man there. What does he want?”

Cass sighs and picks his head up, looking over his shoulder to focus on a man seated by himself over by the bay window. Dark hair and light eyes. Perfect picture of well dressed. Looking directly at them.

Cassius reaches out. Tasting. Assessi-

He flinches back. Recoils. Shrinks. Christopher’s eyes flick to him with an expectant smile, those story book eyes warm and fond. Cass clears his throat, half smile on his face as he meets but can’t hold Christopher’s gaze. “He wants, uh... He wants a lot of things.”

Christopher laughs, soft and bright. “So coy, darling boy. That’s not like you.”

Cass shrugs, eyes on Christopher’s lapel, instead of his face, playing at apathy, “I’m bored with this game, it makes me dizzy.”

Christopher smiles at him, full of fondness and craving and something else that Cass refuses to give a name to. He tilts his head, expression warm the way an open flame is, “We’re not leaving until you tell me what he wants, my love. I’d endure one last round if I were you.”

Cassius holds his keepers gaze for a moment longer before he yields. He turns his head to look back at the dark haired man, now raising a hand to a server to get another drink before he looks back to them. Cassius doesn’t need to reach out to feel the want. His mind is tethered to it. Nearly hungry for it. Or not quite hungry maybe.

Just a tug.

“He wants my company for the night,” Cass mutters, barely enough volume to be heard over the chatter of the room.

Christopher smiles with a little noise of agreement, hand coming up to smooth Cassius’ collar. “And what else?”

Like he doesn’t know. Like he isn’t wanting the exact same fucking thing.

There’s no room in this conversation for any kind of plea. Any kind of bargaining or hesitation or fear. Cass folds it all up. Puts it away. Before the feelings make things complicated.

“He wants to hurt me,” he says evenly. He takes a breath, feels the tug grow stronger, says it again. “He really wants to hurt me.”

Christopher hums as though surprised. Cass would bet his contract twice over that he isn't.

“Does he now?” Christopher says, eyes never leaving the man in question. His smile could be honey, could be poison, could be prayer. “Well, then, darling boy. You better go and say hello.”

[thebabiestbatfam]

Duke Thomas: Character Cheat-Sheet

Finished reading through (most of) his chronology- here’s what I learned (and how I interpret his character).

Powers:

For most of his chronology thus far, he didn’t know he had powers at all, but now he does. Those powers fall into two categories: the light, a metahuman ability he inherited from his mother; and the dark, a metahuman ability he acquired from Ishmael (a villian) in Batman and the Outsiders.

The light:

Ability to perceive where light has (and hasn’t) been and where it is going to be. Using this, he can predict movements into the future and see where people have been. It’s possible this is using literal light science, in that light is displaced when people move and that’s what he sees, but it is implied that people generate some sort of metaphysical ‘light’ that he can see.

The dark:

Ability to control pitch black shadows. These shadows are never shown to be less than completely black (no gradient or anything) and though he controls their movements, we (the reader) don’t know if they can actually touch anything or if they are literally just the complete absence of light, created artificially.

Character Traits:

Duke’s driving force is his determination. Like Bruce, he can’t allow himself to do nothing when people are in danger. 

Duke’s biggest character flaw is his uncertainty. He is not uncertain (pretty much ever) in what he should do or what it is right to do; he is uncertain in his capabilities, especially when it comes to belonging with others or being taken seriously by others. 

Duke desires a safer world where people hold themselves responsible for helping others and not allowing injustice.

Duke fears being pitied or condescended to.

Legal Relationships:

For much of his life, Duke lived with his mother and father, until they were exposed to Joker toxin from which they never recovered.

Duke was apparently homeless during the We Are Robin storyline, but he could also have been living in his old place where his parents lived until he found them and realized that they weren’t coming home.

Duke was briefly fostered by Bruce Wayne, but this appears to have lasted maybe weeks to months (it’s hard to tell what amount of time has passed in comics). EDIT: about 1-1.5 years. Thanks deardairy!

Duke now lives with a family member; either an uncle or cousin who only makes one appearance. 

Personal Relationships:

Within the Batfamily: 

Duke is closest with Bruce, who plays a mentor role for him but who he explicitly does not see as a father figure.

Duke is also close with Cass, who he refers to once as a sister and who plays a protective older sibling role to him. 

Duke has some relationship development with Damian and with Dick, though Dick betrays him at the end of that so it’s hard to say how he feels about him. 

Duke is in scenes with Jason, though they don’t seem to know each other very well. 

He hasn’t met Steph or Tim, as far as I know. 

He knows Alfred from his time living at Wayne manor, though their relationship is not really explored. They do seem to have spent some time together.

Outside of the Batfamily:

Duke is friends with some of the other Robins from We Are Robin, especially Isabella Ortiz (who he may or may not be dating? I think he is?) and Riko Sheridan.

His old friend Daryl Gutierrez, an engineer, turned out to be responsible for Mr. Bloom, a villian who distributed seeds Daryl made that gave people powers (and occasionally killed them). Mr. Bloom was a cadaver Daryl experimented on, and him name is unknown. Daryl now resides in Arkham.

Duke has a friend with two moms who joined a gang to pay off his moms’ debts for his conception and birth. Duke used to babysit him. 

Duke knows Gotham Girl (Claire Clover), and is close friends with her for some time before she is essentially written out of the story.

Duke meets Katana (Tatsu Yamashiro) and Jefferson Pierce (Black Lightning) when he joins the Outsiders. He also meets Shiva, who he likes but distrusts.

Relationship Dynamics:

Duke is usually content to sit back and listen, unless he wants to point out the absurdity of something or disagree with something. He rarely reacts to things with shock, and instead digs his feet in, no matter how bizarre the situation. He has taken leadership roles in the past, and to some extent he seems suited to them, but I don’t think he’s a very confident leader. People follow him regardless.

Metatextual Role:

Personally, I think Duke is meant to become the modern relatable one, the way Tim was in the 90s. He’s not a potential Olympic gymnast or a childhood prodigy, he had a normal childhood, he worked his way towards being respected by the hero community. As the relatable one, he is the character in which we (batman and robin fans) live out our fantasies- interacting with characters with extremely polarized personalities, getting opportunities to improve our life and the lives of others, having an impact on the future of the world.

Suggested Reading:

I most enjoyed We Are Robin, Robin War, and Batman and the Outsiders.

[maariarogers]

random plot bunnies from my seojun x sujin brainrot on a fic that i might?? or may not write. based primarily from k-drama, following the webtoon plotline:

so, this is set in the future, maybe about five years in?? so theyre all 25 years old at this point and seojun’s a well-established idol (singer)

seojun’s nutritionist provided by the agency is going to resign because she's six-months in into her pregnancy and wanted to focus on raising her children

seojun feels a little disheartened at this point; a lot of the time, being an idol, the few constant things he could rely on was the same faces of the team that took care of him - because in other aspects of his career, he has to meet new people a lot, and his scene and environment changes so much

so this was lowkey a blow for seojun, who just wants every sense of familiarity, regardless how little, to sorta stay?? the same??

but he can’t really have much say on it too, because a lot of the team members who took care of him which he has are provided by the agency, and he knows the agency will be doing placements for that too

but then his nutritionist sorta knows he’s a lil sad (she’s become like a surrogate older sister for him) and she’s like, “i have someone in my mind. she’s... a little rough around the edges. she’s been through a lot. but - she has a good heart. like you.” the nutritionist smiles, “i think the both of you could get along well!”

so the new nutrionist? that’s our badass girl, kang sujin.

now sujin has already known that her senior wanted her to replace the position for han seojun’s nutrionist because her senior trusted her to do a good job, but sujin’s a bit queasy about the entire arrangement if she’s honest

she wants to say no, but her senior has always been supportive and strict in ways that’s got her shaped up to her best ability, and she just didn’t have the heart to say “no” in the end

so on the day they met, seojun recognised sujin immediately, and sujin, at first, pretended that she’s only met seojun for the first time

seojun consecutively tries to trigger some sort of reaction in sujin, but she deflects pretty well? every time he tries to confront her, she’s like “hi mr. han seojun” and “what can i do for you today?”

even during their private sessions while sujin goes over seojun’s daily food and nutrition intakes and adjusting new set of schedules for him, sujin’s all serious. she’s gotten close to snapping at him - but then she quickly just, “noooo :) im not mad :) what do u mean”

after a while, seojun sorta lets it go and focuses back on training

his team is planning a tour, maybe even concerts outside korea, and seojun’s lowkey scared because even though he’s toured and flown to various countries to perform at this point, he still has the anxiety

he wants to be so good to his fans, wants to do his best now that he’s come so far to the point he essentially sacrifices a chance at a relatively ordinary life

but then, he starts overworking too

seojun’s never been the best dancer, you know; he could always make up for it with singing, but he still?? doesnt feel like it’s enough???

and then one day sujin just comes barging in at his apartment, mad, because seojun’s had a fever and couldn’t train for two days now and turns out?? he hasn’t really been eating as much as he should, or he’s not drinking as much as he should

that was the first time sujin showed any sense of familiarity from their high school days

she gave him a good whip, talks to his doctors, and adjusts his diet according to his schedules and for the next week, she sorta comes quite frequently to make sure even when he’s training, he’s doing okay

seojun comments that she’s “scarier” than his last nutrionist, and sujin’s like, “good. it means you’ll listen to me.”

one day, he starts asking her to stay just a while instead of just leaving, which she always does, and he’s like “have a beer. what, you have a strict diet too?” and sujin reluctantly stays? even tho she’s awkward and quiet

finally seojun’s like, “why did u pretend u didn’t recognise me?”

and sujin’s just.... “didn’t you hate me?” referring to what she did to jugyeong (implying the k-drama events i assume?? but imma keep this vague as hell) and she just, “i did something horrible to the girl you love.”

and because this is seojun, esp their dynamics dkjhksdhf, he’s just straight up, “yeah. you were a bitch.” because to him, that was the facts, you know

sujin sorta stays quiet, but then she puts the beer down and like?? “i don’t have to explain anything to you.” but seojun’s like!!!!! thats not what he meant!!! and hes just, “hey no! sit. you just started relaxing, right?”

but after a minute he comments under his breath, “i didn’t know you were this sensitive.”

but then sujin quietly replied, “she was my friend. i loved her too.”

and that sorta got the two of them quiet, but then seojun decided to change the topic because its Its_Too_Awkward.jpeg, “last i heard u were gonna be a doctor. your dad’s professor Kang right? he treated my mom.”

and that sorta??? causes sujin to tense up, but then she deflects with a snappish, “why are you so interested in me?” “i’m not! i’m just asking questions.” “i should be asking you questions - why the hell did you think it was a good idea to pull the shit u did now that your touring schedule is in the talks? how are you supposed to perform if you can’t even stand?” “aish, didn’t you already nag me?” “you’re so stupid, i’m scared you’ve forgetten”

they started bickering again but that night was really what triggered for sujin to be a little more relaxed with seojun, and for seojun to sorta - try a bit harder to?? not be friendlier, no, but he likes that he’s known her from an era in his life where he didn’t have to always be a face in the screen.

more and more, seojun asks sujin to stay and have dinner after she’s done evaluating his weekly meals and they have a better comradeship

he starts anticipating her more when she comes to evaluate another idol or something at the agency and he’s just!!!!!!! “you’re here? why are you here? did u miss me already? what do u mean i’m not the only one you’re treating”

and then slowly we also found out why she didn’t become a doctor (she didn’t wanna follow her dad; and she still carries the guilt of what she did to jugyeong and admitted, more than the result of her father’s anger, she likes the version of her who always wants to help others - and, she can memorises easily, so... nutritionist didn’t seem bad)

sujin starts bringing in board games or sometimes she sneaks a few of supermarket-brand goods since seojun’s been behaving with his meals and vitamin intakes, and the one time seojun’s invited to a tv show where it has quizes, she tutors him the whole night so he “doesnt make a fool out of himself”

she also starts to keep up with whatever show he’s in, and she’s always texting him that she’s watched him with this horrible washed-out screenshot because she takes the photo on her laptop with her phone. and her texts are all “the dance was good” and “you’ve improved that move huh” and then sometimes “idiot. why did u answer like that”

sujin makes fun of her for not being able to take a clean screenshot, but he never really leaves her un-replied

and they started talking about relationships - how they were both so enamoured with suho and jugyeong respectively, and for sujin specially, how she can’t wait to be loved by someone who can make her feel like suho’s not a big deal at all

but then she admits she doesn’t think she deserves to be loved, and sorta has this sad smile, and seojun confesses that he’s scared if he loves someone, he has to lose them due to his career

and they’re really sad about it, but the night also isn’t as bad cause they had each other

and ok i have a LOT more i think - and i honestly dk how nutritionist actually works BUT. yes. them.

[justfandomwritings]

Like a Human (Erik Lensherr - Part One)

Pairing: Magneto/Erik Lensherr x Mutant!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: none yet.... spoilers maybe? Do you have to warn for spoilers for movies that are old? This takes place entirely inside Days of Future Past

Summary: “Our roles are nothing more than how the times choose to cast us.” -Magneto

Notes: The summary is just an epigraph of a Magneto comics quote, but it does more to explain the inspiration of this fic than a proper summary would. This one goes out to some of the 38 Magneto fic requests I got when I put up a post asking for some.

Charles had wanted to go himself.

Charles knew the world Logan was going back to. He knew what he himself was going through, where Erik was, how Mystique thought. Had Charles gone, he needn’t worry about Logan convincing him of the future, pulling him from his despair, reuniting him with his abilities. Had Charles gone, he would have been in control of his own body. Breaking Erik out and stopping Mystique would have been far easier. 

It was with a heavy heart he admitted that Logan was best suited for the task at hand. The task before Logan was more monumental than he knew. 

The three of them, Charles, Erik, Logan, they were all very different men at the time.

There was no telling where Logan would wake up, what situation he was in, how far he would have to travel. He was no one to Charles, and Charles may as well have been no one to him. Logan would have to convince a total stranger he was time travelling to save the universe. Not to mention if the link broke too soon, they would be throwing a wild, unpredictable man into the heart of the action and could leave the situation far worse than they’d found it.

Charles was without his abilities, and he was a long way from getting them back. He was weak, depressed, and alone; even with Hank around, he was alone. He would need to be rescued from the brink in a way Charles wasn’t sure Logan would be capable of, not because Charles doubted Logan but because he doubted himself. Logan would turn up on his doorstep, and Charles wouldn’t know if he was lying or not. Charles would need to be convinced of everything, and even if Logan managed that Charles would be of almost no help whatsoever unless he stopped his treatment months before he ever had in this timeline. 

And Erik? Erik was miles away from Charles. He wasn’t just miles underground; they were miles apart emotionally. They blamed each other, hated each other. 

It had taken a miracle to get them speaking again. 

A miracle with a name.

“You’ll need help,” Charles voiced the thought before he could stop himself. “You can’t do this alone.”

Kitty sat up in her seat, back rigid as a board. “Charles,” her tone was warning again, “I can’t send you back. Even if I could send two people…”

“You won’t need to.” 

Charles wheeled his chair around to face the corner. Bedecked in all but his helmet, Magneto sat on the sill of one of the window, looking out into the blizzard without really seeing anything past the glass. “Erik,” Charles called to his friend.

Magneto didn’t turn at the name. He didn’t break the glaze that seemed to have washed over his face. Wherever he was, it wasn’t in the room. 

“June 1973.” 

The rest of the room was silent. They’d been bustling around. Iceman had been barricading the other entrances for what good it would do. Storm had been agitating the sky, bringing in mountains of snow for some kind of cover from the approaching army. Warpath sat at the doors, watching for anything that might be coming, and Kitty and Bishop had been explaining the process to an unflappable Wolverine. 

There was something about the way Charles spoke. Whenever he opened his mouth, they all stopped to listen. His words were for Magneto, but for some reason everyone felt the need to hear them.

Magneto turned his head, meeting Charles’s gaze. They sat like that for a moment, watching each other. Those who didn’t know them, would be forgiven for thinking that was all they were doing, but the subtle nods and gentle shakes of Charles’s head told the rest of the room that they were talking amongst themselves. 

Whatever they were discussing, it seemed to be frustrating the older mutant. Magneto’s face contorted in further discomfort at every hint of movement Charles made. They spoke without words, and Magneto clearly didn’t like where the conversation was heading.

Only Magneto seemed to know what Charles meant by telling Kitty, ‘You won’t need to.’ All the rest were baffled, not only at what Charles could be implying but at how Magneto had understood it instantly from nothing. 

They argued in silence, and it was unmistakably an argument. Magneto was more on edge with every moment that Charles stared. 

“She could help, Erik.” Charles pleaded quietly. “June 1973.”

There was another long pause as the men squared off, the other occupants waiting to see whose will would bend first. 

Magneto sighed and pushed to his feet. It seemed a sign of resignation. The desperation still touched his brow, but he was done debating. 

“After you find me,” Magneto addressed Wolverine, even though he still faced Charles, “Stop in London, on your way to Mystique.” 

“What’s in London?” Wolverine asked.

“A girl.” 

Not a very helpful explanation. There were many girls in London; Logan would even wager there were many mutant girls in London. “How will I find her?”

“You won’t.” Charles rolled back to Logan’s side with a sad smile. “She’ll find you.” 

“Why does he need her?” The question came from Kitty. It was probably one Logan should have asked, but in truth it hadn’t occurred to him. 

Magneto walked over and shared a long side-eyed look with Charles, as if they hadn’t whispered in front everyone enough that night.

Charles answered, hedging on how to explain without giving Logan too much. “She may well be one of the greatest mutants to ever live. If you find her, she could save you all.”  

Magneto’s lips twitched up, only slightly, into a sneer. “She’s more than that,” he argued before turning to Logan. “She’s my wife, or at least she will be.” 

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“Are you Logan?” 

The man came running up to their group while they exited the plane. 

Logan paused on the steps as the man approached Hank at the bottom of the stairs. 

Hank glanced back up the steps towards the rest of the group, clearly pleading for help, for how to respond.

“I’m Logan,” Logan pushed by Magneto and made his way down to join the worried Hank.

“Of course you are. I should’ve known.” 

The frazzled young man, clad in a jacket that labelled him ‘landing crew’, was clearly flustered. He fumbled around, patting over his chest and down to the pockets of his jeans. 

“Here,” He tucked two fingers into his back pocket and produced a piece of paper. “She told me to give you this message.”

“She?” Logan snatched the paper from the man’s hand and unfolded it quickly.

‘It’s rude to yank things from another person’s hand, Logan. Do apologize to Tim, but make it quick. You need to meet me at the address on the back as soon as you can.” 

“How did she…” Logan froze. He read the words twice, mumbling them under his breath to make sure he got them right. “I-I’m sorry,” Logan half-heartedly said to the man, side stepping past him onto the tarmac, “but we have to go.”

“Yes, she said that too,” The younger man pointed into the distance where a black van was speeding off the road towards their chosen hangar. “That’s for you.” 

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The van pulled to a stop in front of a block apartments not far from the airport.

“Third floor,” The driver didn’t bother to turn around but instead pointed up at the building just behind his parking spot. 

“Do we even know who this woman is?” Magneto growled as he slipped out of the car.

Logan eyed the peeling yellow facade of the apartment complex. He stuffed his hands into his pockets to hide the claws that were slowly beginning to push out of his skin. “I think I have an idea,” or at least he had the start of one, and it was not at all an idea he liked.

Charles, Hank, and Magneto filed along after Logan through a heavy metal door, which the metal wielder pulled closed behind the group.

They slogged up to the third floor where Logan glanced down at the paper the airport employee had handed him. “317.” 

“This way,” Charles pointed out a sign and headed off away from the landing. 

Apartment 317 was six doors down on the left. It was the only number placard that hadn’t been defaced with some form of graffiti or stolen all together. The otherwise dingy hallway was slightly brighter in front of the door, underneath the only bulb that was actually shining as opposed to flickering out its last burst light. 

This was the sort of place Logan was used to before he met Charles Xavier. Shady tennants, dirty floors, questionable facilities. This was the sort of place most mutants were used to outside of the school. Even, apparently, the incredibly powerful ones.

Charles lifted his hand, but before he could knock a voice inside shouted, “It’s open!” He hesitated for a moment before he tested the knob.

The door swung wide on an incredibly bare apartment that looked just as old and lackluster as the hall outside, albeit far cleaner. 

There was nothing more to the room than an oversized couch shoved against the opposite side of the room and two doorways, both open, on the right-hand wall.

The old wooden floorboards squeaked in protest when the men stepped over them to enter the living room. 

“In here,” A voice called from one of the open doors.

Logan caught Charles by the shoulder as he made for the voice. “Behind me,” Logan whispered, stepping ahead of his would-be mentor.

Logan led Magneto followed by Hank and Charles into the room from which the voice had come. 

Instantly, the smell of food overwhelmed them.

The kitchen was similarly bare to the living room. A stove, an oven, a fridge, and a hodgepodge of mismatched counters took up most of the tiny room. There was only just enough space for the rickety round table and the five chairs shoved under its lip. A door against the back wall, no doubt, couldn’t be opened without entirely removing the nearest seat from the room.

In amongst the shabby appliances was the back of a young woman. She moved busily between two burners on the stove and the plates and utensils cluttering the table. As they entered, she turned and deposited a healthy portion of eggs on each of the four plates. 

Her eyes didn’t even look up at their approach. It wasn’t like she could’ve missed them. The floor groaned and creaked with every move made by any of the men, a built in alarm against intruders if there ever was one.

“That really wasn’t necessary Logan,” The woman didn’t bother to check who was in the doorway and continued cooking. “I don’t bare Charles any ill will.”

Seeing there wasn’t an immediate or hostile threat, Charles took an uncertain step around his new found bodyguard and asked, rather skeptically, “Then do you mind telling us what we’re doing here?”

“Well,” The woman picked up a pan and began dispensing bacon onto three of the plates, “You’re in London because Charlie wanted Logan to come and find me, and Erik told him where to look.” She dropped the empty pan back on the stove. “And you’re in my apartment,” speaking absently, she fiddled with the knobs to turn off the burner, “because I know none of you have eaten since you broke Erik here out of his cell.” 

The woman in question wiped her hands clean on a dish rag before finally turning to properly face the group of men for the first time.

She was pretty. Most people would even call her beautiful. Though, she was by no means otherworldly as Logan had been expecting; there was nothing about her appearance that conveyed to him that she was a mutant of any real power. 

Logan wasn’t particularly enchanted by her voice or drawn in by any of her features. Sure, she had a kind smile and an even complexion, lips colored a shade of red that could go from sophisticated to sinful in a heartbeat. But she was just a woman, a beautiful young woman, a seemingly normal one at that. She looked human.

“Telepath?” Charles asked, moving cautiously towards the nearest chair. “How else could you know where we just came from?”

The woman laughed, though it wasn’t a very hearty sound. It tinkled half-heartedly then died in the air. “If I was a telepath, I would’ve had to read your mind across the Atlantic for Tim to be waiting for your plane to land.” 

“Then what are you?” Hank asked.

He and Erik both moved to join Charles at the table. Their steps were both slow, cautious. Neither of them trusted this woman, and while Hank’s expression seemed worried and concerned, Erik’s was deadly.

“A mutant, like all of you.” She chirped. 

“And do you have a name?” Erik stood behind the seat he’d claimed. 

Something told Logan he was waiting for everyone else to sit down, waiting for everyone to be well within range of the metal knives their host had placed on the table. 

“(Y/n),” The woman slumped into the chair without a plate in front of it and motioned to the empty chair. “Do join us Logan. You’re not actually worried about me killing you. We both know poison couldn’t do the trick.”

“No,” Logan agreed, taking one deliberate step after another, “But I’m pretty sure you can.” 

A smirk tugged the edge of (Y/n)’s lip, but it was gone as quick as it appeared, and Logan took his seat. 

“Bold assumption,” She mused, “Would it settle you at all to know I have no intention of hurting any of you?” 

“No, not even if I believed you.”

“Fair enough,” She shrugged.

With the rest of the table occupied, Erik took the final chair at the woman’s side and an uncomfortable silence settled over them.

No one made a move to eat, and no one seemed to know what to say to fill the silence.

No one except (Y/n), perhaps. She lounged comfortably in her chair, pushing it up on the back two legs. There was a content grin on her face, and she was inspecting her nails with a deep interest that Logan was fairly sure was fake. Something in her expression told Logan that she was amused by all of this. A glint in her eyes as they scanned over her fingers, an arch of her brow. 

Over the years, Logan had, out of necessity, gotten good at reading people, and he didn’t need any powers to do it. She was enjoying this, he could tell. How uncomfortable she made Erik and Charles, she was revelling in it. 

“I know who you are.” Logan pressed her. They didn’t have the time for these games, or at least he didn’t think they did.

Her eyes flitted up to him quickly. “Well obviously,” she hummed, “you wouldn’t be here if they didn’t send you.” 

Logan leaned in, hovering over his plate on the table, as if getting closer would help get his point across. “I know who you are, what you did. Erik told me everything.” 

There was a loud bang as the front two legs of her chair came crashing to the floor. Even as she brought herself crashing back to earth, (Y/n)’s expression didn’t change. Her features froze as they were before. The life didn’t leave her eyes, but it seemed, for a moment, to pause its merriment. 

“Then he really must be in dire straits.” Her tone had cooled off, slipped into an emotionless droan of words. 

“Would you mind,” Charles cut in, “explaining it to the rest of us?”

(Y/n) trailed her eyes over Charles, “It’s sad you have to ask.” (Y/n) let her sentence hang in the air with genuine grief before she pushed to her feet.

Charles, likewise, looked down, pained.  

“Eat while I talk. This will take some time, and we don’t want to waste a moment.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Y/n) returned to the table with a paper and pen and set it out before the men who were hesitantly chewing down breakfast. 

“So,” She drew two parallel lines coming up from the bottom of the paper, “Think of time as a road, and we, the universe, are a car.” A boxlike shape joined her sketch between the lines. “The road is one way, and while we’re on it, we have to be moving forward.”

As she talked, (Y/n) began to add roads, branches coming off every inch on both sides of her original path. “Everyone, young and old, is inside the car and has a hand on the wheel.” Some took steep angles away from her first road; others ran virtually parallel to it; others still branched off from the branches she was adding. She was, slowly but surely, making a web of lines across the page. “And every time any of us make a decision, we turn the wheel.” 

She traced an arrow from the car up one of the roads running parallel to it. “Most decisions have little effect on the world beyond the person who’s made them. We’re so close to where we were before that when we look out the window the scenery and direction haven’t changed, and none of us can tell the difference.”

(Y/n) continued  arrow, this time following a branch off the parallel that took a far steeper angle. “Other decisions, turns of the wheel, change the world so emphatically that everyone feels the effects, and our course is forever altered.”

(Y/n) went back to doodling in lines, slowly filling up the bottom of the page as she carried on. “Every turn off the first road is a decision someone made, and every decision someone makes results in a turn. The only question is how drastically it removes us from where we began.”

Ceasing her doodles for a moment, (Y/n) drew their attention by circling three times around a section of road she had just added, two parallel roads in the bottom corner, both taking a sharp curve away and off the edge of the page. 

“There are, however, some things that are beyond decision. Bends in the road, as it were. Things that, by virtue of being on the road we are on, will happen; things no one decided and no decision can avoid. Call it karma or fate, whatever suits you, but they’re there. Some of them are small, only happening on a few paths we create. Others are so colossal,” (Y/n) vigorously shaded in a strip of paper an inch above the end of her highest road, “that by virtue of moving forward in time, we will encounter them, and they will happen. The difference between a bend around a hill, only taken by roads that come at it from a certain angle, or the inevitable need of a bridge crossing over a river.” 

(Y/n) drew in a road, a bridge presumably, going over the shaded strip and continuing up to the end of the page. 

Her pen ran off the top of the page, and with it she went silent, and a long moment passed as she stared at it, unseeing.

She hadn’t looked up or ceased once during her entire explanation, not as they ate, not even when Hank let out an audible huff.

“This is an interesting theory of time, but what does it have to do with why the future sent us here?” Hank pressed. There was a subtle inflection to the way he said the word theory. He was far too kind to call anyone wrong to their face, but Hank was a scientist in heart and in mind. He didn’t generally stand for rambling misinformation. 

(Y/n) returned his expectant look with an equally expectant smile, as if she’d already known the answer to his question before he even thought to ask it. “Darling, I’m the map.”

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Next Time on Part Two…. Coming Soon

Taglist

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse /  @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers / @bloodorangemoonlight​

Marvel Taglist:

@the-high-queen / @iamverity / @darktownairspeed / @radicalstars​ / @hermione-is-my-queen 

[sherlollydramoine]

A Little Taste of Heaven

Prompt 4: “that didn’t stop you before”

Fandom: Mr. Robot

Pairing: Elliot Alderson X Reader

Word Count: 3,198

Warnings: 18+, Anxiety, Marijuana use referenced, implied sexual content. 

Rating: Mature

A huge shout to @edteche2​ for being my editor-in-chief on this. If you haven’t read any of their brilliant work then please, go do that after you read this!

To my amazing cheerleaders @schnapsidee-x​ and @stewielover95​ thank you ladies!!! Without you two this would have never gotten done.

I ain’t no Sam Esmail but please do enjoy!

Skipping along the pavement in anticipation of the epic fun that you had planned for the two of you tonight, you made your way to his apartment. It took a bit of cajoling on your part but this is the first time that you’ve been able to get Elliot out of the house for any commitments other than work for three weeks. 

You’d had a long discussion with Darlene about her brother and how to get him to go out. She laughed and said that out of anyone in the world, her brother was in desperate need of some old fashioned fun. Together you’d brainstormed for a few days before she offered a random piece of information that you latched on to and ran with. Elliot loves Halloween. 

You’d done some research and through word of mouth, you found a place in the middle of New York City that temporarily housed fourteen of the cities most raved about haunted houses. Elliot, however, did not share your enthusiasm and grumbled about it endlessly, but somehow reluctantly agreed to go.

Tonight was the night. You settled on going the Friday before Halloween even though it was a risk since it would be insanely crowded. If there was anything that you know for certain about Elliot was that he and crowds did not agree. 

“C’mon El-” you whined, tugging on the sleeve of his signature black hoodie.

“This is-” he starts but you cut him off.

“Going to be so much fun!” you holler causing a few people to turn their heads and glare at your excited shouts as you continue your long walk through the streets of New York. Normally you would have opted for the subway but the night air was crisp and the location of the complex was only a few miles away. You’d need all the time you could get to try and put him at ease before making him endure the throngs of people that would be gathered for this experience. 

“Not what I was going to say but why do we have to do this haunted house shit? It’s so droll and predictable. I don’t see why we should pay so much money to these idiots in shitty costumes for their sad attempts to scare us. I’m not really scared of this dumb shit; it’s the big corporations that scare me and the control they have over all of society.” he continues to muse. 

You roll your eyes at him before playfully smacking him in the arm. Elliot wasn’t really a big touchy-feely kind of guy but somehow you’d been able to break down some barriers with him and his body language is a lot less closed off with you than it is with most others.

“Honestly El, Darlene said you love Halloween.”

“Yeah, when I can stay home, get high, and watch my favorite Halloween movie. It’s not even Halloween -- that’s what, like a week away? Besides, I don’t really like being around so many people,” he drones on, but you ignore him, finally spotting the location of the complex. It wasn’t hard to see as the line was wrapped around the building.

You can sense some hesitation as his steps falter before he comes to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

“El-?” 

No response. Your concern is growing, worried you’ve pushed him too far. He turns his body directly towards you, lifting his eyes up to meet yours. You can feel the anxiety radiating off of him, the panic becoming clear in his eyes. You rack your brain trying to come up with a way to diffuse the situation before he goes into full-on meltdown Elliot mode and ends up canceling the entire outing.

“El? El? Look at me.” you focus on keeping his attention “This isn’t that bad. I guarantee you that no one will try and talk to you and if they do, ummmm, just put your earbuds in and pretend that you can’t hear them. I’m here with you and you’ll be alright. I promise I’m here.”

“No. No. I need to work on this, right? My social anxiety?”

“You do, but it shouldn’t be forced. It will always be uncomfortable at first and you might not ever get used to it but I’m here with you. Would it help if you held my hand?”

He doesn’t say anything but he surprisingly reaches out and takes your offered hand. You two stayed at a standstill for several minutes before he started to move towards the end of the line. His body was tense and you feel guilty for pushing him to do this. Making you question if you should have ever attempted this at all with him or if it would have been better to have gone on a Tuesday instead of a Friday, maybe the crowds would be smaller. As you both head towards the back of the line you observe all the different faces and groups of people. Some groups were loud and rambunctious teenagers, some of the groups were middle aged couples wanting a night out, but the overwhelming majority were college-aged kids out to have a good time after getting a little high or drunk. 

Finding a spot at the back of the line, Elliot still held onto your hand in a vice grip, making your hand ache terribly but you were unable to let go. You’d promised him that you would be here and you would be for as long as he needed you.

The lines were moving at a semi-decent pace and it was after about forty-five minutes of waiting you were nearing the front of the line and that’s when he releases your hand. You can feel as if there is something that he wants to say but he remains silent for several minutes before he quietly whispers, “Thank you.”

You just smile at him in response giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Do we have to do this? There are so many people here and this shit is overpriced.”

You let out a small laugh at his statement. 

“El, we really don’t have to but I want to do this with you,” looking into his eyes the polychromatic pools filled with confusion, “I’m sorry for laughing. It's just when you talk about money it’s a bit ironic coming from you. I do agree it’s overpriced but unfortunately, a lot of the fun things in life are.”

“How is my statement about money ironic?” 

“It’s ironically funny hearing you say things like that because we all know you as Mr.-I-Don’t-Give-A Shit-About-Money. Yet, for someone that claims to not give a shit about it, you talk about it a lot.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at his reaction which was completely unexpected. He laughs. It was a quiet sort of laughter but you couldn’t help the grin taking over your face. In this moment was a sense of normality, just another couple out for a good time on a Friday night.

“I love when you laugh El it’s music to my ears.”

“You do? I don’t think I’ve ever laughed in front of you before,” you can see him trying to think back on a moment when he had ever laughed in front of you. A frown appearing on his face as he apparently can’t seem to recall any.

“El- I’ve heard you laugh loads of times. I know you have trouble with your memory sometimes but I don’t want you to think about this too hard. Do you want to talk about money some more?”

Distraction is the easiest way to pull him from what you call the dark place as long as you can easily find a subject of interest for him and as of late, money is easily his favorite subject.

“The concept of money is dumb because it's controlled by the large evil corporations in the world. The real truth is the evil corporations make us dependent on their faulty, easily broken products so that we spend more money, which lines their pockets while most people struggle to work enough hours at fair enough pay to afford to buy the shitty products. It’s a constant dirty cycle that will never end until the people can rise up and take back what’s theirs.All of this is not even getting into how the shitty products are made on the backs of children and the exploitation of other vulnerable people in the world.”

You roll your eyes at his “corporations are evil” monologues but you didn’t really want to cut him off seeing as how you’d finally gotten him to relax a bit. Your ears remain open, content to listen to him rant about it until you were finally up to the ticket counter. You glance over at Elliot one more time as confirmation that he wants to do this but he shakes his head ‘no.’ That was all it took to spur you into action. 

You can’t be mad at him and you aren’t, you’ve already made so much progress with him just waiting in line. Without a word you gently grab him by his arm and lead him away from the ticket counter, out the main door of the complex, and back in the direction of his apartment. You aren’t sure if something spooked him or he’d just reached the edges of his limits. You’d probably never know since he wasn’t one to ever divulge how he was feeling. To figure that out required your keen observations and the ability to know exactly what his body language meant. Sometimes it feels like a full-time job and it often leaves you with a raging headache and feeling a little worn down.

“I’m sorry, YN.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. I pushed you tonight and I shouldn’t have. I need to be far more considerate of you in the future. I did sort of coerce you into doing this when I know crowds aren’t really your thing. I’m the one that’s sorry but I want you to know that I love you.”

Following that exchange, the walk back to his place was silent until you reached the steps of his building. You were fully prepared to leave him on his own; to let him recoup from the experience of being in such a crowded place for an extended period of time. Unsure of exactly how he was feeling you turn away from him and walk back down the steps until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to leave.”

“El- I love you, you know that but I just figured that you’d want to be alone after tonight’s,” you gesture wildly attempting to finish the sentence,” adventure.”

“YN, I don’t want to-I don’t want to be alone right now, will you stay with me?”

For the second time tonight, he’d done something that had completely shocked you to your core. He rarely asked for you to stay with him much less ever admit out loud that he was lonely. There was no way you could refuse his request. Elliot seemed to sense your hesitation because he cast his eyes downward and mumbled, “You don’t have to.”

Moving your feet forward to stand directly in front of him, you place each of your hands on either side of his face with a touch that was so feather light that you barely made any contact with his skin. You weren’t trying to put him off at all but rather wanted to make sure that you had his full attention.

“I love you Elliot so of course I’ll stay. I did promise you earlier that I would be here for you didn’t I? Just tell me what you need from me.”

He doesn't respond at all so you stand off to the side of him silently observing as the keys jangled in the lock for the main door of his building, you trailed behind him up the familiar steps until you were standing right outside his apartment door. Keeping a small distance away from him you watch as he unlocks the door to his apartment. Putting one foot in front of the other slowly you cross the threshold into his sacred space. You resisted the urge to poke his little tummy when you passed under his arm as he held the door open for you. 

At this point, you weren’t sure exactly where this encounter was going, but as usual, you silently observe him when he passes by you, removing his beloved hoodie and tossing it onto his couch. Shifting your weight back and forth remaining quiet until he breaks the silence to ask if you wanted to smoke a joint with him. You had no problem with his marijuana use as you regularly smoked yourself. Aware that the sweet effects of the ganja aided with his anxiety the same as it did with yours. 

“Sure, I could use a little smoke.”

The ghost of a smile plays on his lips and you aren’t sure where this is coming from. He’s what you’ve always referred to as ‘your anxious little bean’ but suddenly he’s being sort of bold. Not necessarily bold in the way that other men are but your Elliot wasn’t like other men. This is a boldness of a man either on a mission or the boldness of a man that is completely at ease.He’d had a big night for him and was somehow--based on all previous interactions with him--coping remarkably well. You arch a brow at the thought that something might be going on inside his beautiful brain that you weren’t privy to and it left you struggling to put the pieces of the Elliot mystery puzzle together.

You were still standing in the middle of his kitchen floor when he came back into the room with the joint hanging loosely from his full lips you felt the stirrings of something that you hadn’t felt in a long time. How had you never noticed how beautiful his mouth is? You suddenly find yourself longing to find out what his mouth feels like on yours but Elliot was always the forbidden fruit. The thing you have always longed to taste but would never be able to. Shaking your head to clear it of the intrusive thoughts you look back up at Elliot. Shit, he’s looking at you funny. You began to question if you'd accidentally just said something out loud that you didn’t want to. 

“YN, what about my mouth has you so intrigued?”

“Shit. Ummm-it’s nothing El just a wayward thought.”

Panic taking over your mind as you contemplate pulling an Elliot and walking away. No longer thinking but springing into action you sprint towards the door, that’s exactly what you are going to do, you too were flight. Just as you reach for the door handle his arm snakes around your waist holding you in place.

“Don’t leave. Please.”

“El-I-I’ve. Fuckkkkk.”

You don’t struggle against the loose grip he has on you because you know he won’t hurt you but your anxiety coupled with the embarrassment made you feel like a feral cat that has been cornered. You wanted to run away but something was pulling you to him. Like a sort of magical tether. 

“YN, can I kiss you?” he asks so softly that you almost didn’t hear him. 

“Ye-yes," you stutter in response, your voice something even you didn't recognize. 

That invitation is all he needs to spin you around as he brings his hands up to cup your face. You stumble backwards ending up with your back pressed against the door when his lips find yours. Knees turning to jelly, blood rushing to the most sensitive parts of you, and the sensations that his mouth was evoking made you feel as if your whole body was suddenly on fire. 

When he pulls away from you breathless and pupils blown wide, a small whine of protest escapes your lips. 

“Do it again,” you demand.

The ferocity of his kiss was unparalleled, no comparison to the previous one. As the intensity increased you realize that your bodies were in motion as you both stumbled your way through Elliot’s apartment in a tangle of limbs, clothing being haphazardly discarded. 

The only hesitation was when you reached the end of his bed. You’d both been so lost in the moment that neither of you had been able to comprehend what was happening; you were just two bodies acting solely on instinct rather than reason.

“Please?” you ask, not going to deny yourself the opportunity to have a taste of the forbidden fruit, the little bit of heaven that was likely to send you straight to hell. You were already completely bare, him clad only in his boxers. What do either of you have to lose at this point?

His hands shove you back hard onto the mattress where you landed with a soft ‘oof’, watching as he pulls his boxers down and kicks them away. You felt like prey being hunted by a hungry predator. The way he licked the lips of his full mouth, eyes drinking in your wanton display; a meal being served on a platter only for him on his soft worn gray sheets. As you soon found out his appetite was ravenous. The way he devoured you was very much that of a man that had too long denied himself any pleasures of the flesh. 

Laying on his mattress with him, bare limbs tangled, while you comb your fingers through his sweat soaked hair, both of your breathing finally beginning to even out. His beautiful polychromatic eyes focused and somehow not focused at the same time. 

“I love you," he declares, as he buries his face in your chest. 

“El, you-you love me?” you ask, unsure if your ears had deceived you. 

“Yes,” he says shyly, averting his gaze and attempting to roll away from you. You drop your hand from his hair and instead bring it to his chin. Forcing his eyes to meet yours. 

"I love you too." your declaration so firm that he could never doubt it's sincerity. He softly smiles in response as he attempts to bury his face back into your chest. The beating of your heart is a real reminder to him that you are real, and he is loved. 

You were feeling satisfied and honestly, truly happy. Finally obtaining a taste of heaven. First on his lips, then with his body and now you’re being offered what feels like an eternal place in heaven. Maybe there wouldn’t be a hell for you after all. 

“Kiss me,” you command with a flirtatious smile. No true declaration of love is complete without sealing it with a kiss. 

He hesitates for a moment and you really didn’t want to push him. This night was a huge night of progress for him and you were terrified of accidentally pushing him too far.

“No,” he says as he sits up in bed untangling himself from your arms. Your face twisting in confusion until you notice the devilish smirk on his face, realizing that he just wants to play. He had a libido that needed to be satiated after such a long period of abstinence. 

“That didn’t stop you before,” you tease with a smile, since he'd acquiesced the first time you actually demanded a kiss from him. 

He positions himself towards the edge of his mattress sitting still for moment. You can't read his expression except for the little mischievous twinkle in his eye as he reaches across the mattress grabbing you firmly by the ankles and roughly pulling you closer to him. 

"If you insist on demanding kisses, how about I give you one that you'll never forget," he jests.  

You were helpless to do anything but watch as his face disappears between your thighs. His intention was to definitely give you a kiss, just not exactly the kind you were asking for. 

[darkelite020]

Bad Batch thoughts & predictions Ep 12

Continuing these written reactions/predictions somewhere cause itd be fun I think to see what actually ends up happening and remembering what I thought at the time so im dumping it here, youre welcome. (Feel free to discuss if you want) if you want to keep up with it im gonna be tagging these as #jay rambles about bb

- So I sort of expected it by the end of last episode but it seems like last episode was a start of an episode arc about hera's family, which, for rebel's fans I'm sure it's cool and exciting and maybe answers some questions or will actually show things discussed in rebels maybe, but as someone who hasn't seen rebels yet, I really hope this episode and the next few have more bad batch screentime, cause we were a little robbed last episode lol (but in a way I do still enjoy this stuff too, because im sure when I DO watch rebels it'll make the experience better). -- I'm not disliking this arc or anything, but up to this point we've kind of had almost mandalorian style 'one episode one adventure' sorts of episodes, and personally I really hope we get more of that (which I think we will), because while this is all new content and everything, we all have to admit clone wars had some less interesting filler arcs here and there, and I just hope bb doesn't fall the same way (across all of its seasons, im not very concerned about it so far from what we've seen of season 1) because if there is filler, I'd rather sit through a couple of the one episode stories, rather than a 3-4 episode story that takes nearly a month to get through if im disliking it, mostly for the fact that even if we got those 1 ep fillers, its more stories and more likely I'd like at least one. ---kinda rambling about this unnecessarily atm cause while again right now I think bb is fine, I just want the future to be that way too. - fffff every time I see howzer on screen I think of that fucking audio thats "here comes the boy, hello boy~" and honestly can you blame me he is so precious like ugh I swear dave you better be nice to him -- YOU CAN TELL HE FEELS SO BAD AND GUILTY LIKE IT HURTS - hey admiral can you not be MEAN to howzer when he is trying to be fucking helpful -- ;-; BRO im saying it so much already but I feel so bad for howzer like dude someone help him --- imo it feels like its sort of setting up howzer for something more important in the show kinda, at least for his character. Like we can clearly tell he doesn't really agree with the empire and I think they're going to do something with that. He's probably undercover for someone against the empire but I get the bad feeling they're gonna pull a Fives and have him go against the empire and help everyone else somehow but then he will probably end up dead because we cant have nice things. - hello cross... bet you wont be saved this episode - Ok good, some more bad batch here already. -- ALSO GONKY BEING DEFECTIVE!!!! EVEN GONKY IS DEFECTIVE LIKE BB THATS SO CUTE! - uh, im not the only one getting the leia transmission vibes from hera, right? -- ok, again I haven't seen rebels so I dont know BUT if hera has the ability to talk to bb, couldn't she have done so in rebels? Yeah she's older and im sure better at fighting and defending herself and all that, but wouldn't it still be possible for her to have gotten in some kind of rough situation in Rebels to ask for bb's help again? I super doubt bb made any appearance of any kind in Rebels, so doesn't that imply that she lost communications with them? What happens to bad batch >> - bad batch not wanting to help but because omega really wants to you can see its making hunter soften up and I appreciate it - bruh what??? Taa is dead af, like theres no way the show is gonna pull some magic and be like 'oh yep here he is' thing??? Like this has to be a lie, but even then, what even is the plan here?? Saying "oh hes recovering" well he can't be recovering forever, how does that seem like a good plan to lie about that?? People are gonna find out?? - "Great just what we need" from Wrecker about crosshair MAKES ME ANGRY LIKE??? YES?? DONT BE MAD AT HIM ITS NOT HIS FAULT??? SAVE YOUR FUCKING BOY??? -- oooo then the rest of bb doesn't comment about it literally gsjrkgbdkfbg why do they not care about him???? Like it seems they legitimately dont care about crosshair, even though theyve been together for so long like even before the show came out they

had history together and were all really close. I know people argue "oh well its just difficult to save him and its unrealistic for them right now" but so what? Even if they aren't trying to save him they should at least CARE about him. --- Which is also like the thing with echo and fives!!!! Like Echo didn't seem to care much at all when Rex mentioned fives even a little! Or even about seeing Rex that much!! Dave I'm gonna need some answers my guy, cause you humanized these characters but then you dont make them act that way so like whats up. - Lucky hunters abilities came in handy - Back to crosshair for a second im predicting they 100% arent saving him this season. There was a poster released part way through the season and he's not even on it... makes me so sad. - "I'd do the same for you." ;-; that didnt need to get that deep - CROSSHAIR BETTER NOT START SHIT WITH HOWZER - Howzer helping Hera's parents or at least implying that is good but that also means im right so far and therefore worried >> -- HES GOING TO GET FUCKING CAUGHT I BET TALKING TO THEM LIKE THIS AT SOME POINT AND HOW MUCH DO YOU WANNA BET ITS GONNA BE CROSSHAIR THAT CATCHES HIM --- Cham stfu its literally so obvious that howzer is trying to be genuine, also if he's kind of undercover for him like what the fuck do you expect howzer to do if he has to play along with the empire to keep his cover?? "Won't make that mistake again" Fuck off like honestly. ---- #stopbeingmeantohowzer2021 - "A little help" and the gentle "Hey" ahh love it - I'm really enjoying this whole them fighting in the ships sequence - "Stay here and guard the capitol" SCARES ME -- Please for the love of god bad batch don't get howzer killed --- or plot B Bad batch maybe run into howzer but save him and take him with you at least temporarily ---- oh god.... bb is helping heras parents escape and that means howzers gonna get in trouble.../probably replaced by crosshair - Crosshair is smart but thats also badddd - The scene of howzer and crosshair looking at each other is killing meeeeeeeee - Ohhh is howzer gonna stop them before they go out the door? -- YES HE IS SEE WHAT A GOOD BOY HE IS - (please fucking listen to him I beg) - Aw dude I just had a thought that breaks my heart... howzer cares about his squad and "trying to get through to them" but what if his squad is clones as well and the chips... that hurts me so badly... -- Like we all know howzer is a sweet boy by now but ughhh like the thought that he doesnt want to leave them even though they are doing whats wrong shows just how much he cares and I really hope he doesn't get into trouble because of what he's saying to them, but you know he totally would do it because he seems to care about them so much and :( bad batch more like sad batch --- This is the kind of compassion I wanted from bb for crosshair hunter kind of looks back at howzer as they leave him and I doubt itll mean anything but I really hope that maybe seeing how much howzer cares will make hunter care a little too... - *sigh* howzer is getting left behind by them which we know why but yeah... now he's definitely going to be in trouble... I just hope they don't hurt him... - OH GOD HOWZER BABY DONT -- He's making a speech and I know he's trying to sway them but you know damn well this is gonna go so badly for him because of the chips and crosshair is watching so you know howzer is gonna get fucked here and I know what hes trying for but I really wish he didnt just do that because now its blatantly obvious he's gonna be against them ;-; - Wow ok im kinda shocked people are siding with him (I guess cause theyre not all clones right) but I feel so bad for themmmmm - Crosshair missed multiple shots? Uh what? I didnt think that was possible lol - bb please come back for howzer and the others at some point.... -- I guess maybe if hera's parents are going to organize rebels against the empire maybe they will help them but I somewhat doubt it... - Ok I know that crosshair requesting to hunt them was supposed to be this big moment and all but I

can't help but feel like its a little underwhelming (but dont get me wrong still cool vibes) because he's kind of already been doing that anyway?? Or has tried to several times?? So I don't get why its a big deal, however, I do have a possible prediction: We know that bb got their chips removed, (crosshair doesn't, I know that) and so that eliminates the idea that they will get caught and actually go bad like crosshair, but it does leave a possibility where maybe they get captured and then *pretend* to be bad? And that could lead to a better possibility of helping crosshair (they wont) or maybe howzer and the other rebels or something? Cause I also feel like its significant that they brought up how the war will eventually come to them and bb will be a part of it no matter what eventually, and it makes obvious sense theyd be on the rebels side of it, so maybe something like that goes on, idk.

[thisgirlhastales]

“Wayward Son” — Is There Peace When You Are Done?

What we have here is an essay of sorts: a loosely organized mishmash of thoughts and opinions. Disclaimer that this is highly subjective, as it is based on my own experiences and expectations going into this novel :)

And, naturally, many Wayward Son spoilers below the cut! If you haven’t read it yet and are planning to do so, please do not proceed further. If you’ve already read it or don’t care about spoilers, c’mon in! Ain’t nobody here but me!

First Thing: I thought the plot was cool — I loved seeing the characters again, loved seeing the different magical culture within the United States as compared to the UK; all the geographical variety and how that impacted magical abilities and politics, the creatures and the nature of magic as it applied to people who aren’t mages, the syntax, and Shepard. All of that was fascinating. It felt organic and real, even though our main dude, Shepard, did drop a few exposition bombs. I loved it all.

The magical creatures touch on something that I think all the main characters learn and re-learn (and may be symbolic of their issues as a whole): there is no one way to do or be magic. The word magician can apply to any creature who is or practices magic. The UK’s mages have an expansive but selective history. They do not acknowledge people like Lamb (see Nicodemus), even though they are technically part of their world. I wonder if the UK vampires have something like what the Las Vegas vampires do — i.e. ways to feed without killing, ways of living without standing out so much, a hierarchal structure, their own historical narrative, etc. 

Agatha coming into her own was fabulous, driving the plot with the vampires on her end; she wasn’t a character I enjoyed in the last book too much (I thought she was very real, even practical, she just didn’t appeal to me as a person), but in this? Loved her. And she figured out her own way to be, though there’s still a ways to go for her, I think …

There is no one way to be anything, and that’s a lesson everyone in this book needs to learn (and talk about with each other, please, please, please).

Second Thing: Dealing with Trauma — I do think this was what resonated most with me, as someone who likes it when things are not perfectly hunky-dory after severely traumatic events.

Simon is Not Dealing. He stopped going to his psychologist. He thinks about the Mage, but doesn’t fully process the impact of having killed him. He’s in mourning over his magic and the Mage and all of it, but he’s choosing to not digest it fully — every time he was happy on this road trip, I, like Baz, was thrilled, but I also knew that it was fleeting because he hadn’t really dealt with anything. The underlying cause of his depression and listlessness wasn’t being addressed. His bursts of anger, his heartbreak, his inability to let go of the wings … He goes back and forth a lot, as well, tormenting himself.

Baz is Not Dealing. Baz was suicidal in Carry On. Baz barely knows anything about vampires. He lives in fear of being a monster, and of being executed as one regardless of his actions. As much as I detest Lamb, he had knowledge: How to feed without killing your prey. How to live amongst people and blend in better. He looked physically healthier. Baz’s grey complexion is actually a sign that he is starving more often than not. Remember how powerful he is now, and imagine how powerful he could be if he took better care of himself. And how much more comfortable in his own skin he’d be, which would help with so many of his bitter self-recriminations.

Penny is Not Dealing. Wow, that break-up with Micah was rough. She has a few more moments of self-realization than Simon and Baz do, but she’s also completely caught up in her own magical world, culture, and plans for the future; she has trouble reconciling what Shepard tells her, and is still processing (accepting? Healing?) from not only that breakup, but everything else that has ever happened to her and Simon. Penny copes better, but still not necessarily well. Her can-do, will-do attitude is a huge boon, but when it fails? Yikes. I rather feel like she had overly-rationalized (maybe even over-simplified) every trauma she went through with Simon, and … the world isn’t rational or simple at the best of times. I really, really hope she can come to terms with that (and that we get to see it).

Simon and Baz Together Are Not Dealing. It goes without saying that these two NEED to talk. But their separate issues are a huge roadblock — I feel like the chances of misunderstandings occurring are high. Each is convinced that they are bad for the other. Baz is slightly better about it, but he’s so afraid of the consequences of broaching the subject, he simply won’t. And the thing is? His instincts aren’t wrong. Simon does want to break up with him. It’s based on the whole you deserve better than me assumption, but Baz is actually sensing correctly that Simon is on the verge of leaving him. They need to deal with their own, separate traumas, and they can do that together or apart, but they need to start healing in some capacity. I fully believe that they can be together, even with a break, but that break needs to come with communication? Point being, we all go through healthy and unhealthy periods, as individuals, as part of a family, as part of a couple. They are right smack dab in the middle of a rough, not-so-healthy part — however they cope with it, (TALKING AND LISTENING ARE MUSTS), we at least know that they love each other. Love alone is not enough, but it is a powerful, wonderful force in their corner.

The expansion on magic implies legion of ways in which to exist, and such is the case for coping with pain, sadness, regret, and all the other fun aspects of being humans who experience trauma in innumerable ways. Sometimes we choose things that are unhealthy as a stopgap, because we’re not ready for the work and pain that is healing. Y’all, healing sometimes is on par with the issues that made it necessary — in simpler terms, it can really, really suck at the start. Again, some of you may come from different perspectives, but this struck a chord with me. 

I definitely went in with the expectation that all the issues would be laid out, and then addressed … We got the first half in spades … Did not get the second, nope.

Third Thing: The structure of this book implied right from the start that things may be unresolved, but, er, it was still a bit hard to deal with — having an epilogue at the beginning and a prologue at the end implies to me that this second book is a launch point. The prologue at the end is the start for the next (hopefully larger) narrative. That makes Wayward Son something like a sprawling behind-the-scenes look into these characters before we launch into their following, more detailed story. 

But I didn’t feel too great about having been plunged so deeply into this ‘verse, only to not have a lifesaver tossed my way … Which is to say, it kept me breathless, and knowing that people survived allowed me a reprieve, but the core of this novel — the overall mental well-being of Simon, Baz, Penny, and Agatha — had me tight in its grip from the beginning and then just … kept right on squeezing at the end. Even tighter. 

I don’t mind a plot-based cliff-hanger, but the fact that all the emotional and character arcs were left hanging as well? I felt like I got a decent resolution, or partial conclusion, on a few plot points, but next to no resolution for the emotional and/or psychological arcs. That I have a lot more trouble accepting. Particularly when I’ve spent an entire book with characters forced to live in each other’s space, in close quarters, and still not communicating. I wanted to rip out every beautiful thought Simon and Baz had about each other and throw it in the other’s face. Because they were gorgeous and wonderful, and for all that they are currently fractured and bleeding, they so clearly want what is best for each other. They are (mostly) selfless in their love (with a few selfish foibles, but they made sense to me).

I was also rather … not happy with the fact we got no mention of Lucy, of Davy, of them being Simon’s parents. I’m really, desperately hoping we get that in the next chapter of this series.

The positive thing I can take away from this point is that when we get to the next book (and I know there will be one — my copy literally has a number 2 on the spine, which heavily implies series to me), we will be firmly grounded in what is facing these characters both internally and externally.

The biggest issue that lies ahead is COMMUNICATION. I know (I hope like hell) this will be addressed in the next book, but I craved it so, so badly in this. Not just for Simon and Baz but PENNY. They are all sitting on shifting sand foundations now — their worlds have been completely overturned, over and over again in the past year or so, and they haven’t found firm footing yet. When Micah broke up with Penny, I very much thought that was the kick off for a road trip filled with introspection and epiphanies and finally, lots of talking about said introspections and epiphanies — I got half my wish. The latter half, I suppose, will have to wait until the next novel. I didn’t expect all the character/emotional beats to be acknowledged and resolved, but at least some of them, with room for others to be resolved in the next story, so we would have more (and more room) to explore in that novel.

As a result, Wayward Son, for the many things I loved about it, didn’t feel like a complete story for me. It doesn’t stand on its own quite as well as Carry On did. Maybe when the third book comes out, I will retroactively love it more, but for now I’m just sort of … floating along, waiting for that lifesaver. It did, honestly, feel a bit like half of a story. Half a good story, fantastic even, but still … Half.

In addition to these thoughts I’ve shared, here’s where I’m coming from, as a reader — we all come at these books from different places, different life experiences and wants and expectations. 

One of my most formative reading experiences was Harry Potter. I read Harry Potter practically as it came out. I had to wait years between some of the books. By the time the last book arrived, the characters had matured about as much as I had. Because the middle books were so chunky and dense (and I loved them for it!), I was a little thrown off by how slim Deathly Hallows was in comparison, and that ultimately was reflected in my reading — it went by so quickly. While I loved it and sobbed all over the damn place, when I hit that epilogue … that’s the first time while reading that I did a full stop. All the pain and agony of that book, as quick as it had been, had been amazing, and it felt like it demanded some kind of … reflection and communication between the characters, and I thought after ten years of these books, we had a definite basis for an epilogue that could’ve added another third to this novel — maybe one that jumped through the years, showed us different characters at various stages of healing? Something involved and detailed to a degree.

Wayward Son had that rushed element to it … and I think part of that feeling was enhanced due to the lack of resolution to those character/emotional arcs — we were tumbling, running forward into a free fall and then were frozen right at that point before falling.

However, Wayward Son gives me more positive feelings than that epilogue in HP. Yes, it still feels incomplete, like half a story. But Wayward Son isn’t an end. Unlike Deathly Hallows, there is more to come, and that’s what I’m looking forward to most. It definitely has its flaws in my view, but I can reconcile them somewhat, as you’ve seen.

(There is also a whole thing involving the way these sorts of arcs would resolve in fanfiction versus the medium of a book intended for a broader audience, but that would be a whole other post, methinks. Let me know if you want me to discuss that, because I do have some thoughts on it, though they’re a little haphazard at the moment. Um. Assuming all this rambling isn’t wildly boring and/or awful for you.)

Final Thoughts: At the end of the day? I loved reading this book, even for all that I wanted to reach into the pages and knock the character’s heads together. I said, “Oh no!” out loud when I reached the end, but it was because I desperately wanted more right then and there. The fact that I want more means that, despite any flaws, I’m still on board for this universe and its characters — I still love all this magic, and this dragon boy and his vampire boyfriend :)

And now, 2000 plus words later, I am done, holy crap. If anyone actually made it to the bottom of this, thank you? Not too sure how coherent I was, but I hope some of this was of value to someone :) *many hugs*

Edit: Apparently I still had some things to say, so here is a sequel to this ramble — Simon and Baz Carrying On Like Wayward Sons.

[imaginedisish]

Supersymmetry (Five Hargreeves x Reader) (The Umbrella Academy)

A/N: OH HEEYYYYY!!!! I promised you guys an angsty, fluffy fic, SO HERE IT IS!!! This is based off of a request, as well as an Arcade Fire song, aka Supersymmetry. (go listen to it uwu). Anyway, a quick note, Five and the reader are 17 here...I didn’t know how to fit that in the story. I tried...but Five’s age is kinda ambiguous, so I put it here :) Once again, Five and the reader are BOTH 17! Also...THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 1.5K!!!!  YOU GUYS MEAN EVERYTHING TO ME!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!! Okay, it’s 2:47am...and I have school tomorrow....night guys...ENJOY!

Summary: You’re in love with Five, and he has no idea. You decide to finally confess your feelings for him, when suddenly, Vanya attacks the Academy, and all hell breaks loose...

Warnings: ANGST, violence, blood, fighting, stabbing, implied death, language, flufffffff is guaranteed don’t fret kiddos. 

Word Count: 3,484 (when you think it’s over...it isn’t over...)

Moonlight glimmers through the massive windows, dancing upon the dusty shelves and books that begged to be opened. The sound of crickets gossiping from just outside the Academy echoes throughout the library. In fact, if one listened closely enough, they could make out the faint sound of summer rain tapping lightly against the sidewalks. The air felt cool, yet damp, almost if that very same rain had somehow walked into the room, leaving a trail of its energy behind. 

You take a deep breath as you flip the page of the worn out book in your hand. You had read the novel at least a million times, but no passage in The Great Gatsby, or any other novel for that matter, got to you quite like Nick’s description of Gatsby’s death. You shiver a bit as chills roll down your spine.

A familiar, brown haired, blued eyed boy pops his head through the archway farthest away from where you were sitting. “Mind if I join you?” He asks, smirking a bit, his bangs falling perfectly against his forehead. He takes a step forward, and leans against the archway. He crosses his arms against his chest.

You can’t help but smile as you pat the cushion next to you, motioning for Five to sit down. He walks over, sitting a bit closer to you than you had expected. In his hand is a copy of Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. He leans back, extending his legs to the coffee table in front of you. You steal a quick glance at Five before returning back to your book. 

Something about the moment felt unreal. Maybe it was the way Five’s eyes captured the moonlight, accentuating the vibrance in his blue eyes, all while somehow increasing your attraction towards him, something you thought was impossible. Regardless, in that moment you knew completely that you were in love with Five, and that you had been in love with him for a while. 

You had met Five in the library one day while you were researching precognition and psychokinesis. For years your parents told you that you were strange, and somewhat cursed by a set of evil abilities. They medicated you to suppress your powers. Eventually, you recognized the terribleness in what they were putting you through, and you stopped taking your medication. The unfortunate downside to all this was the fact that you struggled controlling your psychokinesis and precognition. And, at times, your precognition was a curse rather than a blessing. You saw things you never wanted to see, for people you didn’t even know. All you knew was that these were futures you had to change. 

If you hadn’t met Five that day at the library, you would have been lost. Somehow, he knew you weren’t “normal”. He could tell that you had abilities by the electricity in your eyes, the clear anxiety stretched across your face as you turned the pages of the book you were reading through. 

He had also said there was a connection between you two. A certain, supersymmetry.

“Let me help you,” He had said. 

And you did. 

That was about a year ago. Now your powers were much more developed, and much more controlled. Prior to Five’s help, along with the help of his siblings, you began to feel so much more comfortable. Your parents had seen you as a freak, someone who wasn’t worth anything. They made you so self conscious about yourself, to the point where you didn’t think you would ever belong somewhere. 

Five however, made you feel important. He made you feel whole again. He made you feel so valued. For once in your life, you felt like you belonged. 

Five silently moved a bit closer to you, the feeling of his shoulder brushing lightly up against yours snapping you back to reality. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you can feel yourself turning red. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you can no longer concentrate on your book. 

Five looks over to you, instantly recognizing that something was wrong. “Hey, are you alright?” His right hand reaches to hold your own. You swallow harshly as you feel his thumb softly brushing over the top of your hand. You wanted to tell him how you felt, right then and there.

“Y-yeah I’m okay,” You stutter. “It’s just this part of the book, it gets me a bit worked up,” You lie. 

“Are you sure?” Five continues to question, adjusting himself so that his body faces you. “If something is wrong, you can talk to me about. You know I’m here for you,” He pauses, looking deeply into your eyes, “I’m always here for you.” 

Five leans in a bit, studying your face carefully, his gaze shifting between your eyes and your lips. He’s inches away from you now. Five swallows harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You can feel his breath dance delicately against your cheeks. 

There’s a tension in the air that you can’t describe as Five’s lips part. “Can I kiss you?” Five breathes, swallowing harshly again. You nod your head. 

Five’s lips collide with yours. The kiss is soft and innocent. You close your eyes as your heart flutters in your chest, butterflies raging in the pit of your stomach. You had wanted this for so long. You feel so connected to Five, like supersymmetry.

Five’s warm lips pull away from yours, and you open your eyes. 

Five smiles widely. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” He says, his face still inches away from yours. He nervously scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you would want to, well, you know…” He trails off. 

You shake your head. “I’ve liked you for such a long time, Five,” You explain. “Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” 

Five looks off to the fireplace at the other end of the room. “I don’t know, I don’t feel like I’m not good enough for you. Why would someone like you want someone like me?” 

You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Five was one of the most amazing people you had ever met. You take a deep breath, realizing what you needed to say. “Five, I’ve been in love with you for months now. The question is, why wouldn’t someone like me want someone like you?” 

Five’s head whips back towards you. “You love me?” 

Shit, I said that too soon, You think to yourself. Fuck, it’s too late now. “Y-yes,” You stutter. “I love you.” 

The corners of Five’s mouth instantly turn up. “I lo-,”

Diego cuts Five off, rushing into the room, knives in his hands, fear in his eyes. His face was pale. He looked as though he had just seen a ghost. “Five! (Y/N)! We’ve got a bit of a problem on our hands…” 

Suddenly, the windows lining the walls of the library violently swing open, and an intense, cold wind rushes through the room. Books fly off the shelves, pages tearing out due to the sheer pressure. Five grabs onto your hand, squeezing tightly. 

“It can’t be,” Five says, standing up, still holding your hand in his. You stand up with him. “We locked her away, for good this time,” Five shouts in annoyance. You look at Five, the color drained from his face, his eyes frantically searching Diego’s for some sort of explanation. 

“She’s here, Five. She’s in the courtyard, and she’s asking for (Y/N),” Diego says, his voice shaky. He anxiously runs a hand through his hair. 

Dammit, You think to yourself. Vanya. Vanya had lost her temper once before, around the time that the Hargreeves took you into the Academy, and you had all agreed that it would be best to find a safe place to keep Vanya until she learned to control her powers. They didn’t want to emotionally instabilities and hurt Vanya further, but more importantly, they didn’t want her to have the opportunity to hurt a single person.

Five shakes his head in disbelief. “What the hell does Vanya want with (Y/N)?” Five questions, anger prevalent in his voice. “I swear to God, if she lays one hand on (Y/N), or does anything to hurt her, I’m going to mur-,” 

Diego cuts Five off. “She’s your sister, you’re not going to kill her.” 

Five rolls his eyes, letting go of your hand as he steps closer to Diego. “No, I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure nothing happens to (Y/N). If that means killing the person who has caused us so much pain and loss over the past two years, then that’s just what has to be done.” Five’s finger aggressively presses against Diego’s chest, his nose scrunched up in rage.

“Or I can just go out there and see what it is she wants. I can handle myself, you know,” You say, your arms folding across your chest. 

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain pressing against the side of your head. Fuck not now, You think to yourself as a vision of the future begins to display itself in your mind. 

There was Vanya, across from Five. You were nowhere to be seen. 

“She did this! She took my place! I’m supposed to be Number Seven! Not her!” Vanya screams at the top of her lungs. 

“Vanya, you need to calm down!” Five shouts back, stepping closer towards Vanya. 

“I am The White Violin! And don’t you dare fucking tell me to calm down!” Vanya says, running towards Five, her bow in her hand. Five attempts to teleport to the other side of the courtyard, but his powers refuse to cooperate.

“Vanya stop!" Five yells, backing up. But he’s trapped. She approaches him, bow in hand, ready to strike. She pulls back, then-

You fall to your knees, head in your hands. You begin to sob uncontrollably. You can’t, no you refuse, to fathom what it was you had just seen.  

“(Y/N)?” Five calls out, dropping down to your side, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “What happened? Did you see something?” 

You can’t speak. You can’t get the image of Five dying out of your mind. You move your body so that you’re crying into Five’s chest, his warmth calming you down a bit. 

“Guys,” a new voice interjects. “No one told me about the psychotic woman in the courtyard. Now be honest, who ordered her to play the violin for us? I won’t be mad. I’m sure you had good intentions!” You knew instantly that it was Klaus, based on the fact that he was trying to make a joke out of a serious situation. You look up at him, expecting him to be chill, nonchalant, ready to crack another joke, but fear filled his face. 

You pull apart from Five, pushing off the cold ground with your hands to stand up. “I have to go out there,” You say softly. “She’s here because of me.”

Five stands up, grabbing your wrist. “No, she’s just going to hurt you. I’ll go out there. I can talk her down. She trusts me.” 

You shake your head, pulling away from Five once again. You take a deep breath. “N-not according to the v-vision I just h-had,” You say nervously. “F-five, sh-she…” You pause, anxiously scratching your forearm. “She k-killed y-you.” Tears fill your eyes. “I have to go out there. It can’t be you. Your powers are going to stop working due to her manipulation of the atmosphere, she knows how to best you. Sh-she knows h-how to d-destroy y-you.” 

Silence looms over the room. You feel the wind picking up as more books fly off the shelves. Suddenly, all at once, the windows shatter. 

“Fuck!” Diego screams, crouching down, holding his hands over his ears as shards of glass rain down. “We need to do something!” 

Klaus nods his head in agreement as he crouches down next to Diego. You and Five crouch down as well. A few seconds pass by before it seems as though things had calmed down a bit. The wind, however, persisted.

“It has to be me,” You exclaim as you stand back up, walking towards the nearest door to the courtyard.

“You can’t do this, (Y/N)! Look what Vanya’s capable of! I can’t lose you!” Five yells, his voice struggling to carry over the wind.

“I’m sorry, Five,” You say, picking up your speed as you run out of the room, struggling to move against the wind. 

“No!” You hear Five’s voice echo behind you. You turn around to see Klaus and Diego holding Five back, kicking and screaming like a child. You wish you hadn’t turned around. Turning around is never a good idea…ever. It makes you see a second option, another choice. You could go back, let someone else take their chance at stopping Vanya.

But in reality, you had no choice. It was just the allusion of choice. If you turned around, someone else would die, and eventually Vanya would most likely find a way kill you anyway. She was here for you, and that was exactly what she was going to get.

Tears begin to stream down your cheeks as you recognize what it was you were about to do. You were sacrificing yourself for the others. You knew it had to be done, you knew there was no other way. You needed to save Five. He’s survived through so much, he could get through losing you. And after all, as your parents had so often reminded you, you were worthless. He’d get over you quickly enough. 

You begin to sob as you approach the set of French doors that led to the courtyard. You carefully maneuver around the broken shards of glass on the ground so you could open the door. Your hand rests on the handle.

This is it, here we go, You think to yourself. You twist the handle, and you pull the door open.

The wind outside is even more intense. You can barely breathe. Rain taps away at the concrete. Vanya is in the center of the courtyard, levitating about three feet in the air. An ominous blue light surrounds her, and garden chairs swirl about her. Broken pots and other items are scattered across the ground in a huge mess. 

“Vanya!” You call out, your voice weak from crying. Still, somehow, she hears you clearly. The objects spinning around her stop, and they remain suspended in air.

“My name is no longer Vanya!” She screams. “It’s White Violin!” With a single look, Vanya lifts a piece of broken glass, and sends it flying towards you. You extend your right hand out, stopping the shard just inches away from your face. 

You swallow harshly. “Let me talk to you, Vanya. I can fix this!” You shout. 

Vanya scoffs. “You took my place, (Y/N)! I’m Number Seven. You’re nothing. You’re worthless! You aren’t even one of the 43 babies! What are you? Seventeen years old? You’re a child!” 

Her words are far too familiar to you. They sound exactly like your parents. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks rapidly. Amidst all the chaos, all you can think about is the hell you had endured for years. You close your eyes as you flashback to your mother telling you that she didn’t love you, your father essentially disowning you, and finally, being kicked out of your own home. 

Then, an idea pops into your mind. “Vanya, I know how it feels to be hurt, to feel like you don’t have a place, to feel different. We’re more similar than you think. Together, we can get through this. I can help y-,” 

Your words are interrupted by a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You grab at the area, and you feel a sharp object. You look down, your hands and clothing now covered in blood. An incredibly large shard of glass sticks out of your stomach. You look up towards Vanya, and back down to where she had stabbed you. You fall to the ground. 

The cold wind passes through your body. The concrete underneath you is unwelcoming and frigid. How did all this happen? You think to yourself. How did I not see this coming? I’m so naive. I thought I could help her…fix her.

“(Y/N)!” You hear Five’s voice call out. “No, no, no!” Five hovers over you, his hand coming down to your cheek. “Stay with me, please.”

“I-I’m s-so sorry,” You croak, the pain worsening. 

“No, don’t apologize, please don’t do that,” Tears stream down Five’s face. He takes a deep breath. “I love you. I meant to say that before all of this happened. I’m in love with you, (Y/N), please just stay with me.” 

You smile weakly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner. I just need you to know-,”

Five cuts you off, his warm lips pressing against yours. The kiss is quick, and you wish it could’ve lasted longer. “No, you aren’t saying goodbye to me, not yet. Stay with me, please.” Five kisses your forehead lightly. “I can’t lose you.” His hands are trembling as his thumb softly brushes your left cheek. You feel that connection again, the connection you had felt when Five had kissed you in the library just minutes ago. Supersymmetry.

You hear Vanya’s voice echo throughout the courtyard. “It had to be done, Five. She took my place. She ruined everything for me!” Five’s eyes shut tightly at her words, tears flowing freely from his eyes. 

Five opens his ocean blue eyes again, his bangs resting against his forehead. He studies your face carefully. “I’m so sorry that you’ll have to be here for this, but it has to be done,” Five says, standing up. 

You’re beyond confused. What is he talking about? You think to yourself. “F-Five…” You trail off, too drained of energy to be able to say anything. 

“Hey Vanya!” Five yells out. “Think fucking fast!”

You can’t see what happens, but you hear a singular gun shot ring out. Suddenly, the wind stops. You hear a clatter of things falling to the ground, and then everything turns to black. 

Your eyes flutter open. The world is white. You look around, but it seems as though there is nothing to be seen. You sit up from the soft, white bed you had been laying on. You swing your feet around to the right side, and you stand up. The floor beneath your feet is warm and inviting. You turn around, and you see a figure with long brown hair, dressed in white. 

You immediately know who it is. 

“Vanya?” You call out. Vanya turns around to face you, a small, sad, apologetic smile spread across her face. 

She begins to walk towards you. “I’m so sorry,” She whispers. “You have no idea how sorry I am, (Y/N).”

In that moment, it felt as though you two were being brought together by some outside presence. You were connected. It was supersymmetry. 

“I know. I am too.” 

Vanya then disappears into nothingness, and a welcoming, calming presence takes you away. 

Your eyes open groggily, rays of light pouring into the room. You spot Five slumped in a chair next to the bed you were laying in.  You seem to be in an infirmary. “Wh-what happened?” You say, struggling to sit up. 

“Oh my God, (Y/N),” Five says softly, almost in disbelief, rushing over to your side. “I thought I’d never see those eyes again,” He chuckles lightly, clearly fighting through the pain he had been feeling. You can’t help but smile. 

Suddenly, memories of what had happened come back to you in bits and pieces. 

“How long was I unconscious for?” You ask, searching Five’s piercing blue eyes for an answer. 

“Only about twenty four hours, but they were the longest twenty four hours of my life. We weren’t sure if you were…” Five trails off, looking down at his feet. “I-If you were going to make it.”

“And Vanya?” You question, even though you’re almost more than certain that you knew the answer. 

“She didn’t make it,” Five says, his voice filled with remorse, tears filling his eyes. “I had to do it, (Y/N). She would’ve hurt other people.”

You grab his hand. “You don’t need to justify what you did. You did the right thing,” You say reassuringly. 

“When I saw what she did to you, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t lose you,” He shakes his head.

“And you didn’t. You never will,” You say to Five. 

There was that feeling again, that connection…supersymmetry. 

[tessatechaitea]

Justice League International #8 (1987)

Is it weird that I have a newsstand copy of a comic book when I definitely was shopping at my local comic shop in 1987?

This cover has so many jokes to talk about that I probably won't have time to review the entire issue. My stomach is already sore for laughing so hard! Look at how the box marked "fragile" is about to fall onto the floor thanks to the carelessness of Blue Beetle and Booster Gold! Ha ha! And they're carrying the large box upside down! According to the label on the upside down box, it's going to Paris, France so it must contain Crimson Fox who is almost certainly swearing in French because have you ever tried to masturbate while upside down in a box being jiggled by two men?! The incompetence of those guys is hilarious! But the best joke is the one where the only woman on the team doesn't lift a finger to help and also can't make up her mind about the placement of a gigantic box that hasn't been opened yet! See how funny that is? Because who cares where the box is placed?! It's not like they're moving a desk or an end table and Black Canary is coming up with a floor plan! It's just a box that will need to be opened and then broken down and then thrown out! The other funny part is that yellow spray around Beetle's head and the shape of his mouth because I think it suggests he's about to call Black Canary a bitch! Ha ha! I probably left out the joke about the hernia although that one might just be implied. Also, it'll probably be a blatant joke later in the story. The issue begins with Jack Ryder on his right-wing radio call-in television "news" program fiasco of a show Hot Seat trying to get the masses to shit blood over the Justice League. It'll work because the masses in comic books (as well as the masses not in comic books because we've all seen how people who listen to and watch right-wing radio call-in television "news" programs easily believe the alternate reality fed to them because it speaks to their inherent biases and selfishness) are idiots. (That might be my favorite interruption by parenthetical reference I've ever written.) I also know that it will work because Glorious Godfrey only recently did the same thing a year or two ago and it worked. But comic books don't recognize time and space in the same way that we more logical and real readers do so the masses won't remember that they were fooled just a year ago by idiotic television pundits who don't mind seeing the world burn as long as they can cash a fat check over it. I doubly also know it will work because Millennium is coming up and I think that might be proof that maybe Jack Ryder was sort of right because aliens have infiltrated Earth and are pretending to be heroes and possibly even right-wing radio call-in television "news" hosts. I don't really remember much about Millennium except that it was weekly and there were Manhunters in it.

My favorite comic book characters when I was a kid were Blue Falcon and Dynomutt. I bet Jack Ryder was Sean Hannity's favorite. Tucker Carlson's favorite was probably Hitler.

This issue begins the long running joke that Martian Manhunter is addicted to Oreos. I fucking get it, man. Have you ever tried to melt an Oreo into a spoon, fill a needle with the liquid contents, and inject it straight into your bloodstream? Me neither because that's stupid, you dumb idiot. Why would you even suggest it? You need to inject them straight into your taste buds. J'onn, Mister Miracle, and Captain Atom are setting up the New York Embassy which leads to lots of jokes about shoddy construction and terrible wiring and lazy movers. At one point Captain Atom electrocutes himself and then destroys all of the wiring because he's the guy the United States wanted to represent them on the new international team. I'd say his penchant to escalate a situation straight to violence proves the United States made the right decision. Batman and Guy Gardner oversee the outfitting of the Russian Embassy with a little help from Rocket Manhunter #7.

Even Rocket Red has heard about Guy's serious brain trauma and yet nobody has even discussed getting him a medical check-up. What a bunch of bastards!

This is also the issue that begins the "Bwa-ha-ha-ha" gag (I think. Did it happen in an issue previously? Maybe?! Anyway, it really gets going here). That's the gag where somebody laughs when something terrible happens to somebody else. It's a great team building exercise, to laugh at a co-worker's pain! Or if it isn't, it, at the very least, helps develop personal morale. Nothing better than laughing at your manager after her credit card was stolen by a prospective new employee while the entire company was in a meeting, especially after learning that said card was pretty much just used at The Honey Baked Ham. Does that make if funnier? Or is this one of those dark humor things like when the same manager was super pissed at an employee I was training for not showing up for work the day before Thanksgiving only to learn later that she had died of carbon monoxide poisoning the previous night which caused her to erupt into crying jags for the rest of the day which I'm positive weren't for my poor co-worker but for her guilty feelings of being so angry at her. That's dark humor, right? The "Bwa-ha-ha-ha" gag begins when Booster tries to hit on a Parisian woman and gets shot down. Later, she winds up being the League's Paris Bureau Chief. And also maybe Crimson Fox?

This scene is well done in a book that often tries too hard for stupidly silly humor.

I'd say that these three pages (the scanned page being the third of the three) of interaction between Blue Beetle and Booster Gold is ground zero for what would become a great best friend relationship. Any interaction before this was just of the generic Blue Beetle making a stupid class clown comment to the group. But this foundational scene in Paris already feels like these two at their closest which, admittedly, is mostly Blue Beetle laughing at something dumb Booster Gold did. But I like to view this entire relationship through the lens of a Booster Gold mostly driven mad and insane from having to live through so many alternate timelines. Sure, the reader doesn't know about that aspect of Booster Gold yet (and won't for more than a decade). But I can't help but understand Booster Gold through that lens now. And his need for some kind of consistency and whimsy and, almost certainly, a need to be able to laugh at himself must be expressed through this relationship as a kind of therapy. In a universe where not even the timeline lacks consistency, Booster Gold finds solace in getting his balls busted by Blue Beetle.

Maybe I'm a dick who doesn't understand true friendship but this is totally what it looks like, right?

The issue ends with a Keith Giffen drawn story about the end of the Global Guardians, or at least the end of their United Nations backing. I'm sure it's a set-up for a future story but even if it were just a couple page story acknowledging the Global Guardians and how they're affected by a new United Nations backed team, it would remain an interesting moment. I don't need iron clad continuity in my comic book universe but I am entertained when writers acknowledge the waves their stories are making in that continuity. Plus it's drawn by Giffen which always makes it seem like I'm reading a story from the perspective of a madman. Justice League International #8 Rating: B+. How come when I publish a manifesto, people refer to it as a 'zine?! How do you get the fucking power to have your photo-copied screed with "art" considered a manifesto?! How many people do I have to rant at to get some Goddamned recognition?! "The Truth About Star Trek Transporters" is not a fucking fanzine, people! It's a manifesto of the alternate reality we're being asked to accept! The alternate reality of an alternate reality where people are being sent to their deaths every fucking mission only to be replaced by clones of themselves and nobody fucking cares! Probably because they're all clones of clones of clones and their ability to think rationally has diminished to the point of dogmatic stupidity! Am I the only one witnessing this while others simply think its some kind of retrograde perspective?! Does my antediluvian intellect subquester the means of proliferating the parallax of reality?! Does the inclusion of three hilarious dick jokes deny me the mantle of manifesto writer, oublietting my ego into an infinite mirror trick of endless zineian declarations?! Fuck this shit! And fuck that satellite that's been following me throughout this meandering conclusion!

[calamity-bean]

the angry prince of goofs

I’ve been thinking about Ziggy Sobotka, which was probably my first mistake, and especially about one little detail that’s demonstrated repeatedly but not really explored in depth: Ziggy is good with technology. 

Better than most of the characters in his orbit, at any rate; he understands computers, understands the internet, has to explain digital cameras and search engines to Nick, who still seems confused. And while, even for 2003, I wouldn’t claim he’s a technical genius, this detail stands out to me partly because it’s one area in which he’s expressly shown to be more capable than his cousin — typically the far more competent of the pair — and partly because he tends to get written off, both in-universe and out, as, well... an idiot. A stupid guy who does stupid things simply because he’s stupid, with no greater character depth or complexity than that.

And that... kinda irks me! Look, I get why Ziggy’s not exactly a fan favorite. He’s not cool. He’s not a badass. He’s immature and abrasive and makes a lot of frustrating decisions, and I get why so many viewers find that annoying, I really do. But although he can certainly be a dumbass, I’m honestly not convinced that he’s dumb, and I think it does a disservice to the writing of the season and to James Ransone’s performance (easily among his best work, imo, out of the roles I’ve seen him in) to boil Zig down to just a clueless annoyance with no regard for why he acts the way he does or his value to the overall narrative.

So I’ve been thinking about Ziggy Sobotka, and types of intelligence, and finding one’s place in the world, and how Ziggy’s character arc relates to The Wire’s overarching theme of a changing city at the dawn of the new millennium.

Twice, over the course of the season, Ziggy’s mentioned in connection with college.

The first time is in 2.06, as Frank chews him out about literally burning money at the bar — definitely one of those moments that baffles and enrages viewers, cause oh my GOD, Zig, Nick goes to all that trouble for you, and then you burn a hundred dollar bill? What the heck, man. But I love this scene with Frank. It’s Ziggy at his most subdued and collected; it’s one of maybe two substantial conversations between father and son all season; and it reveals that Ziggy is capable of being far more observant than he often seems. Frank, frustrated with the lack of employment available for Ziggy, vents, “Maybe if I’d have listened to your mother, cause she’s the one always talking about you should do the community college, like your brother.” Why would Frank let one son continue his education, but not the other? Well, I have to read between the lines here, but I don’t think it’s outlandish to guess that it’s because Ziggy is — or was supposed to be — Frank’s heir. We know he’s Frank’s firstborn, and we know that for Frank, working on the docks is more than an occupation; it’s a cherished family legacy going back generations and a huge point of pride. Ziggy was probably always earmarked to follow in his father’s footsteps, and he probably always knew it. “You wanna know what I remember?” he says, and describes the education he did receive: a life spent paying careful attention to his father’s world. “Everything. Everything.” College just was not a necessary part of the life planned for him.

But there’s absolutely no future on the docks for Ziggy, and by this point, father and son both know it. It’s a rapidly dying profession with scarce shifts available for L-series juniors, so maybe it’s no surprise Zig puts a lot more effort into being a thief and drug dealer than he does into being a checker. Unfortunately, despite seeming fairly adept in logical-mathematical intelligence (technical knowledge, facts/figures, coming up with plans), Ziggy fumbles in all these pursuits because of one type of intelligence that he definitely does lack: interpersonal/social skills — i.e., the ability to read a room and to play well with others. He constantly annoys people, never realizes he’s being tricked until it’s too late, and lets emotion get the better of him, leading him to be irresponsible and impulsive and seek instant gratification. This is, again, in contrast to Nick, who is much less tech savvy than Zig but far more personable and reliable. People like Nick. They trust Nick. Even Frank seems to have a closer relationship with his nephew than with his own son.

And this feeds into a critical difference between Nick and Ziggy. Nick, with Aimee and Ashley to support, is primarily motivated by a need for money; Ziggy, on the other hand, cares less and less about money as the season progresses and is primarily motivated by a desire for something Nick already has: respect. More broadly, Zig craves the validation of others, whether that validation comes to him as respect or approval or even just attention. This, more than immaturity and definitely more than a simple lack of intelligence, is what drives his behavior, including his most reckless or seemingly inexplicable acts. In some circumstances, it inspires him to act like a tough guy; in others, it manifests in childish clownery like whipping out Pretty Boy or waltzing around with a seeing-eye duck, as though he were a comedian playing to a crowd. It’s why he wastes his money on showy status symbols, like Princess and a $2,000 coat, or on buying rounds for the bar. And of course, it manifests in trying to show up his father, who seems to have plenty of time and money for all the other stevedores and yet, by his own admission, pays scant attention to his own son except when Zig screws up... which, needless to say, Zig has a bit of a chip on his shoulder about.

The irony, of course, is that the harder Ziggy tries to impress people, the less it works. His attempts to act tough get him trounced. The other stevedores are happy to let him buy drinks and play class clown, but they are very much laughing at him rather than with him, and the same guys who egg him on and flatter him always turn right around and scoff at what a fool he is after it blows up in his face. His biggest attempt to prove himself is the car heist... which actually goes off without a hitch! Like I said, Zig’s not bad at logistical planning; he comes up with a clever scheme and carries it out successfully. It should’ve been a triumph for him — proving that he could handle himself, that he didn’t need Nick or Frank looking out for him and deserved to be treated like a valid player in the game. But Glekas, like everyone else, saw Ziggy as easy to take advantage of and too weak to effectively retaliate. If it were earlier in the season, he’d have been right, just like every other time Zig wound up tricked and humiliated. Unfortunately for everyone involved, though, by that point, Ziggy — impulsive, hotblooded Ziggy — was “tired of being the punchline to every joke.”

The Wire: Truth Be Told (which I haven’t gotten to read beyond previews) calls Ziggy the “angry prince of goofs.” I think that, more than anything, Ziggy is someone who keeps trying on different costumes and never finds one that fits. He was supposed to carry on the Sobotka stevedore legacy, but the profession is dying, and even if it weren’t, Nick is far more an heir apparent to Frank than Ziggy is. So he tries to be a tough guy, but isn’t; tries to be the sort of cool, funny guy people like and admire, but can’t; tries to prove himself as a player, but makes mistake after mistake until he screws up so horribly that there’s no coming back from it. When Frank tells him that what he did to Glekas and the store clerk isn’t him, Ziggy replies incredulously, “It ain’t?” — because it is him, he did that! But he’s not suited to being a killer, either; he immediately falls apart with horror and remorse. So what is he? Who is he? Was there anything he could have succeeded at, any way he could’ve made better choices than he did?

In 2.10, shortly after Ziggy’s arrest, we meet Priscilla Katlow — the same girl listed on the fake paternity papers Zig gets pranked with in 2.07. In the earlier episode, Nick implies that Prissy is, to be crass, kind of the neighborhood bicycle, making it sound like she was nothing more to Zig than a one-night stand. I have a lot of feelings about the fact that it turns out she’s actually a childhood friend who’s visibly in tears over Ziggy’s situation when she finds Nick grieving on the playground of their old school. They’re maybe the only two characters we see who seem to not only care about Ziggy but genuinely like him, and they reminisce about a time, years ago, when he was supposed to buy them all some SoCo and Pikesville Rye. Instead, he bought Boone’s Farm — because, he claimed, “that’s what the college kids drank.” Then, while drinking it on that same playground, he shouted, “College kids ain’t shit!” And I know I’m really galaxy-braining here, really reading a lot into just a few lines, but I can’t help but wonder, like… This seems to have taken place toward the end of high school, since Prissy was driving her mom’s car and Ziggy could pull off a fake ID. Ziggy probably already knew that he was bound for the docks right after graduation, if he wasn’t working there already; Frank wasn’t even entertaining Zig’s mother’s wish that they send him to college instead. And I wonder if, to some extent, Zig resented that? Or resented not having a choice? Because this anecdote implies a mixture of wanting to emulate those college kids (drinking what he thinks they drink) while simultaneously deriding them — perhaps because he knew that he couldn’t be one, no matter whether or not he wanted to, and therefore had to act like the entire concept was beneath him.

I don’t know whether Zig would’ve done better in college anyway. I think that, contrary to popular opinion, he did have his own areas of intelligence and competence, but despite being in some ways the more “book smart” of the Sobotka cousins (Ziggy’s technical knowledge vs. Nick’s common sense), maybe he’d have been too immature to put in the work for school, too lazy or too proud to try. But I just wonder if he might’ve had a better chance at life that way, both in terms of staying out of trouble and of possibly finding a field that would’ve better rewarded his skill-set. Insofar as The Wire in general is about the changing face of Baltimore and how the shifting infrastructure of the city impacts the individuals within it (particularly the economically marginalized), and insofar as season 2 specifically is about the death of American industry and of the traditional blue-collar working class, Ziggy is an exploration of someone who fell through the cracks of that shift and, in that respect, was sort of doomed to failure from the beginning. James Ransone has described him as “very castrated” in terms of his power and potential for social mobility, the game being rigged against working-class people like him even with the advantages of being a white male. Ziggy’s brother, armed with a college education, might fare better in the 21st-century workforce... But even if Zig hadn’t ended up in prison, he probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer in the family business anyway. Johnny Fifty, a more senior checker, is homeless by season 5, and unemployment is the implied fate of nearly all longshoremen in the near future.

And honestly? Although I really like Ziggy, I appreciate that he’s a failure. I think one of the reasons I do feel so deeply for him is that the narrative never rewards his errors or glorifies his misdeeds. If it did, he’d risk coming off as one of those edgy, disenfranchised white guy antihero types, and I doubt I’d have found that nearly as sympathetic or interesting. By the standards of The Wire, Zig’s relatively small-time in terms of how much damage he causes and pretty notable for how extremely he regrets what harm he does do, but that still doesn’t excuse his actions, and the narrative doesn’t pretend that it should. Nor does it pretend that he’s not also worthy of our interest and pathos anyway.

Ziggy Sobotka is not cool. He’s not a badass. He’s not any of the things he tried to be during the season, and he’ll probably never get a chance, now, to be anything other than a murderer locked up for life. And I know he wasn’t entitled to any fate other than the one he earned for himself, but I wish he’d been able to find a better path.

[arysthaeniru]

What if Clara was a midwife?

“The midwife is a relic of barbarism. In civilized countries the midwife is wrong, has always been wrong. The greatest bar to human progress has been compromise, and the midwife demands a compromise between right and wrong. All admit that the midwife is wrong.” - Dr Joseph DeLee, 1915 being completely wrong. 

Listen, I love Clara so much. She’s so weird, and everybody kind of hates her, and her weird double is so trippy, and I adore her sass. And everyone knows that Ice Pick Lodge didn’t quite have enough time/resources to shore up her route in Pathologic 1. And I just keep thinking: I do love Clara as she is, but imagine if she was a adolescent midwife, instead of a weird healer child! Imagine how much more thematically cohesive everything would be!

Clara’s story route is all about how old and new CAN coexist together, but it requires maintained, thoughtful sacrifice, to create that peace. That essence of sacrifice is what every midwife goes through all the times. What can pragmatically be sacrificed? Whose life is more important? How do you deal with the tensions and demands of the old and the new, and who bears the knowledge of that sacrifice? Clara facilitating the birth of something new in the the Town-upon-Gorkhon just becomes so much more interesting with her as a midwife, instead of a saviour figure. 

I also think it would lead better into the idea of doctors who aren’t really seen as doctors solving this plague best. Artemy’s steppe knowledge and Clara’s midwife knowledge would have equally been seen as complete nonsense by people like Daniil, who don’t understand the importance behind those kinds of cures, and the sorts of relationships that have to be maintained for it. 

And why the age-up? I think it just works so much better! Part of being an adolescent negotiating your future and the rest of your life, is that constant diplomacy and sacrifice between old and new. I think it also allows for Clara to have really interesting relationships with the rest of the town’s leadership, because of how being a teenager is such a transition phase.

So imagine with me, if you will, a new Clara and a new route. 

Clara isn’t actually an outsider to the town in this version: she’s Katerina’s bastard daughter. Everybody knows the her secret identity, but she doesn’t really live with the Saburovs anyway, she has her own place, a small but well-maintained house to do her work out of. 

Alexander still trusts Clara, but he resents her now, because she’s a reminder that the lack of children between he and Katerina is not a mutual thing, but specifically his own lack of potency. I bet that would make his ego really dented, and make him even more of an asshole. 

Clara still wakes up in a grave at the beginning of the story, but this time, it’s because she actually really died. When she walks around town, her reputation drops because the dead aren’t supposed to come back to life, and most people are horrified by your existence. 

Clara, upon initially coming back, is told by the Tragedians that she has to save people with her hands--she takes this to mean she continues doing her damn job. But to do that, she needs people to trust her again, and for that she needs Isidor’s approval. Too bad he’s dead now.

Sidenote: Clara’s midwifery job sometimes meant cutting the baby out of the mother. But she can’t legally cut flesh out of anybody, so she’d call Isidor up. She never much liked his necessity, but she and him got along fairly well.

But some of the Kin say that Artemy is a menkhu like his father, so maybe she should run after him to re-establish herself? Too bad Alexander is convinced he killed Isidor, and has already killed three people in town already. Alexander’s death warrant for him means he’s already gone into hiding. She can’t convince him to change his mind about Artemy 

Katerina doesn’t trust Clara anymore: she says her real daughter is dead, and that Clara is here as a horrible monster to lead her and the town astray. She wonders if this is the morphine addling her mind, but then she meets the Rat Prophet and everything makes sense. Also it’s implied the doppleganger is coming around whenever Clara’s not there to intimidate Katerina. 

When Clara goes to sleep, exhausted, confused, and nowhere closer to regaining her job or position in the town, she realizes she’s inherited the visions which she couldn’t see before she died. She’s a Mistress now. 

Capella, who used to be her friend, and Maria with whom she used to be amicable, are unimpressed, and don’t believe in her visions too much. They’re all arguing about the role of the Mistresses in town, and now Klara’s joining the midst, it’s becoming uncomfortable. Klara’s task is to try and convince them of her own validity and her own importance to the future of the town. Capella, especially, is easier to convince, but the weird friendship that used to exist before Clara’s death, is very tenuous, and Artemy can easily fuck it up. 

Speaking of Artemy, when Clara does eventually find him, he’s not actually a menkhu yet, so he’s completely useless on that front. But also, the Plague is happening, and he’s useful there, and he’s getting the trust of his father’s people. You get him to vouch for you, and it temporarily helps, but most people are still too freaked out by you. Clara and Artemy still don’t get along, though, Artemy’s way too condescending of Clara and they bristle against each other, uneasily. 

Daniil, on the other hand, is actually impressed by Clara when they first encounter each other. After all, beating death was the dream, and Clara did it! But Clara doesn’t like how he talks about her work, and also has no idea how she survived her brush with death, so the initial interest fades off, quickly. Daniil and Clara are still prickly with each other, but the threats of violence are less frequent, because a teenaged girl is harder to threaten to spank.  

Notkin, who Clara also used to be friends with, now thinks she’s just a half soul. He’s impressed by that, though, not scared, and all of his kids trade with her. But the Soul and a Halves generally insult Clara before doing anything.  

Khan’s Doghead clan respect Clara, because of her survival, but Khan maintains that the Polyhedron rejects her because she’s too old. Cara can prove him wrong by seeing all of the beautiful mirages of the Polyedron, but also telling him they’re all lies. This can make Khan made and lock off the Polyhedron, but the dogheads will still trade. 

Grace is probably Clara’s only real friend, and even she is being intimidated by Clara’s double. Grace is very convinced by her ability to speak to the dead, and Clara believes her, but also believes it’s dangerous. 

Clara and Andrei almost throw hands on the regular, one, because he thinks she’s presumptuous and very creepy towards her brother, but two, because she also stopped a lot of Herb Brides from coming to Andrei’s establishment, because they were all getting thrush from the twyrine. 

Clara still gets the daily missions to go and verify whether people are responsible for the plague, but this time, it’s because Alexander believes that Clara has inroads with all of them, because of previous midwifey encounters with them. This is true, but most of them don’t trust Clara anymore, so she has to do a bunch of errands around town to improve her reputation and prove she remembers her midwife skills. This can be helped by visions, or by rumours. Soon, Clara starts to build a lot of reputation amongst drunks and believers of her magical miracles (mst of the violent miracles done by her doppleganger) 

Clara’s double is still around, and is still the manifestation of the plague. At several points, people will suggest that Clara’s reincarnation is why the plague is happening and it’s uncertain if this is true or not. A lot of Clara’s missions are finding the double and asking her why she’s doing what she’s doing. 

Her relationship to Bounds, I think, would also be a way to explore their sins more. I think for a mature game, Pathologic doesn’t often discuss the relationships of sex and love to death very much, and I think there are some complex things to say about love, and children, and “sin” that could be really explored through a route with a midwife main character, who’s supposed to be investigating the sins and crimes of Anna, Yulia, Lara, Grief, Oyun, Big Vlad, Rubin and the Saburovs. I think dealing compassionately with the ideas of cheating, STDs, abortions and all the stuff around sexual health/freedom of women that nobody really wants to talk about could be an interesting way of how Clara reconciles the old and the new: by revealing secrets and letting them not be foul anymore. 

[bouvillea]

a dense G24 Part 2 Essay

Here is my Part 1 Essay. Like before, I would like to talk about some parts of G24 Part 2 that I found interesting first. Feel free to skip ahead to around the fourth paragraph my discussion of the plot. Spoilers ahead.

The atmosphere is very similar to G20. I don't know about how others felt when they played through G20, but the uncertainty about who you could trust (Talvish...) was emphasized to the point where I, the player, couldn't make a sound decision either. G24 Part 2 revolved a lot around the fact that the Milletian and those that help the Milletian couldn't parse why and what was happening in Erinn. There was just a constant stream of dread and bitterness and an uncertainty about the Milletian themselves; the replies we were allowed to choose reflects that. Is the Milletian really good for the sake of Erinn's future? More on this later.

Part 2 opens with Hunter being, for once, very vulnerable to the Aces and the Milletian. He reveals to us his nightmares about his past and Fodla's past. We continue to see these bonding moments between the Aces, the Expeditionary Force, and the Milletian.* Starlet plays a bigger role now as a counterpoint to Fodla. One moves minds and hearts with persuasion and charisma, the other directly manipulates memories and emotions. The Aces clearly serve as the opposing undercurrent to Vayne's prediction at the end of Part 1. The Milletian will always have friends and supporters that cherishes them. Whether or not that is enough to stop the Milletian from spiraling into angst is another story.

*The Milletian really needs some after care...no one asks how the Milletian is feeling after all of this...

Ultimately, a lot of loose ends and story plots were tied up in Part 2, most of them very bittersweet and only vaguely hopeful at best. These back stories served to make us sympathize with the antagonists and make their motives understandable.

For that reason, I cannot come to hate Fodla. She had a very contrived method of protecting Hunter--her little brother. In a pact she made with Hymerark, Hunter's memories of her and his past were mostly sealed away. To make up for the fact that her little sister, Eriu, was sacrificed and succumbed to the curse, Fodla took in Deirbhile. She was a substitute that Fodla loved, but even in her last moments, Fodla wanted her real sibling. Deirbhile is truly a tragic character. She is a personality made and shaped by Fodla. Whoever she was before is probably buried deep in the recesses of her mind. Judging by the last scenes, Deirbhile cannot exist or function normally without Fodla.

Speaking of which, did Deirbhile make an oath with Hymerark, too? What for? We won't know unless we knew who she was before she met Fodla...

Thanks to Merlin, we now know that a Geas is a pact with a god, a pact that cannot be broken easily. If, in Part 1, the Milletian seeks out Vayne in Bangor and speaks to him wearing one of the Geas armors, he speaks about the dangers of being bound under a Geas: "You become bathed in the absolute authority of his will, which grants tremendous gifts and metes out terrible punishments".* Going against the orders of Hymerark will invoke a punishment. And so Vayne insinuates that he still needs to pay for abandoning his duties on the first night to hang out with the Milletian, and the Incubus King does his best to subvert the Geas in order to help.

*Thank you to Mita on twitter for supplying me with the extra dialogue I missed.

Speaking of which, the Incubus King really went full on angst and drama when he had to separate from his wife and Eiren, huh? He gave away his powers, haphazardly made a deal with Hymerark so he could have a dark, gloomy sarcophagus to dream about his time with his wife and child. Even Eiren made an off-handed remark about how lame it all was. It feels like the developers and writers realized that his motivations were very tropey so they decided to make fun of it. And then Eiren followed up with "he sort of...melted away into the darkness like summer snow". Oh. Okay. Goodbye, papa.

I'm going to continue off-tangent here and talk about Manannan, too. He comes back, all salty that the Milletian is busting into his temple uninvited (he does say another uninvited visitor, so was there someone before the Milletian?). But Manannan is so Cat Mom to the Far Darrigs that he can't maintain his pompous god-like demeanor in front of them and the Milletian. He can't bear to frighten the squishy Far Darrigs. It's nice to see that the Far Darrig's love and trust of Manannan isn't misplaced and is reciprocated. I don't think the Far Darrigs were there when Manannan met Scathach, so did he pick them up when he was heartbroken over her? Pure speculation, but that would be really something... Manannan tries to exit the conversation with the Milletian gracefully but then the Far Darrigs ruin it by letting us know that he's going to play with them. Hah. Glad to see his character getting fleshed out like this.

The Far Darrigs also "uwu" at me so there was that. Okay, back to critical analysis.

Human* greed and corruption is a repeating theme for the gods. Manannan said it in regards to the Fairy Queen's reason for leaving, and Vayne, a former Evil God, said the same to the Milletian during their fight. Even Morrighan and Talvish accused the Milletian of claiming powers out of greed and selfishness. The Milletian is a god-like being with human needs and motivations. They see the world in a much smaller frame than the gods do, but possess powers to rival the lowest gods. Make a mistake as a Milletian, and you might as well make a mistake for the whole world. And yet, the Milletian is not recognized as a deity by the gods, and not as a human by the mortals. They're an outsider.

*I will be using human synonymously for "mortal" since there are multiple races in Erinn

And being an outsider is a vexation for the Milletian brought to the front of the mind during this arc. They are always reminded that they are not one of them, that they are a special existence. Vayne's words wheedle into the mind every time they help someone out of kindness. Admiration will turn to fear, fear will turn to hate. The elves and giants forgetting the Milletian and blaming them, albeit artificially stimulated, was a taste of that. Fodla's nightmarish illusion also put the Milletian in the state of being a stranger. They stand at a distance, listening in on a conversation they aren't a part of.  And when they are noticed, there is nothing they can do to deter the hate, or prevent the blood on their hands. The worst part was that the Milletian's friends do zero damage to them. It was a cruel, one-sided fight.

But maybe this is all a trial for the Milletian, too. To steel their heart and understand who are really their friends and what role they play in Erinn. Piran said that Hymerark's trials for the people of Erinn have gotten more out of hand since Hymerark recognized the Milletian's existence. Then, perhaps, the Milletian isn't an outsider anymore. The trials are meant to be completed with the Milletian's help accounted for. These trials will unify the people of Erinn against the Order of the Black Moon.

Which, when you think about it, is not very dissimilar to Talvish's idea to unify the people against a common cause. You'll also have to admit that Vayne's/Hymerark's plan is a lot better than Talvish's. Piran also mentioned that Aton Cimeni and Talvish both condone chaos, so it explains why Talvish hasn't popped out to help the Milletian yet, or to defend them from a very persistent Vayne. He tried helping a little in G22 and then again during G23 but it seems like he got told off and instead sent Merlin to protect Erinn and protect the Milletian. Talvish is definitely on the Milletian's side though, and is probably hoping that they stay true to themselves and continue to help others.

If the goal of Hymerark was to make the Milletian to feel as helpless as possible and then chase them out of Erinn, he wouldn't need to go through such lengths. He could simply pop the Milletian into the Soul Stream and get rid of them there. Cichol did it, I don't see why one of the Three Gods couldn't. Or perhaps Hymerark's original plan was to get rid of the Milletian, but Vayne's oath with him prevented that. Vayne would want trials for the Milletian to overcome so they would become strong enough to defeat him. On the same note, since the trials are getting more intense due to the Milletian (different, I would say, than the trials are happening because of the Milletian), is the Milletian really good for the future of Erinn? I imagine the turmoil the Milletian is going through has something to do with this. Would the trials have been easier if the Milletian wasn't there? Would less people have died and gotten hurt if they did not step into Erinn?

Very briefly, on Cethlenn and Marleid. I had an inkling for a while that they knew each other (thank you, KR Twitter) but due to circumstances, they had forgotten one another. Marleid took on his name, and Cethlenn isn't his real name. So...did he pick "Cethlenn" or did someone name him that? Or did he just switch names with "Marleid"? If Vayne named him Cethlenn...well then. That's the name of Mythological Figure Balor's wife so...writers what are you thinking? (Or, more likely, Fodla named him to change him and meeting his childhood friend with his old name was the biggest trigger to disrupt her abilities.)

Anyway, things aren't looking good for Cethlenn. Or Tani. Tani's last letter to the Milletian had Morse code that vaguely translated to "please letmeout".* Upsetting, especially now that it's implied that Hymerark will use her body to descend to the mortal world. I'm just waiting for Aton Cimeni to pop into the Milletian's body to tell everyone to stop it and shut up.

*Other interesting implications regarding how Milletians work. They can sleep, but do not dream. Nao remembers every Milletian and they can chose to leave whenever or never return.

After all that has happened in G24, I hope we can get some good closure. And I hope the Milletian gets a nice break.

[aka-willow]

Gone

gif

Words: 2012

Characters:  Willow Wren, Gooblin, Pip, Pingu, Burr, Spark, Danny, Manny, Dew, Fanisimo, France, Sabbath

Prompt/Tag:

“are you finishing that or…?”

“You’re going to get someone hurt.”

Summary: Willow speaks with the other Lab Rats about their past and future

Timeline: December 2015

Song: Gone - M83

A/N: the more you know

—————————————————————————–

The Lab Rats and I met at Gooblin’s fire tower on Christmas Eve. We set up sleeping bags in the tower and lit a bonfire down below. It should have felt like a party, being together for the first time since the summer, but it didn’t. It was somber instead.

On the heels of Marty’s death, the boys were sure that they were being trailed in Vegas, and Sabbath had botched a leak, accidentally forgetting to strip one of the files of metadata. It was a rough week and so we sat around the bonfire, staring down the end of our first year of freedom.

“Sometimes,” Pip said, slowly. “I think we should just turn ourselves in.” I shot a look at him.

“Why?” Burr asked. “Did you see something?”

“No,” said Pip, gazing into the fire. “I mean, not specifically. But when I do get those flashes of the future, I just see…” He looked at me and I frowned. “I just see… those planes that SHIELD used to have. It’s really dark. Surrounded. Loud. Maybe we should turn ourselves in before things get bad.”

“I’m not turning myself in,” said Pingu, poking the embers with a stick. “I hardly even use my powers. I’m not a threat.”

Except for D.C.

“Yeah, and neither is magic tricks,” said Manny, looking at Danny and France. “Pip, you know what we do. How can you say that’s dangerous?”

“I’m not saying it’s dangerous,” Pip said. “I’m saying that we’re perceived as threats.”

“Not me either,” said Sabbath, and Spark nodded her head in agreement. “Most of us are just trying to get our lives together. Even Dew is, which… I’m honestly kind of surprised.”

Dew laughed. “Well, superbrains aren’t exactly obvious. And the mirror thing isn’t either.”

“So, what?” I asked. “Who are you talking about?” I asked Pip. “Me? Fanisimo building things for us? Burr’s out there robbing banks in Europe.”

“I’m not violent,” Burr shot back. “It’s all behind the scenes.”

“So what, I build things?” said Fanisimo. “As long as I don’t open up a nether portal, I think we’re okay.”

That left me, and I felt their stares. “You want me to turn myself in,” I said. “That’s me you’re seeing in your vision.”

“I didn’t say that,” Pip mumbled.

“You implied it.”

“What’s going on in New York?” Danny asked. “I see the news, and maybe to outsiders it’s not suspicious, but to us? What are you doing? Every time I check in it’s like a new disaster or unsolved crime or—”

“I’m fine!” I said.

“You’re going to get someone hurt,” Sabbath said. “Or get yourself hurt.”

I ignored her and played with Marty’s flash drive in my hands. I had put it on a chain so I could wear it around my neck and the metal was cold between my fingers. Pip cleared his throat and asked Pingu about how school and home was, and the conversation shifted away from me. I grabbed my laptop from my backpack and plugged the flash drive in, trying key after key on WinRAR, nothing working. The file stayed zipped.

France and Pip got into a debate about whether France could use his powers to heal to resurrect someone who had died, as he had gotten some strange blood or healing abilities from the Blue Lab.

“You can’t resurrect someone,” France said. “It’s not possible. You can’t heal death.”

“But you haven’t tried,” Pip said. “Maybe you just need to try.”

“Wanna volunteer?”

The others laughed and it reminded me of something Marty had once told me. “Hey, Sabbath,” I said. She was sitting next to me. “You know the musical Cats?” I knew she was obsessed with musical theater, and if anyone appreciated the factoid, she would.

“What about it?”

“Well, if you trace the events from its production, it started with a German necromancer from the 1400s. So some guy tried to raise the dead in medieval times and we ended up with a musical about cats.”

“That can’t be real,” said Sabbath, pulling out her phone and opening the internet browser.

“It is,” I said, trying a few more book titles as keys on Marty’s file. On the other side of the fire, Spark and Gooblin stabbed sticks through marshmallows and began roasting them, as Spark joked about singing Christmas carols and Danny nudged Spark, pointing at a burnt marshmallow. “Are you finishing that or…”

“Wait…” Sabbath started. “John Faustus?”

“Yeah, I think,” I said. “Neat, right?”

“That was the name of the…” Sabbath started, and the rest of the circle got quiet as she typed something else into her phone.

“Name of…?”

“Doctor Faustus, deal with the devil… Faustus,” said Sabbath. “I remember now. That’s what they called it. At the Facility. With the words, that’s what they called it. Holy shit, that’s what it was. Do you guys remember? They used to use it when we started to… I don’t know… get out of line? They always said the same phrase, but I remember… there’s so much there…”

It was as if a ding went off in my head. Look up Doctor Faustus when you get a chance; it’s a wild read. I slowly typed doctorfaustus into the box, and suddenly the dialogue box cleared, and the folder opened up.

“Guys, guys, I got it,” I said in disbelief. “I got into the files Marty left me. The password was Doctor Faustus. Why is that…” The other Lab Rats on the other side of the circle got up and came around the fire to stand around me as I clicked to open the folder and extract the hidden files. “Marty was on to something,” I whispered. “Marty knew something…”

I opened the folder and the screen filled with a ton of subfolders. articles. hydra wikileaks. shield wikileaks. social media. scam stuff. willow. patterns.

I first clicked on scam stuff, my hands shaking, and when I opened up the folder, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. There were archived emails, text files, screenshots of a conversation Marty had with someone at a data recovery center. The words blackmail crossed the screen. A data dump of archived HYDRA documents.

How the hell did Marty get his hands on this?

“What the fuck?” France asked. “What was he doing?”

I opened his hydra wikileaks folder and found pages and pages of documents from the 2014 leak, all organized and collected, exploring every bit of data that was released. And then patterns. There was a single video, and I recognized the file name from Marty’s blackmail at the data recovery center. He had stolen it, stolen it straight from HYDRA. Marty did that. Somehow, that anxious, goofy, weirdo kid did that. He did that for us. And paid the price.

“Click on it,” Dew said.

“I don’t know…” I started.

“Click on it,” Manny interrupted. “We have to watch. We have to know.”

It was a stream of a video conference, and at the center of it was Doctor Dawn Turner, sitting on a desk with a stack of papers next to her. The video was titled report_5232014_turner. She began talking and her voice sent chill straight through my heart, and some of the other Lab Rats instinctively stepped back from the screen or avoided looking altogether. The words seemed to bleed together as she discussed progress and assignments and Fausta. Monster. It was so cold, so clinical, but we started to recognize our subject numbers. Subject 10. That was me. October.

“This is about us,” Pip murmured, and we shushed him.

Resets. The Monster Book. Triggers. Compliance.

The video ended and I saw our reflections on the black screen. My heart pounding, I opened up articles. The folder contained screenshots of news stories, some pulled straight from old newspapers. I clicked through them using the right arrow key, but I hadn’t made the connection, not yet.

“These are all really old,” Burr said. “Look, that one’s from 2008.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “These are all… deaths? Obituaries? But not even of anyone important.” I continued to sort through, but I felt the pit in my stomach deepen. “This is a family in Russia. Middle of nowhere. Look at that place.”

“That’s the house from…” Fanisimo started and we turned to look at him. “I remember that house. Those woods. The cold.”

“No, this can’t…” I started. “This isn’t right. You can’t remember it. We never left the Facility.”

The faces continued to pop up on the screen and even though I knew I shouldn’t, I wasn’t supposed to, I remembered. Every single one. I clicked faster and more articles continued to come up, more unnatural deaths, more…

“Go back to the video,” Burr said. “Go back.”

We watched it again, listening closely, until Pingu interrupted with an “oh my God.”

The Monster Book. October, shh. It’s time to play Monster. Sumerkey. Nothingness. The chair. The electricity. October, are you ready to comply?

“This isn’t real,” I said. “It can’t be,” and my breaths were shallow and heavy like I had just run a marathon. “We didn’t do this. We couldn’t have. We’d…”

“Remember,” Fanisimo finished.

“They weren’t training us all those years at the Facility,” Dew whispered. “We were already working the whole time. We were… you know…”

“Killing,” I said. “That’s what Monster was. Sumerkey was the start of a series, but of course I wouldn’t remember beyond that. We’d… change somehow. Complete the assignment. Return back to the Facility. There would be a reset. And over, and over, and over.”

“How many times,” Sabbath asked, and I turned to look at her, seeing tears reflecting the bonfire’s light. “How many times were we reset? What did we do?”

“That’s why I wrote the word,” I said, thinking out loud, speaking slowly as I put it back together. “Sumerkey, on my arm. That was the last thing I remembered every time. And I realized that if I wrote it on my arm, I could pull myself out. Remember who I was before that. Or… at least… fight it. That’s why.”

The fire crackled and hissed as we played the video again, and again, as I tried to absorb Marty’s last gift to all of us. This is why they came for him, took his devices. He must have left digital fingerprints. Of course. He didn’t understand what he was dealing with. And that’s why he hid the drive.

Did he know? Did he know they were coming for him?

I looked at the dates on the drive. Marty knew. He knew all of this about you. And he still… I wanted to cry, but instead I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking into the fire as if it could evaporate the tears out of my eyes. Marty, why did you have to go looking? Why did you have to do this?

We were always the bad guys. We weren’t innocent in all this. That family…

“I can’t believe that…” Pip started, but he couldn’t finish the sentence, choking up over his own words.

“Why?” Pingu asked. “Why did they have to? 2008—we were seven. Seven years old.”

“I’m done with this shit,” Sabbath said, walking away from the fire. “I’m done. I didn’t want to know all this.”

“Fuck this,” said Danny. “I’m done, too. Why…”

The tears were contagious in our gathering and as we silently wept that Christmas Eve, we remembered. Remembered what we had done, everything we were supposed to forget. It came in flashes, in jolts of electricity, and the same series of words over and over and over. The fear when I saw Doctor Turner come in with the Monster Book. I remembered that now. Not being able to stop it. Even if the reset made us forget, that little girl still remembered every time the door opened, and the book was set down on the table.

And Marty knew. Marty knew.

They wanted us to be killers? I’ll show them a killer.

[fiery-assassin-arc]

Song(s) used for major inspo: Crooked Still - Ecstasy Instrumental Edit 

Life After You - Daughtry 

Fistfight - The Ballroom Thieves 

{{ This is a muthafuckin essay . . . 

@gunsbladesngold​

He feels his heart is going to burst out of his chest. Will she even say yes?   There were only two other words he was scared of saying aside from the three they revealed years ago. Marry me.

He didn’t have doubts about this decision, no. Erron knew she was the one he wanted to spend his life with. He never got the opportunity to feel alive, simply the experience of staying alive.  Not knowing when each day would be his last. But Iris, his Sunshine, made him feel alive. That it was worth enjoying, not sulking, as she called him doing.  

Making him smile by just being . . . her. Her laugh, her witty banter with him, that smile that brightens his whole day by just thinking about it. She accepted him, flaws and all, and though there were some bumps in the road, (a part of his past he buried, but someone had forced his hand.)  they still remained strong. 

He listens to her sing from the bathroom, shaking his head with a light chuckle. How in whatever entity’s name did he get paired with someone like her?  A deadly whisper of his mother’s words echoed in the night as they slept, that he would lose her. People die if they’re close to him. Yet she was here, still. Breathing and with a heart and he was the pulse. Maybe this once . . . Rosa was wrong. She is still wrong.

Although the ring weighed almost nothing, emotionally it felt like a weight in his back pocket. Saved up for it; she did deserve the best after all. Erron wanted to plan this whole thing right, so he arranged for a day with the two of them. 

Iris steps out of the bathroom, cheeks flushed red and flashing a smile over at her outlaw. “Sorry I took so long.” she apologizes, even when he waved a hand in dismissal. 

“Take as much time as you need.” He walks over to her, hands on her hips. “You look good in that towel.”

Her head moves to the side as he suddenly plants kisses along her neck, already growing weak in the knees. He’ll always have that effect. “You could’ve joined, you know.”

“Ma’am, are you implying I smell?” Erron pulls his head away, arching a brow. 

“No, you smell great, just saying...” She brushes her nose against his, stepping away from him. “The bath might have been more fun. So, where are we going?”

“A surprise. But first, a horse ride.” He walks inside the bathroom, splashes water on his face. To freshen up and settle his nerves. “One through the forest?”

“Sounds fun. Inez is joining us?”

“Always.” He steps out of the room the same time Iris finishes putting her hair in a braid.  “You look incredible.”

She gives a sheepish smile. “So do you, now let’s go.” 

The two later embark on horseback, after Erron grabbed a few things: a couple of blankets, his guitar and a few cigarettes since Iris had developed the habit of taking his, telling him to “cut back.” Navigating through the bustle of the city, avoiding the looks of fear because of a giant demonic horse, they made their way to the lush forest, hearing the sounds of birds and other creatures as they made their way east. 

Iris pipes up, almost making Erron rear with the horse. “I remember this route.” 

“Oh yeah, you challenged me to a race.”  He shakes his head, continuing, “A race you lost, if I remember right.”

“It was a tie, Black. We were head to head.”

“I won, McNamara.”  He laughs at the shove Iris gave, pushing her back. “Admit it.”

“I’m telling you the truth, it was a tie.”

“I’m very truthful, more than you, and I won.”  He clicks his tongue for Inez to go a little faster. “Come on.”

“This was years ago. You’re still not over it!”

They laugh, recalling other moments. Their dances, their almost kiss, then a full kiss. The rise of trust as time went on. They avoid the worst parts. The times they were almost tested. Whenever their fights--exceedingly rare--happen, they immediately stop, knowing it would be worse things left said. 

“Let’s stop here.” Erron holds the reins tight, halting Inez. This seems like a nice place to relax for a while. He sets down the blanket while Iris hitched Inez to a tree, praising her on being such a good girl. Once he sat down, he picked up his guitar, playing a soft song. He feels he’s being sent back to memory, playing this for sister to help calm her down. The way the chords danced along his calloused fingers, his eyes shut in concentration, he could almost hear the smile in her voice.

When he made the decision to get a ring, he felt some sort of presence in his dreams. A deer, walking through the forest, with his sister, dressed in a rich green dress standing beside it. He was quick to embrace her, saying how much he missed her, and she just kept saying “You deserve your happiness, after so long. Marry that girl.” 

When he opens his eyes, he sees Iris lying down on her side, a hand propping her head up as she watches intently. Such warm brown eyes, looking with such curiosity.  A gentle smile on her face. “Want me to play it again?” 

“It’s a beautiful song. I’ve never heard it before.” Iris nods at his quizzical look. “I’ve heard others, and the ones we made in accompaniment to my piano. But that’s it.”

“Well . . . it was for my sister.” He sets his guitar down, and lies down facing her. “Whenever she had a nightmare, became very nervous, I would play that song for her. And it calmed her down.”  A soft exhale came out of his lungs. “I’ve been thinking about her lately, and I think . . . she would have loved the hell out of you.”

“Really?” Her voice is low, a whisper as she moves closer, their foreheads and fingers touching.  “What makes you say that?”

“You want me to start?”  He tangles their fingers together, watching her pull his hand forward to kiss his fingers, one by one. “First of all, you’re incredibly caring, even to people you don’t know. Have the ability to think positive no matter what, fiery, passionate. Accepting my faults, what I do and what I have done.” He pauses, swallowing heavily. “You’re my friend, my sunshine. I think she’d love you for your kindness, how you make others laugh, make me laugh.” 

“Erron.” Iris starts, but Erron stops her with a kiss. She responds to it, even as he deepens the kiss, both of them rolling over until she was on top. His hands take their time exploring every slope and path of her body, pushing back a waterfall of red locks so he look up at her face. 

 “I love you, you know that?”

“Yes, yes I do. And I love you.” Her warm hands cup his face to pull him in a passionate kiss, sighing in delight as they slowly began to undo the other’s clothes. Once her shirt was discarded, he took care in making so many shapes with the freckles that decorate her body, brushing against one with his lips. Every time she made a soft sound in reply made him continue. Later he echoes the same breathy noises as Iris undid his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders and kissing the scars of his chest, hands moving downwards near the waistband of his jeans. 

Hazel eyes meet amber brown, the outlaw nodding before being taken into a place of fire and feverish kisses. She often paused, whispering how much she loved him. He removed the rest of Iris’s clothes, discarding them. Slowly they moved as one, each one of them taking their time with the other. Erron held on to her hand, keeping their fingers entwined. 

His mind captures each moment: how she places a lingering kiss on his scarred face, a hand pushing back her hair as he kissed her neck, a hand gripping the blanket underneath them. The way she looked with the sun shining along her body, her hair aflame by the rays of the sun. Skin brushing against skin, her eyes slowly opening before capturing his mouth in a kiss so sweet and gentle. 

Hours had passed, the sun dipping into the skyline and the silver dotting of stars with navy blue  were born, with clouds covering them. The two laid there with the spare blanket covering them both, Iris’s hand continuously stroking through Erron’s brown hair as he hummed a lullaby he wrote for his sunshine. 

“You ever think about the future?” Iris whispers. 

“Hm?”  He opens his eyes. “Like further down the road?”

“Yeah.”  She brushes her hand across his stubbled cheek. “Do you picture us settled somewhere, with maybe one or two children?”

Settling down, something that used to terrify him but he’s completely warmed up to the idea. A nice home somewhere in the country or near her family in Ireland, coming home to her, in her heated rapture. “Yes, actually. Be nice. What made you ask?”

“Nothing, just thought about it.” She snuggles close to him, sighing against his throat. “We should get home, I’m kind of hungry.” 

“We should be getting going. I put on something for dinner and I think it’s ready. And . . .” as if on cue, thunderstruck and rain started to fall heavily. “It’s pouring.”

Quickly, occasionally slipping in the mud, they put on their wet clothes, grabbed their things and made their way back home. Iris couldn’t stop her laughter as they made it to their house, brushing away mud from her face until Erron covered her eyes with his hand. 

“Really?”

“I’m sorry, I have to prepare something and check on the food. Just give me  . . . five minutes? And keep your eyes closed until you come in.”

“Okay.”  She grabs him by the hand, smiling. “We should also get a hot bath before we get sick.”

Erron quickly shuts the door while he sets everything together. Washing his hands, checking the pot for the steaming stew and putting it in bowls, setting them on the table. Lights two candles, and digs in his pocket for the ring. A beautiful platinum ring with a princess cut shaped gem of Iris’s birthstone. He gets down on one knee, and clears his throat. “You can open it, Sunshine.”

“Okay.” She opens the door, and her jaw nearly hits the floor at the display in front of her, tears welling up in her eyes as she takes it all in. And restrains her chuckle at Erron, covered in mud, on one knee. “Erron . . .”

“I’ve loved you from the day I knew you. Your heart is so lively and warm I get the chance to be someone I wished I was years ago. I vow to protect you, to stay by your side, to make you laugh. Give you what you deserve. I kneel before you, a man who has done bad things, and you still want to have me. I’m not used to that. I’m used to others leaving, dead or alive.” 

“But you, you surprise me everyday. You’ve taken my heart, sunshine. So I ask.” He holds out the ring. Taking his girlfriend’s hand. “Will you do me the favor of being my wife?” 

Iris is speechless, nodding as Erron slides the ring on his finger. He kisses the tips of her fingers, her knuckles, the ring. “Thank you!”  he breathlessly whispers. He lifts her up and spins her around, kissing everywhere on her face, leaving no freckle devoid of affection. 

“Is this why you had me wait, to surprise me?” She chokes on a sob, smiling through tears. “This is beautiful, even though we’re both dirty.”

“We could take that bath now.”  He chuckles at the sound of her rumbling stomach. “Or would you rather eat?”

“Maybe the bath first, fiance.” The word sends shivers down his spine. The good kind. He kisses her cheek, and can swear he can hear Rebecca screaming “Yes, yes finally!” 

“After you, fiancee.” Erron holds out his arm, escorting her to the bathroom for a long celebration and much needed bath. 

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 30

30. Warnings and paranoia

After three weeks of physical therapy Hyde was perfectly fit again.

He decided to celebrate this the way he always did on Saturday nights. Tonight he had to avoid his usual pub though. He had been banned, unsurprisingly. But the brothel he usually visited had a bar as well, so why the hell not?

It was a fun night and for once he didn't get into any fights. Maybe people had heard of the beating he had dished out last time. Word did get around fast, after all.

But he had promised Jekyll not to get completely up the pole tonight and so he left it at a few drinks.

When he went home, he was therefore just a bit tipsy, not really drunk.

He was close to his Soho flat, when someone called out to him.

“Pssst!”

Hyde looked to the right. Someone emerged from the shadows of a narrow side street into the light.

A tall, thin working class boy – oh wait. That wasn't a boy. Hyde saw the flaming red pony tail and delicate features and realised that the stranger was a girl in man's clothes.

“Are you Mr. Edward Hyde?”, she asked. Her voice was smoky and neutral.

His alarm bells rang. How did she know him?!

“Depends”, he answered suspiciously, “Who is asking?”

The stranger shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a working class boy who wants to do him a favour. Now drop it, I know you're the man.”

“And I know that you're not a boy”, Hyde retorted, “You're a girl in drag. And since you know me for some reason, I would like to know you and your reason to address me.”

She laughed and threw her arms up in defeat. “You have me there. Alma Donovan, at your service. You're my half-sister's client.”

What?!

“Don't worry, she didn't tell me. I just know stuff like that.”

Was that so? He wondered, if she could read his mind too.

“But I digress. I'm here to warn you.”

“Really now?”, Hyde queried. “What do you have to say?”

“Just this. Don't come here next Friday night. For if you do, something terrible will happen.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

But she didn't explain herself. Instead she just said that she had to leave and vanished back into the shadows.

Hyde stayed behind, completely lost. Then he remembered, that he had been going home and finished his walk.

“Did you hear that, Jekyll?”, he asked, as soon as he was alone.

Jekyll appeared in the nearby mirror. “Yes.”

“Could you make any sense of that?”

The blond lifted an eyebrow. “I thought it was pretty clear. Don't go to Soho next Friday night.”

“Yes, but why?! What will happen, if I don't?! And how would she know?”

Jekyll considered. “I don't know either. But didn't she imply that Lady Summers is her half-sister? Perhaps she also has supernatural abilities, just of another nature. We should ask the Lady.”

Hyde scoffed: “Do you seriously think she will tell us anything?”

“She will have no other choice, now that we know she has a half-sister. I'm pretty sure that her lady-in-waiting is so too. They all have her eyes, but there is no way they can be her daughters.”

Alright. He'd do it. Because seriously. He needed to know.

Lady Summers was displeased, when Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde confronted her about their encounter the previous night.

Good grief, why couldn't Alma hold her mouth about it for once?! She could see, why the red-head had done it; to lessen Mr. Hyde's suspicions. But still!

Just as Dr. Jekyll had predicted, she now had no other choice than explain herself.

“Before I tell you, I want to remind you of the mutual silence article in our contract. Nothing I'm about to tell you four is to leave this room.”

Four, because Dr. Lanyon and Mr. Utterson were here as well. They already knew, of course. They had known her for a long time after all.

“Fine, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It's true, the young girl you encountered is my half-sister. My youngest, to be more specific. She's nineteen years old. And you're also right about Aoimoku. She's my youngest half-sister and almost thirty-one. That's why she calls me 'onee-san'. It means older sister, in a respectful manner. Almost all of my servants are my half-siblings, actually.”

“But that's quite an age gap, especially for siblings”, Dr. Jekyll objected. “And they all have different nationalities. How is that possible?”

She huffed: “Let's just say, my father was quite a ladies' man. And he had a weakness for the exotic. Remember, that he and I travelled around the world several times. That's why so many of them have supernatural powers, like I do. They just don't flaunt it like I do. That's why you never saw any of it.”

“But if they're your younger siblings, why do you employ them as your servants?”, Dr. Jekyll asked.

She shrugged: “I'm my father's only legitimate child. Thus I'm the mistress either way. At first I only took them in, because it was my father's last wish. But you must know, that in their home countries children born out of wedlock have a much harder life than here. They are ostracised. And if they have supernatural abilities, it gets even worse. Most of my siblings come from very religious and superstitious cultures. By taking them in, I became their protector and provider. And they appreciate it, believe me. But as much as I love them, I don't tolerate free loaders. They work for me partly out of gratitude and partly, because I expect them to.”

She bent forward.

“Alright. Now that I've told you, you might want to tell me more about that encounter with my youngest.”

Jekyll shrugged. “It wasn't much. She just emerged from the shadows, like in some Gothic horror novel. Then she inquired for Hyde's name, they had a short banter concerning her cross-dressing-”

“Of course”, she muttered, “She always walks around in drag, when she leaves Whitechapel. Go on.”

“Then she warned us not to go to Soho next Friday, or something terrible would happen. Hyde is confused about what it means.”

At that she snorted. What was there not to understand?!

“You and I both know the answer, Doctor: exactly what it means. Don't risk your health or life on that Friday night by going there anyway. Take her advice seriously, you two. Alma's prophecies are never wrong.”

Dr. Jekyll was visibly curious. “She can predict the future?”

The Lady nodded. “Yes. Quite accurately so, as I just stated. Her visions strike her at random, but they are never wrong.”

“She must make a lot of money with her predictions”, he mused.

But the Lady shook her head, recalling her sister's favourite pastime of … attacking men she didn't like with a knife. And mutilating them, if she got the chance.

“Not really. No one takes her predictions seriously, so she lives off my allowance and by winning bets. The problem is that my sister is … a bit off her hat, so to say. She and Mr. Hyde are very much alike. Actually, I'm surprised that she didn't assault you.”

She could hear the awkward sounds inside the Doctor's head and saw the other men look at each other uncomfortably.

That sort of softened her own embarrassment.

Later, after they were gone, she went up to her office to give her sister another phone call.

The young woman called her, before she could even dial the number. As often was the case.

“Hello, Luise”, a smoky voice with a light Irish accent said.

“Hello, Alma”, the German replied, “We need to speak about you telling my clients that you're my sister.”

“I'm sorry, Luise, but you know why I did it.”

“Of course I do, but do you know how embarrassing that was? To have to talk about my-our father's escapades?!”

“Sorryyyy! Not doing it again, cross my heart.”

“Uhuh. Anyway, do you think they will listen to your prophecy?”

A snort at the end of the line. “Please! You're the only one who takes my words seriously! They will ignore and forget my predictions, just like everyone else.”

“Why did you warn him anyway? You know what kind of man he is.”

For a while the voice on the other line was quiet.

Then she replied: “He will soon learn his lesson. Just because he won't heed my warning. To be honest, that makes it just the sweeter. Afterwards, he'll remember my warning. And he'll curse himself for not listening to me.”

“Ah. Insult to injury”, Lady Summers muttered. “And if I may ask, what exactly will happen?”

“That”, the younger voice spoke, “Is a question I can't answer. But you're clever, big sister. Figure it out.”

The Countess huffed. Sometimes her youngest sister could be rather vague in her predictions and she hated it. Alma's visions were detailed and sharp, she knew that. And still that red-haired bedlam girl refused to be clear at times.

Oh well. She would figure it out.

In the meantime she would keep an eye out for whoever had to be watching her.

Speaking of which …

There it was again.

The feeling of being watched.

But that was impossible. Her study was on the second floor and her table not visible from the outside.

Lady Summers slipped a hand under a fold of her own dress and revealed a rifle.

An M71/84*, a Christmas gift from Otto von Bismarck (ah, good old Bismarck!).

Excellent craftsmanship.

Tried and trusted.

And Lady Luise F. W. Summers was as good with firearms as she was with the blade.

However, when she stepped to the window, opened it and looked outside, she couldn't see anyone.

But instead of relaxing, she became even more nervous. Cavendish Square had many hiding opportunities in the dark.

She ducked behind the curtain and pointed her rifle to wherever someone might be.

The feeling didn't go away.

But she couldn't hear anyone's thoughts.

Perhaps the stalker was out of range.

Deciding that there was no use in hiding behind the window all night, she fired a warning shot into the direction of the trees.

Just for good measure.

And now the feeling finally went away.

Lady Summers closed the window and curtains and slumped against the wall in relief.

At the same time her heart was burning with bitter hatred.

Would she never find peace?!

---

*The M71/84 was a breechloading rifle developed in 1884.