#a genuine admiration for what he accomplished and sympathy for what he went through in his life

[mickgaydolenz]

it’s time for me to admit that my second favourite monkee is davy

[yandere-daydreams]

A spicier Yandere!Villain!Izuku/Reader for an absolutely lovely anonymous commissioner, featuring just a little Katsuki /Reader on the side. It’s always nice to get to experiment with a scenario I don’t get to use very often, but honestly, making Katsuki absolutely miserable might just a hobby, at this point.

Title: Lasting Rivalries.

Word Count: 2.0k

TW: Noncon, AFAB!Reader, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, and Slight Exhibitionism.

The air tasted like mold.  

You could’ve sworn you’d fallen asleep in the cold, brisk atmosphere of Katsuki’s apartment, where every draft carried the vaguest traces of bleach and even the dust was neatly polished. Wherever you were now couldn’t be the same place, hell, you doubted it was the same building. The mattress underneath you was warm, uncomfortably so, the kind of damp, sticky heat that only radiated off of objects with a decade’s worth of grime. It was dark, the walls a bare, desolate grey and the few functioning lights only seeming to highlight how obscured everything felt, out in the open yet hidden by some thick curtain hanging just in front of your eyes. Your head felt… bad. You weren’t in pain, and you didn’t have a headache, but you almost wished you did. It would’ve been real, and that must’ve been better than whatever cotton had been stuffed where your skull was supposed to be.

You tried to roll over, intent on coughing away the blockage, but to your dulled shock, you weren’t able to do anything more than shift before falling back into place. Your wrists had been tied to something cold and metallic - part of the bed frame, you guessed, a post - but the rope was soft, seamless and smooth. A harsh distinction from the scratchy, cheap sheet that’d been spread out under your exposed back.

Oh, wait. Where were your clothes?

It was a startling realization, but you didn’t have much time to linger on it. As soon as you had time to properly feel the chill running over your skin, something replaced it. Two palms pressed into your sides, just above your hips, gloved but undeniably there, squeezing as they went, exploring. You kicked, reflexively, relieved to find your legs free enough to do so, but the mass was unmovable, catching your knee and pushing it flat against the bed with a light chuckle. You manage to focus, although your gaze was still blurry and your head still clogged, a shape forming in front of you. A silhouette, at first, then a form. A man. By the time you put a name to those hints of a face, you might as well not’ve bothered.

You would’ve recognized the voice of that monster anywhere. Even with the added smugness.

“When did they get so soft, Kacchan?” Izuku asked, a self-righteous smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. His tone was mocking, too patronizing to be genuine, but that didn’t stop his hands from falling to your waist, rubbing slow, measured circles into your midriff before moving towards your thighs and groping curiously. He continued, unprompted, not seeming to care that he’d never gotten a response. “You did that on purpose, yeah? I know you like your targets too weak to fight back.”

“Fuck off.” You didn’t have to think, your attention locking onto the interruption’s source, onto your boyfriend. Your restraints were child’s play compared to Katsuki’s, his hands encased in metal cylinders and leather belts laid across every extremity that could’ve possibly broken free. He was pinned against a cement column, immobilized, a loose muzzle strapped over the lower half of his face for Izuku’s personal enjoyment. He hadn’t been taken peacefully, either, a splatter of dried blood matting blonde hair to his scalp and his Hero get-up ripped to tatters, stripped of anything that could’ve been made into a weapon. You might’ve been jealous of how much effort had gone into capturing him, if concern hadn’t been shoved to the forefront of your mind, refusing to budge once it took its place. “Touch (Y/n) one more time and I swear I’ll--”

“Maybe we should gag him,” Izuku mused, cutting Katsuki off gracelessly. It took you longer than you’d like to admit to realize he was talking to you, but you didn’t dare indulge him with an answer, averting your eyes to the wall with a pointed glare. Izuku just pouted, crouching and nuzzling affectionately into the crook of your knee. You shuddered at the contact, but he didn’t seem to share your aversion, something lovesick weighing down his tone. “I don’t know how you put up with him for so long, angel. All those dirty words, and that rotten attitude…” He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “It had to be terrible. You need someone to love you, really love you, right?”

“I… I don’t need anything from you,” You spat, attempting to clench your thighs together. Izuku pushed them back open with a strength you couldn’t hope to counter. “Get off of me!”

“You don’t think you need me,” He corrected, prompting a groan and a series of volatile insults from Katsuki. If Izuku heard him, he didn’t feel the need to give a response, kissing the inside of your thigh, instead, his lips lingering a second too long. “You’ve been...  influenced by Kacchan. He didn’t love you like I would’ve, he didn’t take care of you. I wouldn’t have made you go out into the big, bad world every single day. I wouldn’t have been so ungrateful.” Another kiss, this one higher up. “You deserve better. I’ll give you better.”  

You opened your mouth, but anything you could’ve said was caught in your throat and choked on as Izuku took hold of your hips, pinning you down despite his attempts to buck him off. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but when a hot, eager tongue dragged along the length of your slit, the severity of your situation finally dawned on you, sparks of something callous and distant accompanying overwhelming, overpowering terror. Your mind went blank, but you flailed, attempting to kick and writhe and struggle until he let go, but your resistance only seemed to make Izuku more determined, pulling away to suck at your sensitive clit, flicking at it almost playfully with his tongue.

The pleasure was invasive, aggressive. Izuku was relentless, drinking you down like a man starved, his inexperience covered by his will to find whatever spot made your body contort and abuse it, whether that meant fucking your entrance with his tongue or drawing baseless, abstract patterns in your cunt or lapping at forcibly provoked wetness and daring you not to make a sound. You bit your bottom lip in an effort not to give him what he wanted, but his pursuit was a brutal one, the whimpers that found their way through your defenses meek and pitiful. Katsuki had been stunned into silence, but your involuntary submission seemed to snap him out of his stupor, an assumption only further backed-up by the garbled mix of ‘get away from them’s and ‘I’ll fucking kill you’s that soon filled the cramped space. Izuku delighted in that, nearly moaning against you, the reverberation sending an unpleasant tremor up your spine. You couldn’t tell what was getting him off more - your suffering or Katsuki’s.

Regardless of his intentions, your body was reacting to his ministrations, something in your core pooling and spiraling, delving into a dark, aching fire you wish had stayed untouched. Your hips nearly followed Izuku when he pulled away, straightening his back and making a half-hearted attempt to wipe away the spit and slick staining his chin with his sleeve before his shoulders slumped, a wide, malicious grin forming across his features as he looked over you. Wordlessly, he pulled off a glove with his teeth, swiping his newly freed fingers over your cunt, letting translucent fluids gather on fingertips. He held them to your lips, only hesitating for a moment before giving a command. “Lick it off,” He demanded, his smile never faltering. “Or I’ll have someone come in and slit his fucking throat.”

You weren’t proud to taste yourself on his skin, gagging when he shoved his digits down your throat and spitting when he refused to dislodge them, coughing until something in your throat tore and fell away. He only kissed your cheek, something you hoped was meant to be a reward.

You were still recovering when he started to undress, lazily unbuttoning his white dress-shirt and pulling it off, only bothering to shrug his pants down enough to free his cock. Of all things, that was what got you, how casual he acted, as if he was only admiring something he already owned. Tears sprung up in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision despite your attempts to blink them away. Izuku took care of that, though, cooing as he dragged his thumb over your cheek. It could’ve made you sick. It did make you sick. But, the sudden wave nausea did little to stop something painfully hard from rutting against your thigh as Izuku leaned down, the sensation a constant, perverted reminder of your growing misery.

“Please…” You mumbled, the words falling from your tongue reluctantly. You tugged at your restraints, trying to pull yourself into a more dignified position, but all you accomplished was irritating your already-sore wrists. “Please don’t, Midoriya, please. I’m… I haven’t done this before.”

His eyes widened, the hint of a scowl shadowing over his expression. “Poor thing, poor baby,” He crooned, the words dripping with manufactured sympathy. With one hand, he steadied himself, positioning his length at your entrance with the other, making it clear that no amount of sobbing or innocence would get you out of being defiled. “No wonder you’re scared, he must’ve neglected you for so long. But, you don’t have to worry, love. Your Izuku’s gonna take care of you, from now on.”

That was all the warning you got before he pushed into you, snapping his hips against yours and only stopping when he bottomed out inside of you. Something between a moan and a croak found its way from your throat, but you were quickly distracted from the discomfort as Izuku took up your thighs, digging his nails into your flesh and forcing your knees against your chest, something between confusion and distress flooding into your system. By the time he began thrusting in earnest, finding a steady rhythm to match the tempo of his fleeting, breathy panting, you were sobbing, trying fruitlessly to keep your breakdown at bay as a terrible, unknown pressure built inside of you, a knot forming somewhere in the bottom of your gut. You were snug around him, hot and tight and drooling, making each movement all the more tortuous, toe-curling, world-shattering. It felt like there was never a moment he wasn’t hitting something new, something foreign, something you couldn’t quite make up your mind about. Unwillingly, you clenched around him, and Izuku faltered, groaning shamelessly. You were almost glad you’d fallen so far, when you felt him twitch.

Anything that managed to numb the filth slowly spreading through your body was a mercy.

“You feel so good,” He drawled, hunching forward, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. His breath was warm on your skin, damp, your disgust unaided by the teeth soon embedded in your neck, biting into anything they could reach. He acted without care, without discretion, his only goal being to make his mark and ensure that it lasted, regardless of how much blood he had to draw to do so. “Gonna make you mine, he won’t be able to touch you when I’m done. No one’ll be able to look at you without thinking of me.” He paused, letting out the fractured bastardization of a laugh, relief heavy in the cracked sound. “I’ll knock you up. Kacchan could never give you that.”

Oh, god, Katsuki. Your head fell to the side, in search of something stable to latch onto, but he was far from a source of comfort. He was despondent, limp and motionless, his bindings slack, unneeded. Still, every muscle in his body was tense, on edge, but if he could do anything but sit and stare, you couldn’t tell. His eyes were peeled open, lips parted but no noise coming out, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to make the words. He was as much of a prisoner as you were, now. As helpless as you were, now.

Weakly, he opened his mouth, what was left of his will escaping in a miserable, wounded whisper. “I’ll fucking kill you, Deku.”

That was all it took for Izuku to finish, staining you so thoroughly, you doubted you would ever feel clean again.

[bobbyshaddoe80]

Liberated Audio Reviews

Blake's 7 - The Liberator Chronicles Vol. 2

RELEASED AUGUST 2012

Recorded on: 18 October and 25 November 2011, and 15 March 2012

Recorded at: Moat Studios

Review By Robert L. Torres

The Magnificent Four by Simon Guerrier

'A mission to steal data from the planet Mogul goes badly wrong when Cally and Avon are outflanked and outgunned. And then they are teleported to safety – to an alien spaceship stolen from The System, which is crewed by Gilden Trent and his small team of rebels.

For Avon it’s the opportunity to start over again without Blake.

But can Trent be trusted?'

Chronological Placement:

Set during Series B between the episodes Countdown and Voice From the Past.

Magnificent. Defined in the dictionary as 'impressive, deserving of admiration, especially due to an unusual quality involving size'.

The word is often used when describing something vast in size and scope, but magnificence can also be attributed to the quality of something that involves a small group. A prime example would be the title characters of the classic Western The Magnificent Seven. Even the accomplishments made by the John Wick character could be described as magnificent despite them being done by one man.

Magnificent is an apt word to describe the impressive storytelling quality that Guerrier has pulled off with this Cally focused story.

Cally, as played by the exquisite Jan Chappell, was always one of my favorites from the original cast. She was someone that wasn't a hardened cynic like Avon (who provides much needed support for Cally in this story), nor was she cowardly like Vila. She was someone that genuinely believed in doing the right thing and saw fighting against the oppressive tyranny of the Federation to be a very serious responsibility.

I was also always fascinated by her stance as someone that, for all intents and purposes, was the alien of the group (due to her coming from a race of telepaths). I have my own thoughts and theories about the Auronar, but that can wait for another day. Despite having powers of the mind, I always felt that Cally was very much the heart of the team.

I love that this story has Cally and Avon meeting up with a group like Blake's, on a ship like the Liberator, only to learn that they are little more than highly skilled pirates.

I love that the events of the Series B episode 'Redemption' are brought up and how the crew of the Libertine are a result of the aftermath of the events from that story.

I love how the story showcases in the crew of the Libertine a distorted reflection (and perhaps a retroactive premonition) of what would happen to the crew of the Liberator should they lose their way by abandoning their morals and scruples and just give in to blind self interest... Which for the most part is exactly what started to happen during Series C and ultimately came to fruition in Series D.

A minor nitpick, but I always thought the planet Cally came from was called Auron and her people were called the Auronar. And yet in this story and others, they refer to her as being an Auron. Is it a case where one singular person is an Auron but the collective term for the species as a whole is Auronar? It is a minor thing, I know, but still something that stuck out.

Something else that is a bit of a minor flaw is that at one point in the story the voiceover narration switches from Cally to Avon. There is a specific reason why this happens in the narrative, but it still comes about rather unexpectedly.

Given the stories in these chronicles are events being recounted AFTER the fact, there is the inevitable problem of how to create tension and intrigue with life threatening peril for the characters when most fans know the show backwards and are fully aware of what the inevitable fates for many of the characters are.

Luckily for Guerrier and many other writers, they do create moments that make you wonder how such and such will be able to survive whatever life threatening peril is thrown at them, and manage to cleverly pay off how they survive without falling into 'Oh Come The Fuck On' Territory.

8 out of 10 Plasma Bolts

Anyway, this story is very well done and is the first of many plots that involve coming across potential allies for the Resistance movement, only to learn the would be allies are often a lot worse than their enemies in the Federation. Definitely give it a listen.

False Positive by Eddie Robson

'Dr. Lian has a mysterious new patient – a man who was found shot in the leg near Engel City, a man who is delirious and talking about the most extraordinary acts of rebellion.

She prescribes drugs and the use of the alleviator – a device that will dig deep into his memories – to unlock the truth about Carlin Guzan.

But the truth that she exposes is far more shocking than she bargained for...'

Chronological Placement:

Set during Series B after LC Vol. 10's Retribution, between the episodes Horizon and Pressure Point.

This story is definitely a step up in quality from volume 1's 'Counterfeit' and is an excellent Blake-centric story. The framing device for the recollection of the events is actually quite clever as it ties in with the adventure itself in a very naturalistic manner.

The dialogue scenes between Blake and Dr. Liam are excellent. Kudos to Beth Chalmers for giving the character of Dr. Liam the right balance of professional intrigue and personal curiosity as she learns more and more about her 'patient'. But this story belongs to the late Gareth Thomas through and through and it is great to hear him be afforded better material than during his first go round back in 'Counterfeit'.

I always rather liked Blake from the start, and a large part of that is down to the performance of the late Gareth Thomas. The character of Roj Blake was a passionate idealist fighting for a noble cause, someone who could be diplomatic but understood the need for action rather than simple civil disobedience. As someone that broke free from an oppressive government, he immediately gains our sympathies... even if his passions occasionally bordered on overzealous fanaticism. This is largely due to what the Federation did to him personally by trying to rewrite his mind, killing his family and even destroying his public image by falsifying accusations of paedophilia.

Since the Federation enact the same tactics on countless others without any hesitation, morals or scruples, it is no wonder why Blake is so overwhelmingly passionate about wiping out the corruptive and cancerous tumor that is the Federation. Not only to avenge family, but to ensure that people are given the freedom to choose for themselves and not simply be coerced into following the rules through propaganda, torture, drugs or mind control.

Speaking of drugs and mind control, that goes to the heart of the plot: Blake going undercover at a Federation research facility that is conducting a clinical drug trial for the development of a new pacifying sedative, which the Federation hopes to employ in order to ensure total compliance and obedience to Federation doctrine.

Ironically enough, that is exactly what would come to pass towards the tail end of Series D... But we already know that, don't we?

7 out of 10 Plasma Bolts

All things considered, it is a pretty good story. This story, like a few others in the Liberator Chronicles range, could work as a two-hander stage play with a couple of tweaks. It also could easily have worked on TV or even as a full cast audio. Give it a listen.

Wolf by Nigel Fairs

“I heard his death cry. I felt it. And there was a word. ‘Wolf’. You, Servalan. You were the “Wolf”. You killed him. I want to know why.”

'Some time ago, Blake and his crew were helped by a revered Auron scientist named Gustav Nyrron. He stayed aboard the Liberator for a time and then disappeared.

Cally wants to know what happened to Nyrron, and only Servalan knows the answers.'

Chronological Placement:

Set during Series B between the episodes Pressure Point and Trial.

This is a very intriguing Servalan focused story, featuring Cally and a return appearance by Gustav Nyrron from Volume 1's 'Solitary'.

They say that a protagonist is only as good as the antagonist created to provide drama/conflict. This is especially true when the character of Supreme Commander Servalan (along with the equally excellent Space Commander Travis) was introduced as the Liberator crew's primary antagonist in the Series A episode 'Seek-Locate-Destroy'.

A large part of why the Servalan character has left such a lasting impression on the minds of fans had to do with the casting of the late Jacqueline Pearce, and the way she played the role. Her grace, charm, beauty and seductive allure went hand in hand with a ruthless ambitious edge along with a keen strategic mind.

In many ways, Servalan, as played by Jacqueline Pearce, reminded me of Alexis Colby as played by Joan Collins. Although Servalan was a bit more reserved than Alexis.

As such, it makes perfect sense that the Liberator Chronicles would provide ample opportunities to explore the villains as well as the heroes. This story does well to explore Servalan's character along with her thoughts, beliefs and how she carries herself as she recounts events. The recollection is pretty interesting cuz it comes about in multiple ways.

We learn a little bit about Servalan's childhood in reference to a game she used to play with others. Its interesting how this story, along with the upcoming 'Kerr', 'President' and 'Three', provides more insight into the character than the show ever did. The aforementioned upcoming stories do provide some great insight into why Servalan is the way she is... But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I love the scenes between Servalan and Cally, as I do not recall the two of them having much screentime during the series proper... If ever. But I could be wrong.

This story has some great twists and turns as it deals with exploring how Servalan used Nyrron as her personal plaything in her efforts to lure the Liberator into her clutches.

Although Nyrron will be featured again in the story 'Brother' off of Volume 11 (which I will talk about eventually), I think this is the story that features him the best. We learn the most about him as a character, and much kudos to Anthony Howell for bringing much pathos and nuance to the Auron scientist.

The story also lends itself quite well to philosophical debates regarding how each side views the other. Naturally, Blake's crew view Servalan and the Federation as an evil and oppressive tyranny, while Servalan and those within the Administration view Blake and his ilk as little more than terrorists wanting to bring down the only force for law and order in the galaxy.

It is that clash of ideals and personal morals that will be explored to great effect in future volumes as well as in the full cast audios.

9 out of 10 Plasma Bolts

Final score for Liberator Chronicles Vol. 2 in its entirety is 8 out of 10 Plasma Bolts. It is a profound step up in quality compared to Volume 1, and it demonstrates that things can only go up from here in terms of character exploration and engaging plots.

Special credit to Craig Brawley of the Big Finish Listeners Facebook Group for his tireless efforts in mapping out the chronology of the audios and determining his they fit in with the established TV continuity.

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Downfall Of Us All: Chapter 8

Downfall Of Us All

Chapter 8 

AN: Thank you, to everyone who is enjoying the story and thank you to @jtargaryen18 for sending me positive thoughts.

Link to master list: 

Warnings: Character death, mention of past sexual assault and PTSD.

They reached the kitchen without anyone catching them, but Grace swore she could hear the soundtrack for Swan Lake playing in the distance. Maybe it was just her imagination. Clint grabbed a pack of chocolate cookies, while Grace made the popcorn, and some salted caramel brownies. There was plenty of stuff left over, as they sneakily went to Clint's bedroom. Clint was amused to see Grace's cats were asleep on the lounge near his bed, with Lucky settled peacefully on the large dog bed. He turned on Netflix, and found a film called Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. He waited until Grace was comfortable and played the film, as they sat together in a comfortable silence while watching the film. Grace felt safe around Clint, he reminded her of a fierce hawk. She smiled, and offered him the plate of brownies, he took one and bit into it with a smile of thanks. They both watched the film, and were impressed so far.

Bucky found himself unable to sleep again, his nightmares were constantly waking him, and it made him hate what he was even more. He hated HYDRA, and he hated the KGB for turning him into the Winter Soldier. At least he wasn't that anymore, he preferred the name White Wolf that the Wakandan children had given him during his stay with the kind, gentle villagers. He heard music playing from the ballet studio, and curiously went to see what was going on. He was surprised to see it was Sophie, and she was dancing to Swan Lake, her movements graceful. It was reminding Bucky of Natasha, if he thought about it. "You're up late, doll." Bucky said quietly, Sophie jumped at hearing his voice, and turned around to face him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake up anyone. I just couldn't sleep, my mind's just a jumbled mess," Sophie explained shyly, she was wearing a grey tank top with a pair of black sweatpants. Her eyes strayed to Bucky, he was in a pair of black sweatpants and shirtless, his left metal arm glowing in the dim lighting. She could see the gold outlines on his left metal arm. He looked intimidating but at the same time gentle, she cautiously put a hand on his left arm feeling him shiver against her touch. He swallowed roughly, and turned his face away. "Monster," he said bitterly, Sophie shook her head and squeezed his metal hand gently. She didn't think he was a monster, he'd been used as a weapon by HYDRA and the Soviet Union. "I think you should be calling me that, James. I was born out of rape, a lot of people would think I'm a monster." Sophie said quietly, feeling heartbroken at how terrified her mother must have been as had their father had been. "You weren't given a choice Sophie, your father...I remember him vaguely. My memories are slowly coming back, I write them in my journals," Bucky explained quietly, and Sophie looked at him quietly. "So, they're memory books?" She asked stunned, a part of her felt terrible for how Bucky must feel having to have these horrific memories of his crimes. He was a victim, just like her parents and Grace had been. The thought of what Grace had been put through, horrified her when they heard Jarvis speak. "Shall, I turn off the music Miss Sophie?" The AI asked politely, Sophie nodded in agreement at his suggestion. "Yes please, Jarvis." She said softly and looked at Bucky who was fussing over Raymond who'd come to visit. The Bengal rescue cat purred loudly and allowed him to stroke his chin.

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I started journaling not long after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and I was a fugitive for a couple of years." Sophie stopped to consider that. "You must have been… I can't imagine what that was like for you. All of a sudden you were free in a world that was so different from the one you came from. Was there no one to help you? Anyone?" Bucky shrugged, continuing to pet Raymond. "I could have gone to Steve. I should have gone to Steve. I spent most of that time avoiding him and he was just trying to help me." "Did you remember him at all?" Sophie wondered. "I know you were close before all of that happened to you." "In bits and pieces, Sophie," he admitted. "What I read about him in the Smithsonian seemed like an encyclopaedia next to what I remembered about him then. He said he was my friend but… I didn't know who to trust." His gaze met hers, the sympathy in her expression made him pause. "That's why I want to help you and your sister, I guess. I have an idea of what it's like to be tossed away when you're no longer useful and have to try and survive in a place you're completely unprepared for." He handed her Raymond, glancing around the ballet studio. "I'm grateful that you and Grace are here. This might not be what you wanted but it's better than falling into HYDRA's hands." Wrapping her arms carefully around her cat, she nodded. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous about all of this, Bucky. I'm used to making cakes, not kicking ass." He laughed at that. "You'll do better than you think," he told her. "You showed a lot of promise today." "Yeah." Rolling her eyes, she put Raymond down at her feet. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel like I was… getting somewhere with that." "You did great," he told her. "And you weren't acting at all?" she said with a challenge. He'd kind of guessed that she was proud. He was starting to realize that he'd only just scratched that surface. "I wasn't acting at all," he said seriously. Sophie seemed to consider that. "I guess it wasn't terrible then. Grace showed me up." "She took down Peter." He snorted. "He wouldn't have gotten up off that mat so fast if you'd been the one who nailed him." She nodded, seeming embarrassed by the praise. "We could match you up with someone else to spar if that would help," he offered. "If that would make you feel better." "No," she said quickly, her face darkening. "No, I'd rather work with you. I don't want easier to feed my ego. You give me something to work towards. If I ever get to a point where I can take you down, well, I'll have some sense of accomplishment." "You will, huh?" Sophie was flustered, and it was adorable. "Don't make fun of me," she said with a nervous laugh. "Wouldn't dare, doll," he said with all honesty. "There's a lot of things I can't do. I couldn't make a cake to save my life. Hell, I can barely heat canned and frozen stuff when I have to." Her laugh was a warm, beautiful sound. "I sure couldn't dance like that," he admitted. "You can't dance at all?" She quirked a brow at him. "I didn't say that," he explained. "Used to love going dancing before I went into the army. I'd stay out on the floor with the dames—ladies for hours. Used to drive Steve nuts when I'd set him up on a blind date and drag him along." "Show me," Sophie challenged him. "We're up anyway. Dance with me."

"You're on doll," Bucky said intrigued, and he gently held her by the waist as Jarvis began playing slow jazz music on the speakers. He effortlessly spun her around, and pulled her into his arms, as they began doing a very intimate dance. He distantly recalled dancing before the war, and Sophie smiled at him as he threw her over his shoulder in an effortless move. She laughed, and they continued to dance. He didn't feel like a monster and smiled as the music changed to swan lake. He watched impressed as Sophie pointed her toes and leaned against the bar up against the mirror. She smiled at him, and he pulled her into him as they did pas de deux, and he smiled when she did the spin with attitude. She was like one of those miniature ballet dancers in a music box, spinning around delicately. "I'll catch you, trust me," he said quietly, she nodded at him and did the split leap, landing gracefully in his arms as the soundtrack finished dramatically. Neither of them had noticed Steve, and Natasha watching them.

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"It's like watching a Soviet Union version of Swan Lake, you know?" Natasha said softly, as they both watched Bucky and Sophie perform ballet. Steve nodded in agreement, he couldn't help but admire Bucky's dance moves, which clearly had ballet incorporated into the choreography.

Sophie performed a split leap, which would make any gymnast jealous as the music began ending dramatically. She landed gracefully in Bucky's arms, and Steve smiled.

Bucky looked relaxed, and happy. He was happy that Sophie had been able to make him, smile.

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Clint woke up to see that Grace was fast asleep, and it was three AM in the morning. He vaguely remembered that after watching Mission Impossible, they'd brushed their teeth and put the food away. He quietly put the quilt around her, and she curled up into him even more, seeking his warmth. He stilled, but relaxed and laid down beside her. Laura hadn't liked him holding her too much, that should have signalled warning bells, but he'd been in love with her. He had genuinely thought she had loved him and look how that turned out. Last night, Grace had comforted him and confessed that she felt the exact same way as he did about her son. She knew his pain, and the terrible heartache it left. Unlike Grace, he had closure, but she didn't have that small comfort. She'd been left in an agonising limbo with her sister, ever since S.H.I.E.L.D had taken Zach away. Hopefully they would find him, he felt Grace trembling in the bedsheets and saw she was crying fearfully. "Please don't do this, just let me go home. I swear I won't tell anyone," she sobbed frightened.

"Grace?" He muttered, his voice rough from sleep. "Please don't," she began to cry in her sleep. "Don't touch me. Please. I just want to go home—" "Grace!" Clint had firmly grasped her upper arms and shook her enough to awaken her but not enough to make her terror worse. "Gracie, wake up." Her eyes flew open, rolling around wildly until she began to focus on him. Her palm smoothed up to his face, staring hard at him for a moment as if she didn't know him. "Grace, it's Clint. It's me. Breathe," he whispered. Tears ran over her cheeks. Christ, she looked so scared. "Clint?" She asked, sounding so small. "Yeah, it's me," he told her, keeping his voice calm. "You're safe. I've got you." Her eyes scanned the room frantically, she seemed to be remembering how she'd got there and why. "He's not here?" "No, honey, he's not. Just me. You're safe with me," he whispered. "Please breathe. You're scaring me." It reminded him of the nightmares Cooper used to have when he was small, worried about monsters killing his daddy. She sucked in air before a sob ripped from her chest, a low painful sound that broke his heart as he watched her crumble. "Come here," he whispered, pulling her to his chest and holding her close. "It's okay. I've got you. You're safe with me." "Oh my God, Clint," she managed between sobs and breaths. "He's… he's still out there." "Not for long," he swore. Brock Rumlow's days were numbered. Clint would personally guarantee that. "What if he… f-finds me?" Her voice sounded so broken. "One day," Clint told her, rubbing small circles on her back, "he will find us. You and me. And we'll finish him, Grace. We'll keep him from ever hurting anyone else. I promise." Her arms wrapped around him, held him tight. He felt her nod against his chest. "Yes… yes, we will. I want to be there, Clint," she said, sounding stronger. Pulling back, she stared up into his face, her eyes filled with shadows of the pain he felt. "I want to be there to see it." Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he pulled her into his chest and stretched out on his back. "You'll be there, Grace. You'll see it." Nodding, she rested her head on his chest, throwing one slim leg across his own as she sought comfort. Trusting him as her sobs faded and her breaths slowed down into the cadence of sleep. Clint, who had a hard time sleeping himself, just enjoyed holding her. Her sleep seemed peaceful now and he'd take that. She'd need her sleep for the days ahead. He wasn't just telling her nonsense to get her to go back to sleep. He'd meant every word he'd said. He didn't care if Rumlow found him or it was the other way around. The outcome would be the same. Rumlow was already dead.

Clint had never hated someone as much as he did about Rumlow, and Laura but he did hate them. He'd make Rumlow suffer for what he'd done to Grace, and all of his other victims. He held Grace close and leaned back against the pillows as Starling came over and sat by his feet. The black cat purring lightly, as he lulled Clint into a restful sleep.

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Jarvis woke up the team for their morning training session, causing a bleary-eyed Tony to stumble out of his bedroom. His dark brown hair was tousled, and his Metallica t-shirt looked like it was covered in motor oil. "Eat breakfast, then we'll be doing team training," Steve said amused, when he saw Bucky and Sophie coming together, Bucky had a peaceful expression on his face while Sophie looked more at ease than she had yesterday. "Who's turn is it to cook?" Natasha asked curiously, the team had come up with a weekly rota, so each team member could cook breakfast, lunch and dinner. "Mine, Sam cooked yesterday." Bucky answered, as he began getting the ingredients out for Belgian waffles, pancakes and beef sausages. "Are we doing the training, and then eating?" Sophie asked tentatively, she didn't know how this worked out but was curious about how the team did it. "We'll be eating breakfast, and then doing training, shortly. We want you to build muscle, not waste away." Natasha explained patiently, and Sophie smiled in understanding. "Mr Stark, there are two police officers wishing to speak with you," Jarvis announced, Tony frowned but nodded at the AI. "Let them in, Jarvis." He said wearily, and they heard a car driving into the car park before seeing on the security camera two non-uniformed police officers entering. "Mr Stark, I'm Lieutenant Olivia Benson and this is my partner, Detective Amanda Rollins. I'm afraid, something has happened to Happy Hogan." The woman said gently. The room became quiet, everyone looked worried and Tony had paled considerably. "Is Happy alright? Where is he?" Tony asked worriedly, he cared a lot about Happy and the man had always supported him. "I'm so sorry Mr Stark, but Happy Hogan was found murdered this morning outside Stark Industries. Do you know where we can find Virginia Potts? She was the last person who Happy spoke to." Olivia explained sympathetically, her hazel eyes meeting his. Tony opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Happy was dead......someone had murdered his close friend, and he felt sick to his stomach. The others looked at him worriedly, wanting to say something to try and console him. "I haven't spoken to Pepper since yesterday morning, she wants a divorce and I'm signing the papers today," Tony said quietly, feeling distraught. Who would want to kill Happy?

"Are you… are you sure it's him? Has the body been identified?" Tony tried, praying with everything he had that this was a mistake, that he and Happy could laugh it off later.

"You can help us with that, positive identification," Detective Rollins told him. "If you'd come with us."

Natasha gently embraced Tony from behind. "Maybe this is a mistake," she whispered.

Tony felt fragile at the moment like Nat was holding him up.

"Stay here and manage things," Tony told her. "I won't be long."

To Steve he nodded. "Take care of things, Cap."

Steve's face mirrored the sadness that was crushing him from the inside. Steve clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever you need," Steve told him.

Tony saw Bucky and the one spider girl, read their concern. Since when did people feel sorry for him? Pity him?

At least he had his shoes on as he trudged after the two policewomen and headed out of the front of the compound. The detective – her name was Amanda, right? – turned back to him as she motioned to their unmarked sedan.

"Would you like to bring someone with you, Mr. Stark?" she offered.

Tony felt lost, realizing everyone was back up in the kitchen. Glancing up and down the sidewalk, he saw one small woman coming up the walk, lugging a bag as big as she was. Her dark brown hair had gold highlights in the sun and it looked like she'd spent some time styling it. Her blouse and skirt looked professional, the heels he could tell she wasn't used to walking in were scuffed already and there was a huge runner in her stockings as she carried the bag up to the sidewalk.

Deliberately he came to a stop in front of her. "Who are you?"

Her mouth dropped open when she glanced up at him, her grey eyes wide. "Lillia Dumitrescu."

"Do you work here?"

The young woman nodded. "It's my first day."

She was adorable, and she would do.

"You work for me?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

"Okay, we're going to the police station," he told her before opening the back door and ushering her in the back of the car, huge bag and all. "Get in."

Once they were settled, she sat demurely in the back with her hands folded in her lap. "Am I in trouble, Mr. Stark?"

Tony shook his head. "I just need someone to come with me to the police station."

"Okay."

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

Tagging list: @jtargaryen18, @marvelfansworld, @sapphirescrolls, @kitkatd7, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork, @nomadicpixel and @queenoftheunderdark, and @my-favourite-fics​

[onwesterlywinds]

It's late evening when an unusual face shows up to the Saltery - an older white Hrothgar, with a giant bow on his back. Dressed in various furs, and guiding a chocobo that holds several carcasses on its back. There's quite an assortment as well - a yabby, a gagana, and an aldgoat. He pauses on the outskirts, just on the stairs, and scans over the small town. Ashley Rosenheim has been lost in thought for a while - staring first at his feet, then at the waste of the crumbled pillars. Eventually his eyes found the statue of the King of Ruin, ruined itself now. The memories of the day it was unveiled are too strong for him to ignore, and so he lets them play out. Tikhomir Ajuyn spots the man easily, and follows his gaze to the base of the statue. He ambles over, and gives a low whistle from a few fulms away. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Ah, a shame. I remember when it stood tall. Ashley Rosenheim is hardly thinking of it as a shame, but he doesn't open with that. Instead, he surveys the newcomer - the first Hrothgar he's seen in these lands since before the Garleans came. Ashley Rosenheim: The pillars, too, I gather. Tikhomir Ajuyn nods, giving a toothy grin that shows fangs. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Aye. I traveled through here when I was young and lost, still trying to figure out what to do with myself. Tikhomir Ajuyn sighs, and shakes his head. Tikhomir Ajuyn: It ... was a bit of a shock, to come here and see the destruction a couple of moons back. Ashley Rosenheim: Hm. Ashley Rosenheim breathes in deep of the salty night air. Ashley Rosenheim: I know the feeling well. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Apologies. I mistook you for a soldier; I used to know a few back when I came through and traded. Ashley Rosenheim smiles wryly. It's an utterly humorous look. Ashley Rosenheim: Can't imagine why. Ashley Rosenheim's expression broadens ever so slightly - a single twitch of his lips - and he's back to staring out at the loch.

Tikhomir Ajuyn blinks at him, then chuckles softly. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Fair enough. I didn't mean to disturb you, and I can go, if you like. Ashley Rosenheim: No, by all means. Tikhomir Ajuyn: You just... Tikhomir Ajuyn crosses his arms, thinking. Ashley Rosenheim: ...Yes? Tikhomir Ajuyn: You look sad. I realize I'm a stranger, but... Ashley Rosenheim is surprised. It may even show on his face. Ashley Rosenheim: ...This is a sad land. Ashley Rosenheim breathes. Ashley Rosenheim: I've a child. And I'm thinking of all that she's had to do in my stead to make this a place worth living in again. Tikhomir Ajuyn goes quiet at that, and looks away. His tail flicks behind him idly. He isn't exactly sure what to say to that. Tikhomir Ajuyn: You must be proud. That she's accomplished so much. Ashley Rosenheim nods, stoically and wordlessly. Tikhomir Ajuyn offers a smile again. Tikhomir Ajuyn: My apologies, I didn't mean to drag you out of your brooding. Ashley Rosenheim: What brings you back here? Tikhomir Ajuyn motions at his chocobo. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I've been out hunting the past week, and I've come to trade my kills. I take commissions for families, as well as help cull unruly beastkin. Ashley Rosenheim nods his approval. Ashley Rosenheim: Too few are willing to do it. Tikhomir Ajuyn gives a small snort. Tikhomir Ajuyn: It's something of a family trade. My wife and her mother taught me. Before I met her clan, I was a gunbreaker. Tikhomir Ajuyn speaks his words easily, but there's a sadness to his eyes, and he frowns. Ashley Rosenheim was about to ask if they're Gyr Abanian, then sees that look. Ashley Rosenheim: ...Were they Gyr Abanian? Tikhomir Ajuyn blinks at that, and shakes his head. Tikhomir Ajuyn: No. Keeper Miqo'te, actually, living in the Black Shroud, sometimes the East End, before the Wall went up. Ashley Rosenheim doesn't know what to say to that - and so he looks back out at the statue of the Ruiner. After a time, he speaks again. Ashley Rosenheim: ...If only their steel could have gone the way of our stone. Tikhomir Ajuyn huffs, and shakes his head. Tikhomir Ajuyn: If only. I did my part -- smuggling people under or around the Wall, or picking off patrols if I could. Ashley Rosenheim regards him with solemn but genuine admiration. Ashley Rosenheim: That's... that's good. Tikhomir Ajuyn smiles. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I do what I can. I didn't dare venture into Gyr Abania proper until after the liberation, as I didn't need one of the Garleans thinking me some 'beast man'. Tikhomir Ajuyn snorts, and rolls his eyes. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Better an arrow in the dark than that. Ashley Rosenheim knows there's a reason he didn't see very many Hrothgar during his years of service in the Empire - even among the conscripts. He nods, a dark look in his eyes. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Forgive me, I never introduced myself. Tikhomir Ajuyn offers a short bow. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Tikhomir. Ashley Rosenheim inclines his head, and the gesture is no less respectful than a full bow. Ashley Rosenheim: Rosenheim. Tikhomir Ajuyn wants to make a joke about shortening his name to Rosy but even he knows that won't fly. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Well met, Rosenheim. Ashley Rosenheim hesitates, then asks the question he's been keeping bottled up. Ashley Rosenheim: You said you knew some former soldiers. Kingsguard? Tikhomir Ajuyn has to think about that. Tikhomir Ajuyn: ... Yes? I believe they were called that. High up on the chain, as it were. I traded with a few here and there. Ashley Rosenheim: Do you happen to recall their names? I'm trying to track down any who might be of assistance to the rebuilding. Ashley Rosenheim is, in fact, looking for information that could be useful to his daughter. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Hmm... One was Folles, I think. Tikhomir Ajuyn scratches his chin and while he thinks. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Einar smiled at me quite often, but paid fairly. And ... a woman? Ironhand, or some such? Ashley Rosenheim is surprised to know so many of those names. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Someone you knew? Ashley Rosenheim: More acquainted with, but yes. Tikhomir Ajuyn waves a hand. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I haven't seen any of them since I crossed the Velodyna and traveled to the Shroud, some twenty five or so years back, I'm sorry to say. Ashley Rosenheim considers for only a moment longer, then nods to himself. Ashley Rosenheim: There's a free company in Ul'dah - the Sandsea - that hosts some few former Kingsguard knights. If you're looking for old connections, that would be a fitting place to start. Tikhomir Ajuyn makes a face at the mention of Ul'dah. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Ah, the desert. I will give it some thought; thank you, Rosenheim. I can't promise I will drop by, as the heat does not agree with me, and cities... Tikhomir Ajuyn shivers. Ashley Rosenheim: Nor with me. But if nothing else, it lets you work up a sweat. Tikhomir Ajuyn gives him a flat look. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I'm covered in fur. Sweat is the last thing I need. Tikhomir Ajuyn manages a stern expression for all of two seconds, before chuckling. Ashley Rosenheim: ...Point taken. Ashley Rosenheim lets out a small chuckle himself. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Thank you for the information, though. I'd wondered over the years what had happened to the lot of them. Ashley Rosenheim: Too many disappeared without a trace. Ashley Rosenheim thinks, despite himself, back to the Resonatorium, and the piles of bodies Ashe agreed to help sort through - not knowing if they were dead to further Zenos' plans for her. Ashley Rosenheim: ...Too many. Tikhomir Ajuyn's lips part in a small growl, and he shakes his head. Tikhomir Ajuyn: ... That i know only too well. I was fortunate enough to bury my wife, but others of our clan were not so lucky. And the Garleans only made it worse for many. Ashley Rosenheim: I'm sorry. Ashley Rosenheim has a feeling Tikhomir Ajuyn will wave off the condolences, but it feels like the only right thing to say. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Thank you. I suspect it's only worse for you, never knowing if your people are alive or not, and not having proof. Tikhomir Ajuyn has something empathetic there, with his last words, as if he knows the feeling only too well. Ashley Rosenheim knows he's had it far, far better than most - what with all of those who have turned up alive, if not well. Ashley Rosenheim: I've my daughter. That's more than most can say. Tikhomir Ajuyn: It is, yes. ... I must admit, I'm glad you have your child. I never found out what happened to mine. Ashley Rosenheim scowls at the thought. This time, even a word of sympathy seems too banal for such a tragedy. Tikhomir Ajuyn pats Ashley Rosenhiem's shoulder gently. Tikhomir Ajuyn: T'was years ago - you've no need to give me sympathies or be angry on my behalf. Ashley Rosenheim: ...A sad land. Gods only hope the children who survived will be able to make it better. Tikhomir Ajuyn: We can only hope, and help them make a better world for the morrow. That's why I help out as best I can. Ashley Rosenheim: I've wasted enough time you might've spent doing just that. Ashley Rosenheim offers a slightly more noticeable smile. Ashley Rosenheim: I'll leave you to your good work. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Pah! Tikhomir Ajuyn scoffs and waves a hand. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Sometimes help is a good conversation. Thank you for it. Ashley Rosenheim: Likewise. Ashley Rosenheim does, in truth, feel much lighter. Ashley Rosenheim: If you've a mind to reach out back in the capital, I'll be at the Keane house. Tikhomir Ajuyn makes note of the name, though it's unlikely, because any more than twenty people makes him break out into hives. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I will keep that in mind. Ashley Rosenheim: Safe journeys, then. Ashley Rosenheim begins to walk back across the loch, toward the White Aisle and the city proper. Tikhomir Ajuyn nods, and then reaches into his pack. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Before you go- Ashley Rosenheim: Yes? Tikhomir Ajuyn: Here. Tikhomir Ajuyn hands over a small satchel of what smells like jerky, and a couple of dried fruits. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Some dinner. You looked hungry. Ashley Rosenheim shakes his head. Ashley Rosenheim: You've much more need of it than me. But thank you. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Save it for a rainy day, then, or pay it forward. Tikhomir Ajuyn waves his hand, and turns back to his chocobo. Ashley Rosenheim: If you insist. Ashley Rosenheim gives one last wave, then begins to jog back. Tikhomir Ajuyn waves after him, and then turns back to the Saltery.

[honeylikewords]

what are your favourite marvel villains and why?

That’s a really interesting question, and thank you for asking!

For me, I’m not that into villains. I don’t actually like the whole “grey-moral ‘is he good is he bad’?” schtick. I mean, sometimes it works, but more often than not, it doesn’t. I don’t need to write a whole essay about why I think villain-woobifying can get really gross and not actually develop a deep character but rather just play at the idea of “median zones of morality”, so instead, I’ll just give the best answer I can.

Marvel movies, on the whole, suffer from really objectively one dimensional or illogical villains. For example, Thanos, the super hyped UltraBaddie, is really just… very bland. His reasoning for universal-level genocide isn’t even that well thought out.

Just googling “marvel villain problem” yields nearly ten million results in just 0.49 seconds! Read some of the articles here, if you want! Marvel really has struggled with trying to dimensionalize characters (whether heroes or villains), and sometimes, the efforts just fall flat.

But, of the roster of villains we do have, here are ones that I liked, presented in two categories: objectively interesting and compelling villains, and just rowdy guys who are fun to watch.

Compelling Villains:

1. Erik Killmonger, Black Panther. There’s a LOT to say about Erik Killmonger. Erik is widely regarded as the first (and possibly only) breakout, deep, and complex villain of the MCU. But he still suffers within the narrative form because, in the end, they just… kill him. It just ends abruptly. But the themes he introduced, the concepts, the practical reality of what a person pushed this far by societal hatred and personal suffering can do? It was amazing to watch. 

Obviously, Erik isn’t a good guy. The story didn’t set him up to be redeemable: the writers were conscious of making him aggressively anti-female and violent in a realistic, frightening way. But they also set him up to be sympathetic. One could see how a man brought low by the world would start to think the way he did. 

Erik broke the mold for Marvel, and while I have a lot of feelings (complex and counterintuitive ones) about his arc, he’s far and away the best the MCU has produced in terms of legitimate, fascinating, deeply human villains.

2. Wilson Fisk, specifically in DD s1. Technically, Wilson Fisk is part of the extended television/Netflix MCU, but he still counts, in my opinion. Fisk was the first time I ever found myself actually rooting for the bad guy and wondering “wait… is he… not evil?”

I cried for Wilson Fisk. I ached for his sadness. I wanted him to be happy and to be with Vanessa. I felt awful that he lost Wesley. I felt for him and it confused and scared me, and that’s awesome work on the part of the writers. I’m a firm believer in doing good and being heroic no matter the cost, so I rarely sympathize with villains, but, wow, Fisk caught me off guard.

Seeing the little boy he was and the trauma he went through, the way he actually was just a boy trying to help, save, and protect his mother and, in his later life, the city that raised him, was heartbreaking. Watching him go through the immense tragedy of his life stirred deep sympathy in me.

He was intimately human and so strangely sweet, so honest, so vulnerable, that it became hard for me to see him as a bad man. I wanted him to change, to turn around, to pull out before it was all too late. And that’s what makes him such a hugely fascinating villain.

Maybe it’s because Vincent D’Onofrio, himself, is autistic, and he intentionally played Fisk as also being on the spectrum. Maybe that rang true to me and I felt that connection and tenderness and love and the overwhelming sensation of a world so vicious that you just want to make it quiet and calm by whatever means necessary. But whatever it was, and however the writers accomplished it, that feeling, that intense emotional level of “please, please don’t, I don’t want to see you go astray like this” stays with me long after that season ended.

(Here is a good article talking about the representation of Fisk and why it can be dicey and unsafe to make villains disabled, but why it worked in this situation and why it matters.)

And, now, RowdyBoy Villains Who Are Pretty Fun But Not All That Deep, Really:

1. Ego, The Living Planet, Guardians of the Galaxy 2. Ugh, what a weirdo! But super funny. Ego’s big fight with Peter is both a combination hilarious, pitiful, weird, and legitimately sad. Ego is such a strange bird and seeing Kurt Russell play this freakazoid was a fun, quirky ride. Ego may have been an ass, but he was at least fun to watch being an ass. Plus, my dad likes his beard. Great job, Ego! I guess?

2. Grandmaster, Thor: Ragnarok. Oh my GOD, I unironically love Grandmaster. Everything about Grandmaster is great. Everything. He’s just such a sore thumb and such a wonderful addition to the MCU. Jeff Goldblum in swishy gold pleather with a melting stick, improvising half his lines and just being like that all the time? God, I love Grandmaster. I’d die for Grandmaster. I want more Grandmaster and I want it NOW. Out of all of these, he’s my actual favorite and someone I actually like. Like, oh my god, he’s just such a perfect character. Praise be to Grandmaster.

3. Loki, Thor: Ragnarok. Sorry, gotta say it, but I hated Loki up until Ragnarok. Every single other iteration of Loki skeeves the hell out of me and is just gross to me. The first time we meet Loki in Avengers, he’s a direct N*zi/F*scist parallel. No way, no how, not a chance am I gonna give that kind of creep a shot. I’m sorry, but no, get away from me. Plus, his enormous fanbase of fangirls cooing over him and woobifying him and making him out to be some sorry angel when he was a greasy genocidal maniac was just revolting.

But then came Ragnarok, and, finally, Marvel got Loki right. Or, well, more aptly, Taika Waititi got Loki right. Thank you, Taika, for redeeming the entire MCU by your damn self.

Loki is a trickster god, not a god of death or violence or war. Loki was, in the original myths, just a tricky person who liked to change their gender/sex, their shape, their dang species, all just to have a romp of a time. Loki wasn’t some N*zi affiliate god of bloodthirst. He was just an asshole who played pranks and got pregnant a lot. You heard me. Read all about it right here. And here. And here, too, for good measure.

So when Ragnarok rolled into theatres and presented us with a funny, human, sympathetic (and likely queer-coded) and genuinely appreciable Loki who just was kind of the epitome of “useless Slytherin; desperate to get their way but shite at getting it sneakily”, I finally learned to like the guy.

I don’t love him, don’t get me wrong, and he’s certainly no one I admire, respect, or am attracted to, but at least now I can stand him. I can appreciate him somewhat. I can see good in him that simply wasn’t present before. 

Plus, he’s just actually funny. Like, Tom Hiddleston has really solid comedic timing and great expressions, and once all that ridiculous melodrama was cast aside from the earlier Thor movies and replaced by an attitude of genuine humor, Loki’s snarky, selfish, stupid-ass side finally got the spotlight and I actually enjoyed watching him do his stuff.

Sorry there aren’t many legit villains on here: again, I tend to despise villains and I don’t see much value in pretending they’re “deep” for being monstrous. Sometimes a bad thing is just bad, and we don’t need to pretend it’s more than that. 

Thank you for asking, and I hope this answers your question, or at least gives you more insight into what I like to consume in my media!

[kondo-hijikata]

Pairing: Established Kondo/Hijikata Rating: M Summary: A meditation on where they’ve been and where they’re going--on Hijikata’s promise to make Kondo the most esteemed samurai and one that Kondo makes in return. Hakuouki verse, Kat-chan POV, written to this. [AO3]

tl;dr: They love each other a lot and Reimeiroku is a gift

The Listener

Beneath a blanket of celestial glitter he stood with his arm ghosting beside mine, while fireflies sparkled gold in the distance and a gentle breeze feathered whispers against our skin. We stared out at the endless rhinestone sky, listening as if the stars could speak and we could decipher their words.

I heard them.

I know it sounds irrational, like a consequence of being caught up in the emotions of a significant occasion, but I swear there was a promise somewhere in those points of light. And when it reached me, my breath hitched. Inspiration swelled like a wayward seed taking root in my chest, and the feelings which bloomed from it swept over in waves: first awe, then determination, then resolve.

On that serene night filled with cricket song, I’d become convinced our names would one day be written in stellar ink on that astral tapestry...that the stories of our past, our present, our future--the stories of us--were destined to be immortalized there.

Someday, someone would know our names. They would recount all we’d done and all we’d achieved, and those tales would inflame the heartbeat of generations treading the footprints we left behind.

Staring off unblinking beyond the horizon, I’d never been more convinced than then that it mattered, everything we managed to accomplish so far. Our dreams were admittedly absurd, our desires just as unattainable; even we laughed at them, yet...here, two men from Tama, stood together in samurai dressage on Kyoto soil, bathed in starlight and moonbeams and purpose.

It mattered. We mattered. A difference had already been made and this was only just the beginning.

That’s when Toshi spoke.

“Everything’s changed so much.” It was the tone he reserved for me--soft, like the silver glow spilling over us from the sky. “And it’ll keep changing.”

Foreigners arriving on boats of unthinkable scale, political unrest shaking up peace that lasted centuries, the pardoning of convicts to inflate the ranks, and farmers--farmers!--serving the Bakufu...indeed, this was a different age with different rules.

Still, there were some constants that would never yield, no matter how much the times did. I closed my eyes for a moment and my mouth eased into a smile.

A pointer finger raised to trace along Toshi’s pinky and then my hand slipped over to take his. Our digits entwined and I held on tightly without looking at him. “Some things never will.”

He exhaled shortly and in the peripheral, I saw him nod. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.” A beat followed the breathy reply and his tone reclaimed its vitality. “Right now, what we need to think about most is making a name for ourselves here.”

I hummed in agreement.

“And once we do that...” His grasp suddenly tightened to surpass mine.

At last, I faced him. His chin remained elevated, his eyes rife with fervor and still pointed toward the stars. “I swear I’ll make you this country’s most exalted samurai.” Toshi’s dark lashes fell in a prolonged blink and when they parted again, he gazed toward the garden and his voice diminished back to a whisper. “That’s why I’m here.”

Silence followed, but the strength with which our hands stayed clasped never lessened.

And my mind, it was running rampant, wondering how any verbal response could possibly follow that caliber of selflessness, of boundless dedication...how the intensity of his grip could say so much without saying anything at all.

I could hear what he left unspoken, just as I heard the stars.

But when it came my turn to speak, I once more was left humbled by how little I was able. I’d never found the words to accurately express what I harbored for him, despite all the years we’d spent at each other’s sides chasing the same wild dream. We were closer than ever now to achieving it and still, he deemed it necessary to assert that he put me before anything else.

I knew. I knew how he felt, and I wanted to believe he knew my regard mirrored his in equal.

I wanted to return that sentiment, that reassurance tenfold. I wanted to convey how deep my affection ran, that my adoration for him was just as unfathomable, that it was love, yes, but so much more. I wanted him to know that it wasn’t about my victory, but both of ours--because no matter how far I might sail on the vast ocean of destiny, it was his fate to be right at my side.

Language was too empty for that though, and my voice nowhere near passionate enough. So, I resorted to what I always did when I was unsure. I said his name.

“Toshi.”

The moment he turned to me, I became aware of how openly I wore my heart; taken aback, his eyes widened when they met mine and I watched as they instantly softened from there. He hadn’t expected what he saw, the blotches of faint pink staining their way across his face confirming that and how he attempted to avert his attention, just to have it return to me.

I nodded once, reached up to brush his bangs aside, and everything slowed to a pause.

The vastly changing world, the state of our own country, the Serizawa-Niimi migraines, the dilemma of proving our worth here and creating that ever-enduring name...all of it faded away when my lips touched Toshi’s.

It was chaste and controlled, the kiss; I tilted my head and his spine stiffened. But it was also rife with meaning I couldn’t articulate otherwise, and long enough only for me to make a single wish.

Please understand what I’m saying.

Then, I pulled back.

We were outside, after all. Middle of the night or not, there were eleven others here beside us and that was without counting Yagi-san and his family.

“Sorry.” I spoke first, not allowing him the opportunity to chastise me for kissing him publicly, even if I deserved it. My gaze was trained on the dark porch planks contrasting with our bare feet and another smile began inching its way upward when I imagined he would scold me anyway.

As I sought out his face again though, the irritation I anticipated was absent and in its place, something else: his eyes were determined, filled with a longing desire I’d come to know all too well--and more yet. Toshi’s other hand raised, his fingertips clearly intent to seek purchase on my cheek and he leaned back toward me.

A stiff tug denied him and I pivoted, starting for the open shoji. “Inside.”

He remained cemented in place, however, speechless while our arms extended from a distance that I found utterly unacceptable at this point. “You’re...unfair.”

“Sometimes,” I breathed, and pulled again to coax him into following.

“Kat-chan, the tray--”

--could wait. I never left my belongings about, but right now, the necessity of putting my hands on him and having his on me was greater than worrying about leaving dishware on the porch for a short while. Hours separated sunrise from this moment and the teapot would surely forgive me.

“Later.”

For once, Toshi relented and it wasn’t long after when his hair fell around me and all I could smell and touch and taste and know was him.

~

Raised as a farmer’s son, it was in my nature to wake early--but the crash and shout were what had me jolting into awareness before dawn that day.

“Kya!”

Heisuke. Unmistakably.

My eyes went as wide as Toshi’s, both of us lying on our sides with the sleep not so gently rattled out of our heads. We stared at each other in half-dazed quietude while the tirade of grumbling began outside the closed shoji.

“Who the hell’s leavin’ their dishes around so I can trip! Aghh, it’s too early for this, ughh--” A long yawn followed and from the subsequent sounds, it seemed Heisuke had begun to collect the items and rearrange them back on the tray.

He was in apparent need of some more self-sympathy as he did so however, since he went right back to talking to himself. In any case, it provided some insight to why he was so irascible, aside from it being too early an hour.

“Drink up, Heisuke. Let’s have fun, Heisuke. It’s only one jug, Heisuke. Yeahhh, cause you dumbasses didn’t have kitchen duty today and I forgot.”

Taking his leave, his voice became progressively distant the further his heavy footsteps carried him off. “Stupid Sano, stupid Shinpat-san, frickin’ good-for-nothings. Just wait until it’s their turn...”

At last, the complaints tapered back into silence and though I genuinely felt bad for the inconvenience, I could no longer suppress the amusement I’d kept at bay.

With a dramatic groan, Toshi threw an arm over his head and immediately slid it back down to the small space between us. His lashes fell and his brows pulled inward. “I told you.”

“You did,” I agreed, willfully accepting the admonishment. “Sorry.” Exhaling through my nose, I brushed the stray locks he’d disturbed out of his face and tucked them behind his exposed ear. “I got a bit preoccupied last night, though.”

This earned me a tiny smile and Toshi’s eyes opened again. He reached to clasp my hand, then drew it firmly against his chest. After a few moments, he pressed my palm even tighter to him and his mouth relaxed. “Ne, Kondo-sensei...”

Whenever the formal title came out, I knew he was about to start talking business. “Mm...”

“When you’re a daimyo and surrounded by servants and admirers, no one will complain about you leaving your dishes out.”

I pulled away just enough to turn the underside of my hand toward his so we could entangle our fingers as we did last night--and that was when they hit, the right combination of words which had for so long evaded me.

“Toshi-san...” I continued the playful etiquette and paused, falling serious and shifting my attention briefly to the latticing of our digits. “If I become a daimyo--”

“When,” he interjected with a half growl.

“When I become a daimyo,” I corrected myself, apparently much to his liking, “I intend to take care of my own dishes.” To that, he raised a brow. “But more importantly...” My thumb stroked against his. “I’ll still be waking up next to you.”

It was simple and plain, and completely lacking in the embellishments expected upon informing someone that they were the one. However, it was also a promise, and one I meant with everything I was.

Toshi stayed quiet and as the next seconds slipped away, we simply looked into each other’s eyes while I wondered if I’d been wrong to feel such confidence after all. Then, the makings of a smile suddenly hinted on his lips and he slowly leaned across the futon.

I didn’t stop him that time, didn’t pause to brush his long hair out of the way when the kiss deepened, didn’t say a damn thing when he shoved me on my back and straddled my hips.

But my body talked, and an excess of vows cascaded to unnecessarily reassure him the way his grasp had done the same for me last night.

I know you know. But I promise, I promise, I promise, I swear.

And when dawn broke into the first sparkle of sunlight at the horizon, I was sure that Toshi finally heard what I’d been trying to say all along.

I had no idea what forever was--but he and I were it.

[threadsketchier]

Love Thy Enemy: don’t look back [Pt. 2]

Today in: Let’s see if I can break Tumblr with the sheer length of this post

So after asking around last week, I hunkered down and managed to get myself to finish the very last section so that I can post this monstrosity all at once.  Yes, it’s ridiculously long, but it does flow better as one continuous part and...at least it ends on a slightly less awful cliffhanger?  Slightly.

BUCKLE UP, BISHES, SOMEBODY’S GONNA CRY and that somebody is me *sobs*

Tag-a-palooza for all the peeps who want to be kept updated: @recklessprudence @monsterquill @mythaster @giantnerdsnake @spooky-spaghetties @nattens-dronning @skywalker-saga @luke-shywalker @butlericfy

MUSIC: “Cybertronics,” John Williams, A. I.: Artificial Intelligence // “Alicia Discovers Nash’s Dark World,” James Horner, A Beautiful Mind

“Commander, we can’t in good conscience debrief you in this condition,” Mon Mothma declared softly, her already weary face blanching at the sight of Luke the moment he’d walked in the room.

“Then don’t consider this a debriefing.”  The edge of the holotable bit into Luke’s thighs as he leaned against it for support.  It was fitting, he thought sadly, that it stood between him and the Alliance leadership, physically separating him from them.  The room was even more packed than it had been for the briefing before the battle, non-essential personnel having invited themselves along for the spectacle.  No one had the motivation to shut them out.  He’d never felt so lonely in a crowd since the party after the medal ceremony on Yavin 4.  “I’m here to speak on my father’s behalf.”

Present via hologram, General Dodonna interjected, in a tone that brooked anything but disagreement, “For all our sakes, I highly suggest that you see to yourself first, Commander, as Vader’s compliance is surely dependent on the continued health of his morality pet.”

Indignation blazed forth from his core into his limbs and face with all the fury of a solar flare, but Luke held back from releasing it; his anger was valid but their reactions were expected.  There would be no welcome for an enemy above all enemies, save for the Emperor himself.

Unless, of course, he was useful.

Lifting his chin defiantly, Luke replied, “I guess it would be, considering that he killed the Emperor himself to save my life.”

A heavy quiet descended upon the chamber, broken only by the faint static of the holograms.  “The Emperor was already dead before - ?” Mothma began to ask.

“Yes.  I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for him.”

“Just barely,” General Madine muttered with an unimpressed scowl.

Luke let his nostrils flare as he exhaled, displaying that much of his frustration, but he knew he would win no one with open belligerence.  His superiors were still his allies, still his people, as much as they couldn’t begin to comprehend what he’d witnessed and felt.

Briefly, he locked eyes with Mothma and the hologram of General Rieekan, and was both encouraged and somewhat ashamed by the sympathy he found there.  Now, he could see, they understood the change he’d undergone after Bespin, and why he’d been so reluctant and fearful to speak of it.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he directed at the two of them.  “By omission, at least.  I would’ve been compromised, and...I didn’t even want to believe it when he told me.  It took me a long time to accept it.”

“And what exactly prompted that acceptance, Commander?” Ackbar asked.  “When you returned from your encounter less a hand and, if I may be frank, some of your sanity?  You owed him nothing.  He forfeited any claim on you the moment he took up the mantle of a Dark Lord.”  The genuine curiosity and defensiveness in his grating voice softened the otherwise insensitive query.

Luke answered with a question of his own.  “Do any of you remember Anakin Skywalker?”  When no response was immediately forthcoming, he pressed, “Some of you must.  Tell me what you knew of him.”

He watched Ackbar and Mothma exchange a look with each other before the admiral reluctantly offered, “I fought alongside him in the Battle of Mon Cala, in defense of the crown prince and against the Separatists.  General Skywalker was one of the most courageous and brilliant Jedi of the last age, if at times a bit unorthodox.  It...was an honor to serve with him.”

Mothma was pensive before giving her own testimony.  “I would be remiss to say that I knew him well, but he...often worked closely with my fellow associate, Senator Amidala.  As accomplished a warrior as he was, he was also greatly compassionate, dedicated to helping anyone in need, beyond the boundaries of his orders.  Loyalty and selflessness were some of his strongest traits.”  A faint smile touched her lips, and she regarded Luke with admiration.  “In that sense, I would say you are very much your father’s son.”

Luke bowed his head, his grip on the holotable tightening as his throat closed and his eyes filled.  When he could bring himself to look up at them again, he said, “Then we all need to ask ourselves: what drove this man to evil?  What went wrong?  He was a man like us, a good man who fought for what was right, a man who loved.”  His voice rose as his convictions strengthened.  “Because he loved, I exist, and I’m still here after facing the Emperor, and he no longer has to call anyone ‘Master.’”

Quickly he realized how that last statement probably didn’t follow for everyone else present, so he elaborated, “This is why I’m here.  I’m going to be out of commission for days, at least, and I won’t know what’s going on and what you’ll ask of my father in the meantime.”  An estimate of days was being optimistic.  Even with bacta, for the burns alone he would surely be sedated, and with the additional nerve damage and prosthetic replacement it would probably be a good couple of weeks before anyone would even consider allowing him out of sick bay.

Sweat was trickling down past his temples, uncontrollable tremors that had started in his legs were working their way up his back and into his arms, and his heart was pounding hard enough to sicken him.  Despite the power Anakin had lent him to keep him afloat, there was a distant, creeping sense of wrongness that denoted his body was failing him.  But he’d already come this far, and this was his last chance to say anything in his father’s defense.

His reasoning raised many eyebrows, but Luke continued, “I know how much of an asset he’ll be to you, and I don’t think he’ll refuse you anything.  He’s not…”  He trailed off, struggling to conceive of how to describe Anakin’s mindset.  The will to serve was there, but the will to live…

“He intended to die aboard the Death Star.  All he wanted was to see me off safely.”

Luke let that sink in, giving his audience time to consider his words and silently deliberate amongst themselves.  After half a minute Rieekan replied, “We can’t discount General Skywalker’s merits, or the fact that he disposed of the Emperor, but neither can we ignore his crimes as Darth Vader.  He was a traitor to his own brethren and helped exterminate them himself, to say nothing of what he’s done to enforce the Empire’s brutality.  This is a difficult situation that can’t be resolved in a day, let alone a few minutes.  But if you’re concerned that we would hold a tribunal in your absence, Commander, rest assured we’re not about to repay Vader in kind as he would have once dealt with us, much as many here would prefer it.”

That reassurance, while deeply appreciated, was still not exactly what Luke was seeking.  He turned his gaze aside to Madine.  “General...how many lives did you take in the Empire before you defected?  How many lives will you need to save and liberate through the Alliance before you’ve repaid your debts?”

Madine’s jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened, but he knew he was being asked a pointed rhetorical question.  Luke shook his head minutely, fingers digging into the holotable’s casing at the threat of dizziness the movement caused.  “It’s not that simple, is it?  That’s not how this works.

“For all the vile things he’s done, my father has also suffered greatly, even before he became a Jedi or a Sith.”  For a moment Luke hesitated, knowing how shameful it was to expose something this private and painful, but it had never been Anakin’s fault.  The shame lay upon the perpetrators and anyone who turned a blind eye to their trade.  “He was once a slave, as a child.  That’s something you don’t forget, or don’t easily unlearn.  Sometimes even when the chains are broken, they leave marks behind.  Or they’re never really broken at all.”

Mothma’s countenance was stricken, and the other members of High Command all glanced at each other or frowned in various degrees of surprise and discomfort.  The thought of the Jedi Order’s greatest champion coming from such lowly and troubled circumstances was obviously unknown and scandalous.

“When he killed the Emperor, he not only spared me, he also freed himself.  I don’t yet know what led him to the Dark Side, but I don’t think his heart’s been in it all these years, not fully.  I know that may sound trite considering everything he’s done, but if he was truly that far gone, he wouldn’t have made the right choice in the end.”  Luke stared intently at Dodonna.  “My teachers prepared me to kill him by withholding the truth of his identity.”

“General Kenobi?” Rieekan asked skeptically.

“Yes, and...Yoda.”  Luke had to remind himself that he could say that name aloud now, and that he would never think of him as Master again either, as much as he still respected both of his mentors.  He flashed a brittle, shaky smile.  “It’s pretty ironic that Vader wasn’t the one who lied to me.”

“Be that as it may,” Dodonna insisted, “there are countless other beings, many among us, who have endured such indignities and injustices without inflicting them upon others in gross vengeance.  This is no excuse, Commander.”

“No, it’s not.  In fact, my father would agree with you.  He would want justice enacted upon him, since he didn’t find it at my hand.”  Luke swept his eyes across every face in his view, not only those of High Command, but anyone else in his periphery.  “But tell me, all of you, how much more suffering will repair anything he’s done?  He’s already been in a prison of his own body for over twenty years.  You can kill him, but it won’t bring back a single life he took.  You can shut him up in a cell - if you can find one you think will hold him - and let him rot there, but what kind of hope is that?”

Carefully he pivoted to address some of those gathered behind him.  “Isn’t that what we’re fighting for?  Not just to destroy something terrible, but to heal the galaxy we’re breaking apart to free?  If Anakin Skywalker can come back from a place no one believed he ever could, why not let him be restored too?”

“Luke!”

Han rounded the last corner and sprinted down the corridor as far as he could go before hitting a sea of bodies blocking the doorway to the war room, then elbowed his way through them until he could finally see inside and bellowed, “Luke!”

The young man’s slight figure was almost lost in a massive swath of black fabric that looked like he’d stolen the Emperor’s draperies.  Flinching, startled at the shout, Luke whipped his head around and swayed drunkenly; when their eyes met he was starkly afraid for a fraction of a second, but then he smiled that beautiful, unabashed smile he’d given so freely as a greenhorn farmboy - that smile that had walked away from Han on Hoth, before it all went to hell.

He barely felt Leia bump into his back, too transfixed in horror at seeing what state Luke was left in.  His face was ashen and bisected with a vivid, branching red burn that traveled down his neck into his collar, and even at a distance it was obvious that his bionic hand was damaged, the fingers gnarled and locked into an unnatural position.

Still grinning, Luke made a move as if to come up to meet them, but his step faltered and he had to remain clinging to the holotable.  Like a human battering ram Han barreled his way down the steps to the pit, but as he reached out Luke was the one who grabbed him first in a fierce hug, the heavy black cloth falling away from him.  Burying his face in Han’s shoulder, Luke whispered roughly, “Glad you could make it.”

“Luke, what the hell is this?  What are you doing here?”  He could feel Luke trembling and his cheek was cold and clammy where it touched his neck.  “Vader’s not worth your time or your life!”

Luke pulled back just enough to look him in the eye and said wryly, “Nice to see you too, Han.”

“As charming as this reunion is,” Ackbar interrupted, “we requested Princess Leia’s presence here as a member of our council.  Commander Skywalker, if you would give a brief summary of your argument?  And I emphasize, brief.”

Apart from his shaking, Luke went very still in Han’s arms, staring at Leia over his shoulder.  Han turned around just enough to have them both in his sight.  Leia’s eyes were wide and her face nearly as pale as Luke’s, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

“Leia…” Luke rasped.  “I’m...I’m so sorry.”

Slowly, very slowly, Leia shook her head and lifted her arms as if to take her own turn embracing him, evidently not paying a shred of attention to her fellow council members or the rest of the crowd; brother and sister were in their own little world clouded in relief and sorrow.

Abruptly Han was keenly aware of Luke’s jagged, labored breathing, and how he was going limp in his grasp.  Alarmed, Han glanced at him and saw that his eyes were too glassy, too unfocused, his lips colorless.  There was a moment of lucid recognition, a rueful twist of his mouth, and then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he crumpled.

Gasps and soft exclamations of dismay rippled around the war room as Han quickly but gently lowered Luke to the floor on top of the pooled black cape, along with one loud shout of, “Clear a path, people!” and rapid footfalls down the stairs.

As soon as Luke was flat on his back, Han’s blood froze; he’d seen more than enough dead guys to know what agonal respiration looked like.

“Shit,” he breathed.  “Shit.”

“Your attention is unnecessary.”

The rangy young woman with plain, bird-like features and far too many lines around her eyes for someone her age scowled up into Anakin’s mask.  “Trust me, Lord Vader, we don’t need more motivation not to treat you.”

The medic had accompanied him to the brig - apparently leaving him in sick bay near the most vulnerable members of the Rebellion had been too unseemly a notion, and Anakin was not about to argue with them.  He was not in any pain he did not regularly experience, and there was no immediate need to have his full mobility restored.  Impatience and resentment simmered beneath his indifference at being examined while his son should have been the one already receiving care.

“Without access to my records, this is an exercise in futility - ”

“Quiet!” the woman snapped, and Anakin complied with a mixture of irritable amusement that she had the spine to do so.  The tension in her frame betrayed her nervousness at having been assigned such a daunting task, but she was otherwise beyond caring.  With a loud exasperated sigh she gave up and dropped her medisensor to make some adjustments, as she’d realized that its standard settings were not going to penetrate his armor and suit.

Beneath the mask Anakin allowed himself a smug half-smile; he could have made that suggestion earlier, but that would make things easier, of course.

Bringing the medisensor back up, she began a slow sweep of his forearm stump, then stalled.  The frown knitting her brows gradually shifted from anger to confusion, then to disbelief and a dawning horror as the device’s readout picked up more results from his upper arm and torso, well beyond her focus.

“This...these prosthetics…”  Her eyes kept darting back and forth between him and the medisensor’s screen.  “The quality is deplorable.  Where are the sensory…?  The wiring…”  She was actually beginning to look more upset for his sake rather than at him.  Almost scoffing incredulously, she added, “You have active necrosis.”

“A regular inconvenience.  I am...somewhat overdue for a debridement.”

“For injuries of this age?” she asked, outraged.  “How are you…?”  Stunned into silence, she stared straight into his lenses for a good minute before taking a step back and covering her mouth with a hand.  After several more moments of livid contemplation she crossed her arms and said, “You weren’t weighed, but I’d venture you’re close to or more than 130 kilos, from your size and all this nonsense.”  She waved a hand to indicate his armor.  “With your remaining bone density, I don’t know how you still manage to stand, let alone be a sentient weapon of mass destruction.  Or how you’re not already septic.  What’s holding you together, space tape and spite?”

A grin pulled at the scar tissue across his jaw and cheekbones.  “You are mostly correct, Lieutenant.”

“Who authorized these augmentations?  Did you?”

“...No.”  My master, he almost said, until he remembered himself.  “The Emperor...oversaw my reconstruction and maintenance.”

There was an utter lack of surprise at that statement, and he was expecting satisfaction that he had suffered the consequences for his hubris and reprehensible acts.  But there was only a vacant disappointment and perhaps a morbid wonder at his pathetic existence.  Her tired eyes were drawn to his chest, no doubt to the blinking control panel, and she held up the medisensor one last time, fixing it over his core.

He had killed men for catching even the barest glimpse of him unarmored or wounded; only a select few had ever been allowed to see him at his lowest - although he could hardly think of it as a choice when a contingent of the Emperor’s own Royal Guards had been stationed at his wretched abode on Mustafar.  But he no longer felt offense at this intimate scrutiny.  It told her all that she, that they, needed to know.

This token of charity was pointless.

“It would be a mercy to end your life,” she declared softly.  Sadly, almost.

Reaching out with his left hand, he touched the edge of the medisensor, avoiding her fingers, but there was still the slightest hint of a flinch.  He pushed her arm down gently, away from him.  “Yes.  It would be,” he agreed.

There was someone, however, who would very much object to that.

His mother and Padmé he had loved, but he had walked away from the former to grant her heart’s desire and sold his soul for the latter in a misguided bid to keep her alive.  Obi-Wan...he had also loved, and never measured up to.  Ahsoka had left him behind in her grief, and when she had returned, it was too late.  Palpatine - Sidious - had been a dear friend, a kindly grandfather and trusted confidant, until he’d shed his skin and shown himself for the viper he truly was.  But his life had always in some measure been defined by service, both willing and unwilling.  Everyone looked for something to their advantage.

Then came Luke.  Luke, burning bright in his defiance and audacious faith.  Luke, who understood.  Luke, who deserved the stars when all he could give him was ash and regrets, but insisted on treasuring him.

For his son, he had to live.  In truth, it was anything but merciful, to continue existing in a galaxy he’d oppressed just as he himself had once been.  That should have assuaged his guilt somewhat.  Yet living untethered from pretense and appeasement was a challenge he almost couldn’t quantify.

He had wanted his lost child more than anything.  Now that he had him, to the fullest extent possible...he didn’t know what to do about that.

“There are more pressing needs than this,” Anakin said, breaking the morose silence between them.  “Including my son.  If you rejoin your partner, perhaps the two of you may succeed in dragging him away from his grandstanding.”

The lieutenant’s mouth twitched upwards, reluctant to be amused at his sarcasm but unable to suppress it entirely.  “Nothing a shot of void milk can’t do,” she replied.  With more uncertainty, she studied her medisensor one last time before shutting it off.  “I’ll...put in a recommendation for a full assessment - ”

And then he felt it, a sickening snap at the back of his mind like a severed tendon.  Momentarily stunned,  Anakin reached for the familiar warmth of Luke’s presence and found only a cold hollow.

“No…” he moaned aloud, lurching blindly to his feet.  “No!”  If only the stubborn boy had listened to him, if only he’d listened -

“Vader!”  Eyes wild with fear, the medic jumped back away from him, hand instinctively closing around her small defensive sidearm but not drawing it; surely she knew how useless it would be against him.  He made a fist and the door to the cell buckled like flimsi, sparks flying from the outer control panel.

In sheer desperation the woman screamed, “Anakin!”

Amidst blaring alarms and approaching shouts, he stopped and looked aside at her.  A separate emergency alert shrieked from her comlink, no doubt coming from the war room, but she made no move to respond or silence it.  Even through his garish lenses he could tell she was pallid with terror and shaking, yet she summoned the will to ask, “What can you possibly do?”

Padmé’s and his mother’s cries echoed from the deep well of memory.  Nothing was the only true answer.  Sidious’s tantalizing promise had been a cruel lie, and in this regard the Force could do no miracles, not even wielded in virtue.

“Be with him,” Anakin growled, seizing her by the wrist, and stormed out into the corridor.

Han didn’t even bother checking for a pulse; in an instant he had his vibroblade out, though not switched on, and was roughly tugging Luke’s tunic free of his belt and trousers to cut the garment open and leave his chest exposed.

As soon as he’d done so, Han almost wished he hadn’t.

Lacy patterns like river deltas viewed from the sky crisscrossed Luke’s skin in colors ranging from deep pinks and reds to yellow-purple, spattered with blisters and the charred spots of entrance and exit wounds.  Not even the scan grid at Cloud City had left behind injuries like this.

A solid thunk landing next to him shook Han out of his stupor, and he found Leia staring back at him not only with a mixture of shock and fear, but pure indignation, as if she was outraged by the very thought that Luke would dare die so soon after coming back to them.

Of course, if anyone could scare the life back into the dead, it would have to be Leia Organa.

From across the room Mon Mothma’s voice suddenly rang out in sharp reproof, “Everyone, back to your stations!  This is not an exhibition!”  Over the organized thunder of the crowd’s footsteps quickly exiting the scene she added, “General Dodonna, General Rieekan, you’re dismissed.  We’ll reconvene later.”  With terse, solemn nods their two holograms dissipated.

Beside Han, the medic who had arrived already had her medpac mostly broken down in seconds.  She was a sturdy, middle-aged woman with hyperspace streaks of silver shot through her black hair and an air of exasperation beneath her professional calm.  If she’d been standing nearby the entire time - and no doubt that she had, for her to appear instantly - she must have been terribly impatient with Luke’s stalling.  Now she had her work cut out for her.

“Lift him,” she ordered, and Han grabbed Luke’s right shoulder and arm while Leia took his left side, and together they hoisted his upper body off the floor long enough for the medic to secure a broad padded band around his chest and back.  With a few taps on its flat front interface, it abruptly cinched itself tight around Luke and began to constrict at a rapid pace, administering compressions.  Not waiting for the medic to begin securing his airway, Leia already had Luke’s head tilted back and was timing herself against the band to deliver rescue breaths.

“Where’s your pit crew?” Han asked, desperate to assist but knowing he was mostly out of his depth here.  “And what’s your name, Captain?”

“We’re short-staffed.  First ship the Death Star took out was the Redemption.  And it’s Rialo.”  Digging her defibrillator from the medpac, she split apart the small clamshell-shaped device and pressed its two halves down onto Luke’s chest, straddling the compression band.  “Both of you will want to get clear here in a second.”

Leia sat back on her haunches and shouted at the remainder of High Command, “Why did you allow him to speak like this?  He should have been - ”

“As opposed as we were to this situation, far be it from us to deny anyone a fair hearing,” Mothma countered firmly.  “Or would you have preferred that we silence him by force against his will?  Recall, Leia, that you delayed your own medical assessment before the briefing at Yavin 4.”

Leia fell momentarily speechless that Mothma would throw that back in her face.  When she recovered her wits she retorted, “You can’t compare - ”

The defibrillator beeped loudly and fired, interrupting them, and Han held his breath.

Don’t do this, Luke.  C’mon, gimme a sign here!

Luke’s body slackened after the shock, and remained as still as ever around the band’s relentless motion.

Off in the distance Han could hear the piercing wail of alarms, and a red alert suddenly blazed from the holotable; a taut voice over the PA system announced a prison break, something about Vader being on the loose, and all Han could manage to think was now that wasn’t news, of course nothing could keep the Empire’s hellhound penned up for long.  None of the chaos touched him, nothing but Leia’s silent, seething despair as she had to watch the last of her family fade away before her eyes.

“Your Highness, General,” Rialo implored, rousing them from their miserable reverie, “are either of you versed in any degree of emergency aid?  Because he could use less arguing and more help until my support arrives.”

Basic field aid had been a part of his training as an Imperial cadet another lifetime ago, but the kind of medical knowledge Han was more familiar with was the back alley sort - enough to keep one going after a close scrape until a real doc, legal or not, could be reached.  Even so, as he saw Rialo pulling a bag valve mask and oxygen concentrator from her medpac, he knew that securing Luke’s airway was the next priority, so he whipped off his vest and rolled it to serve as a makeshift pillow beneath the curve of Luke’s neck.  Taking his cue, Leia tucked some of the black cloth beneath him under his shoulders.  It occurred to Han that while whatever they were doing seemed paltry, any contribution kept them functionally distracted from their grief and anger, something that was likely deliberate on Rialo’s part.

The defib gave its next warning alert and discharged.  Again, there was no obvious effect; Han realized the flat tone that came afterwards signaled failure and another recharge.  With a gesture for them to move aside, Rialo took Leia’s place at Luke’s head to begin ventilating him, wrapping a broad hand around his jaw to lift it in place before she sealed the mask against his face and began depressing the bag.

When Han bothered to cast his gaze around the room again, he saw that Madine was gone.  Mothma had probably delegated him to rounding up Vader, as futile as that was.  Han’s fists tightened until his knuckles creaked.  Let Vader come, he thought, I’ll die trying to rip that exhaust grill off his face with my own bare hands.

It took thirty seconds for a compact defib to reset.  Thirty seconds that felt like eternity.  Han glared down at Luke, lifeless and blue, tears stinging his eyes.

No, Luke.  You don’t get to do this to us.  You don’t come back and waste your last breath on that scum-sucking scrap heap.

Again the defib sounded, preparing to fire a third shock.  Protected by insulated gloves, Rialo had no need to release her hold on Luke and step back.  Although she showed no indication of giving up yet, there was already resignation in her dark eyes from all her years of experience.

Han’s fingers found Leia’s and twined with them.  You made Leia cry, you know that?  You’ve gotta pay for that.  And you’re sure as hell not doing it again.

Again Luke’s chest convulsed, and Han felt as if his own heart stopped along with his.

It wasn’t fair.  From his childhood Han had already concluded this about the universe, and yet somehow it never failed to disappoint him all over again.  It wasn’t fair for Vader to live and Luke to die.

This time the defib issued a high double-tone, its indicator lights winking from blue to red, and Rialo’s eyebrows lifted slightly in optimism.  “Did...did it work?” Han asked, almost in a whisper, as if daring to hope would chase away the possibility.

Abruptly the compression band halted and loosened of its own accord, and Han noticed the red light on the defib blinking in a pattern, unsteady at first but easing into a quick and regular rhythm, that matched the pulse oximeter clipped to Luke’s finger.  His eyes remained closed but his chest began to move with an awkward, shallow heaving not in tandem with the careful ventilation Rialo was still managing as he started to breathe on his own.

Immediately Han sagged onto his backside, shaky and exhausted with relief.  Clumsily he wrapped an arm around Leia and hugged her tightly against him.

With a rustle of robes Mothma approached, also dropping to her knees and casting a somber gaze over Luke.  She reached out to grasp Leia’s shoulder, and for a moment Han thought Leia would shrug or push her away in anger, but she allowed the touch, and Mothma rubbed her back in gentle reassurance.  Behind them all stood Ackbar leaning against the holotable, looking grieved and worn with stress.

“I suppose I should have expected him to pull through,” Rialo remarked with a slight smile, obviously trying to lift the mood.  “He’s a Skywalker, after all.”

Loud footsteps resounding like turbolaser cannons approached the war room, and everyone’s heads rose to see Darth Vader standing in one of the doorways, with another breathless and red-faced medic in tow, surrounded by dozens of very distressed Mon Cal crewers, Alliance soldiers, and one infuriated General Madine, all with blasters held ready but otherwise at a loss for what to do.

Mothma raked her eyes up and down Vader’s imposing figure and said, almost to herself, “Like his father before him.”

Han saw a visceral flash in Rialo’s eyes, something haunted and hateful, but she wasn’t about to take any more of her attention away from Luke on whatever she wished to say or do in Vader’s presence.  Beside him he felt Leia stiffen, and all he wanted to do was shield her, send her as far away from Vader as possible, but he knew they were just as helpless as they’d been when the trap was sprung at Cloud City.

Rather absentmindedly Vader let go of the young medic’s wrist; as soon as she was free she nearly collided with the repulsor gurney waiting on standby before stumbling her way down the stairs to join her partner.  Still panting for breath, she muttered, “There isn’t enough alcohol in the galaxy for this day.”

“I know of a few nebulas that might satisfy your need, but you’ll have to distill them yourself,” Rialo replied.  “But that’s for later, Anj.  I need a line started.”

“Right.”  Nodding and clenching her hands to settle herself, Anjylle began pawing through the medpac for IV supplies.

Mothma had risen to her feet and seemed ready to approach Vader, but something seized Han and compelled him to stand in her way and advance on the Dark Lord himself.  It was far too strange, and too perfect an opportunity, to see the armored hulk apparently frozen in indecision and, perhaps, Han hoped, shame.  A pity the mask hid his face.

“How do you like it now,” Han began in a low snarl as he made his way up the steps, until he was close enough to see his own reflection in those bulging lenses.  “You sonavabitch.  How does it feel to almost lose somebody you care about, huh?”

Over Vader’s shoulder Madine was eyeing Han with an urge to caution, surely assuming that one wrong move would set the Sith off and end them all.  Too late - it was all in or nothing.

“Welcome to hell, Vader,” Han hissed, the front of his shirt nearly brushing against the control panel on Vader’s torso.  “Because that’s what we’re gonna make for you.”

Quick as his own draw the black gauntlet shot up and grabbed him by the throat.  Every blaster in the corridor aimed at Vader, but rather than closing his grip and crushing, he merely hurled Han aside into the bulkhead.  Seeing stars and coughing, Han didn’t regret his recklessness one iota; he had his satisfaction at getting the exact rise out of Vader that he’d counted on.

“I assure you, Captain Solo,” Vader rumbled, “I am well acquainted with my home.”

“Lord Vader!” Ackbar exclaimed from inside the war room.  “Or should I say...General Skywalker.”

Madine and another soldier helped Han back to his feet, and he glowered at the side of Vader’s helmet as if he could bore a hole through it with his sheer vision.

“We have accepted your surrender in good faith on Commander Skywalker’s terms,” Ackbar continued frostily, “and while provocation from our forces is neither wise nor helpful, you will do your son no favors with this behavior.  He suffered these injuries in your custody, and we will give him the best care we can afford.”

Han savored the sight of Vader cowed into bitter silence, especially the almost imperceptible drop of his shoulders.  Ackbar would chew him out for his stupidity later, but it was worthwhile.  Shrugging off any further support from Madine, he made his way back down into the pit.  If Vader wanted to hover, then he and Leia would stay even closer, making the ordeal as uncomfortable for the big lunk as possible.

Luke was still pale, but he’d pinked up a little now that he’d been revived.  The bagged mask was replaced by a lightweight, flexible standard breath mask, and he’d been rolled onto his left side in a recovery position.  His bloodshot eyes were open and roving around the room aimlessly, and Leia was stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort to soothe him while Rialo and Anjylle continued tending to him.

When Luke’s eyes fell on Han there was a spark of awareness that made them linger.  Han crouched down and reassured him, “Hey, it’s okay.  You’re gonna be alright.”

Slowly Luke tucked in his chin to peer at the mess of his exposed torso and the equipment still stuck to him.  As he shifted his head back up, the pinky and thumb of his left hand curled together, leaving three fingers straight that he brandished weakly.

Han frowned, not comprehending.  One corner of Luke’s mouth twitched, and from beneath the mask his lips carefully formed the words, Owe you.

Blinking in disbelief, Han shook his head.  Evidently Luke’s brain was working better than his at the moment.  “I ain’t keeping count anymore, kid.”

Leia kept a tight grip on Luke’s left hand as she strode alongside his gurney on their way to sick bay, determined not to leave him until she absolutely had to.  Somewhere far behind them Vader trailed like a shadow; there was really no other place for him to be, since confinement was pointless.

No walls or binders could hold him, but the mere presence of her and Han was enough to keep him at bay, so she could take some small, cold consolation in that.

Luke’s fingers squeezed hers, and he made a soft noise muffled by the breath mask.  “You don’t have to speak anymore, Luke,” she urged him.  “Save your strength and rest.”

“No, Leia,” he insisted, clear enough for her to understand him this time.  When she looked directly at him, the intensity of his gaze constrained her to listen.

“Padmé.  Our mother’s name was Padmé.”

Leia’s steps almost faltered, briefly making her forget that she needed to keep moving to stay with him.  Padmé.  In a galaxy of quadrillions, any name could be repeated, but in her heart Leia knew there could only be one woman who held it and lay behind Luke’s intent.  Senator Amidala, a dear friend and close confidant of both her father and Chancellor Mothma.  The former queen and modern myth of Naboo, the legend and soul of the Alliance and patron of the oppressed.  The tragic heroine and role model she had sought to live up to as a young girl, by her father’s fond and mournful remembrance.  The beautiful, kind, and sad woman of her childhood dreams, veiled in a cloud of shining brown curls and crystalline waves.

And Luke was giving her this as a parting gift, making contingencies as if he anticipated that he wasn’t going to survive.

She wanted to reject it soundly, both on the grounds that Luke would live to tell her anything else she needed to know and the sheer ludicrous notion that Amidala had involved herself with the man who became Darth Vader.  Suddenly the circumstances of her mysterious death grew far more ominous.

Had Vader been the one who killed her?  It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for a man depraved enough to mutilate his own son.

Without their fateful union, she and Luke would have never existed, but all Leia could bring herself to think was, Oh, Padmé, why?  What possessed you?

Han was giving her a quizzical, anxious look.  “Hush, Luke,” Leia replied tersely, “you can tell me everything later.”

“Father...let me see him,” Luke asked.

Han rolled his eyes.  “Kid, you’ve dragged this out long enough.”

“Please.”

A very specific grimace scrunched Han’s face, the one that meant his better judgment was barve-tied and stowed in the Falcon’s smuggling compartments at the mercy of Luke’s plaintive plea.  “Dammit, Luke, make it quick.”

“Sixty seconds or I’m inducing you now,” Anjylle warned him.  Turning, she shouted down the corridor, “Vaderkin, you’re being summoned.”

They slowed to a stop, the infirmary in sight a few dozen meters away.  Still surrounded by an armed escort in a vain show of security - he might as well have been guarded by a fleet of mouse droids - Vader approached their group with a swift gait that managed to have none of the arrogant menace he usually conveyed.

As soon as he came in sight a smile broke out on Luke’s face, weak but joyful, and Leia felt her skin crawling and her heart breaking for him all at once.  This was probably meant to be a private moment between them but she refused to step aside, as did Han.

Prying his fingers from her grasp, Luke reached up to pull the mask down from his face so that he could speak freely; both Anjylle and Vader immediately tried to grab it, but Luke’s hand wedged itself between them and wrapped around Vader’s, catching and holding it in reassurance.

“Father…”  He gazed steadily into Vader’s mask.  “You saved me.  You saved us both.  Nothing changes that.  Don’t ever forget who you are.”  There was an enigmatic tenderness in his eyes.  “No matter what happens, I’ll always be with you.”

As soon as Luke released Vader’s hand Rialo pulled the breath mask back into place, and she and Anjylle began to jog down the corridor, pushing the repulsor gurney toward the trauma bay.  Watching them, Leia felt as though part of her own body had been ripped away.

For all that she’d tried to silence him, she couldn’t help feeling spurned.  Luke’s last words hadn’t been for her, but for Vader.

She perceived Han’s arm encircling her back and the warmth of his flank, but she was numb - until a single word pierced through the bleak haze.

“Leia.”

Her breath caught in her throat.  Always, always had he called her Princess, Senator, Your Highness.  Never Leia.

How dare he.  How dare he even attempt to lay any claim to her.

The blood was rushing to her face, and Han had to have felt the sudden rigidity in her posture, the tension in every muscle in her body, for he distanced himself slightly, looking down at her in equal measures of outrage and concern.

She turned slowly on one heel and uttered, low and deadly, “Leave us.”  When Han balked and the escort stared back at her in consternation she roared, “Leave us now!”  Without further question every soldier and crewer fled, retreating down the corridor, and Han scrambled away toward the infirmary.

The two of them were left alone, and Leia was no longer afraid.

Anakin realized his mistake the moment his breath and tongue had formed the word and his vocoder amplified it.

He knew better than to believe she would ever accept him as a father, but he could no longer bring himself to think of her as mere royalty or even a worthy adversary.  Her pain now wounded him as deeply as his own.  Now, though, she was a predator catching the blood-laden scent of his weakness.

“Lord Vader,” she announced softly, the words drawn out and dripping with contempt.  Lord of nothing, they emphasized.  Her large eyes were as dark as the abyss.  “How thoughtful of you to show me such...consideration.”

Leia advanced upon him with slow, purposeful steps.  “How considerate you were in my detention cell with a torture droid and your relentless questioning.  How tenderly you held me while I watched as Tarkin destroyed my home.”  Her voice threatened to break, but she swallowed and breathed in sharply, sheer loathing fueling her resolve.  “How kindly you used us to lure Luke and forced me to watch your twisted experiment before you sold Han off to the cesspit of the galaxy.”

In the Force, her wrath burned hotter than the flames that had consumed his body, with all the brilliance of a stellar furnace.  In his rage Luke was a world-devouring tempest, but Leia was a supernova, glorious in her devastation.

Sidious’ words replayed themselves in Anakin’s mind as a taunting sibilance.  Your dear sister...her grief shall stoke her hatred, and oh...she will make an exquisite apprentice.

There was no pride to savor or ambition to entertain in that possibility, only horror.

She had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact - stars, she was even smaller than Padmé - yet the vastness and weight of her presence belied her tiny, fragile form.  Through gritted teeth Leia hissed, “I should kill you where you stand for your presumption.  But no.  No.  If I have to lose my brother, then I’ll make sure you’re here to lose your son.”

And with that she turned and stalked away, both from him and those she loved still somewhere within sick bay, too enraged to be consoled or to contemplate her brother’s fate.

In the agonizing minutes in which Luke’s life had been in question, Anakin had wondered what purpose he would have to continue existing without his son.  He’d barely had time to process the realization that his child had been children, twins, and that of all people his daughter had been Leia.  Now he had his answer.

If for nothing else, he could still live for her as well.  Never to gain her trust or her favor, much less her pardon.  But as long as his ailing vessel would allow him, he would strive to end the war and bring her some measure of peace for all that he’d stolen from her.  It was the least he could do.

Not as a servant, but as a helper, whether she accepted it or not.

[cawhite2018-blog]

Culture Project, 1,000 word blog post

For my culture sensitivity project, I went to Seven Hills Foundation. Seven Hills is an organization open from 9:30-2:30 Monday through Friday for people who are living with disabilities. Each member is given a “home room” they go to the same room with the same people and instructors every day. Some of the members were young adults around my age and some were older, but all were adults. They have a morning portion where they learn about a specific topic, have open discussions and are asked questions by their instructors. To start the day everyone does a lap around the building and can leave the room to take a walk if they need to. It was interesting for me to observe issues arise between the members in the class and see how they were resolved and how each person reacted to it. They may play games to reinforce what they learned. For example, they learned about how to act during a job interview. After they learned about what to do and not to do they played career bingo. Whoever won the round was able to pick a prize from the prize box. One of the group members wanted to give up because he had not won the first two rounds. He ended up winning the last round and got to pick a prize from the prize box. He was excited, and it made me happy to see his reaction of winning and picking a prize. After the morning portion, they have an hour for lunch where they can leave the class and go visit other classes. When they return that have an interactive piece such as learning to cook in the kitchen for an hour and then they come back to the class and they have a “fun” hour, listening to and watching music videos for example. This experience did require me to step out of my comfort zone. When I arrived, I was sitting and waiting to speak to the supervisor a woman approached me and shook my hand and said, “it is so nice to see you again!” Of course, this was someone I had never met before, but I talked with her and it was very refreshing to speak with someone who was so happy in general as well as genuinely happy to be talking with me even though they did not actually know me. In my life I have not spent much time with those living with disabilities, so it was something different for me that I did feel a little uncomfortable about at first. When I was younger, in elementary school, I remember some students who attended school with me that had disabilities. I remember feeling afraid and unsure about them because they could not communicate the way I was used to. I also felt uncomfortable about them because I had not ever interacted with people with disabilities as a young child, so I had no experiences or understanding. As I became older I had more understanding and sympathy towards those living with disabilities but still did not really understand how I could interact with them and what their daily lives would consist of. I learned that many of those who have disabilities are still very self-sufficient. They want to be able to do things on their own and feel good about what they have accomplished. I also learned that although we may think they do not understand the same things those without disabilities understand, they do. It is important to be open and honest with them. Those who I interacted with were genuinely interested in what I was doing there, where I went to school and what I studied. They asked me many questions and seemed to enjoy talking with me about the project and my school. There was one boy in the group who talked to me the whole class about sports. He was very interested in sports and knew many facts about all the different New England teams. It was nice to listen to him and see that he had a serious interest that he was knowledgeable about. By observing this group and interacting with them the stereotype that they need constant attention and help was rejected. Although this is not something I believe in, it is a common stereotype that those with disabilities are not intelligent and do not understand the same things those without disabilities do. This stereotype was also disproven during my time spent with them. Because of my experiences going forward I will be less likely to feel like I need to constantly be helping someone who lives with disabilities. I will also make sure to keep an open mind if I am ever asked to work with or interview someone with disabilities in a professional setting. I would remember that just because someone may have a disability it does not mean they cannot be a good worker and be an important asset to a professional setting. I gained a lot of insight during the assignment. For one, I gained a lot of respect for the instructors who work with the members of Seven Hills. They need to have a lot of patience, empathy, and understanding to work with those who have disabilities. They have to offer a lot of themselves to work in this environment and they should receive a lot of credit. Regarding the members of Seven Hills who have disabilities, I have gained a lot of insight from them as well. They were all so welcoming and kind. They have no inhabitations about approaching me even though I was a stranger, shaking my hand and asking me how I was. They had a lot of interest in me and seemed very happy that I was there and that they were able to meet someone new. Because of that it made me want to approach life and people in the same way. Although they live with disabilities, the members of this community do not know any other way to live so they live their life as their most authentic self and they try to be kind, happy, and friendly. I really admire that and want to be able to be that type of person as well. It made me appreciate my life because was born without disabilities, so I am lucky enough to live my life without any limitations on what I can or cannot do.