#after looking at what I was apparently drawing and writing. Dead Jesus really is Kind Of A Lot as a leitmotif ngl.)

[tka-trashfire]

Love that I (somehow?!) still own some stories I wrote* wayyyy back when I was four years old.

Also love that it was, uh, shit like this?

(* yes, my teacher clearly did the actual writing down of my narration, bless her, because how else would anyone have any idea that that's what this honestly baffling art is apparently supposed to be depicting XD)

[queen-of-weird-girl-nation]

@auroraofthesun1

Diary of a teenage Christian girl

Monday 1st August 2024

Writing late at night so this makes no sense. I’m under the covers in Esther’s bunk bed and she’s drawing me. She draws me much prettier than I am and she says I write her much prettier than she used to. I am truly blessed by the lord for such a good friend.

So here’s what happened when we arrived

Apparently we have a room switch up, after we’d unpacked which was annoying but expected. Camp is apparently always sorta unorganised like that! I’m still with Esther, Praise the Lord on high, but with an entirely different group.

In the group there’s 4 other girls, and my sister isnt here. I don’t really mind though. It’s not that we don’t get along, but me and Darlene aren’t very buddy buddy. We chat but run in different circles, it’s fine. I have 8 siblings, I don’t have to be super close with all of them.

The four girls are : Rachel, Mary, Ruth (not the other Ruth, we have a lot of Ruth’s in our church) and Sarah.

It’s kind of encouraged to talk bad about your roommates. Me and Esther do it a lot, and I know they do it too. It seems ingrained into church culture. I see mom do it, I see the ladies at church do it. Everyone’s a judge.

Like how Mary’s a glutton who probably loves food more than the Lord and Rachel’s a slut who admitted to wearing a certain outfit for male attention and Ruth has a necklace with a crystal on it which she swears is fake but I don’t believe it.

Me and Esther are sinners too, everyone is. I think I am the worst and ye the best, I think that I am so much better but the scum of the earth, I am the best Christian in this room and yet the most unworthy in the eyes of the Lord. Ive done a lot for christ, and so has Esther. Esther fasts. She fasts most of her time, and barely eats. I admire her dedication. I fast a lot too, and supliment never eating with praying. Praying so much. I scream to the Lord. Always

If I’m not thinking about God then what am I thinking of? Picture God and Jesus standing on heaven looking at me and judging me. They see everything and every thought. They KNOW!

But other than that I chatted with my roommates and other than the stuff I mentioned they all seemed great. We went to the sermon, which was powerful.

We spent the first hour thirty minutes singing worship songs and praise. I might have permanent hearing problems sorry Lord that last comment was ungrateful for even if the Lord brings sorrow I will rejoice and rejoice in my suffering suffering suffering. I am not suffering. I have the Lord.

I cried during the sermon, when they talked about how Jesus died for me. The guilt could have crushed me and I felt so happy. Happy that I was feeling the right emotions, guilt. Esther was crying too, and I knew she wouldn’t eat tomorrow. Good for her. I should fast too. I would, praying and fasting and praying and begging to be forgiven. Forgiven for what? The crime of existing.

A couple kids collapsed, sobbing, touched by the spirit. It didn’t happen to me. I felt awful, why didn’t I happen to me. It happened to Rachel and she cried about her parents divorce tainting her. At least she’s self aware. I’ll fall to the ground next time. We’re here for threee weeks.

The sermon was on sacrifice. I remember hearing a similar one when I was 7, the day I knew I would gladly die a martyr. I had my martyrship perfectly planned since I was 7, and with a bit of tweaking I’d made a perfect death.

It would be when I was still young, because it would be more inspiring that way. Id be in a situation of oppression. A shooter would come in to my class room, a big scary atheist who hated Christian’s and wanted us dead. And I wouldn’t hide, and would sing Amazing Grace. I would sing amazing grace while he shot me and my final words would be praising the Lord. I would be loved and adored even in death. I would certainly go to heaven. That was my dream. My greatest wish is to die.

Esther showed me her drawing. She’s a great artist, and drew me adorable . She says I am adorable.

She’s adorable too. I’m gonna sleep now.

Forever the Lords

Grace

[davidmann95]

Thoughts on DC's on time and apparently competently done solicits?

Batman: The Imposter #1: So is this guy cowriting The Batman or not? Looks like the answer is 'not' at this point and this is his consolation prize; if this is based on his scrapped ideas, shame on DC for making this but not an adaptation of Nic Cage Superman.

Arkham City: The Order of the World #1: Less than no interest in the premise but oh my god that creative team and that cover, insta-buy.

Catwoman #36: RAM V WRITING GHOSTMAKER, THIS IS NOT A DRILL

Detective Comics #1044: ...David Lapham is drawing a backup?

I Am Batman #2: Jesus, Coipel's gone already?

Task Force Z #1: Wait, why's Man-Bat here?

Batman: The Long Halloween Special: Utterly shameless on the part of everyone involved.

Catwoman: Lonely City #1: So Black Label's been picking up some de facto subgenres of the kind of stuff it's doing, and is 'older Catwoman after Batman's dead' becoming one of them?

DC Vs. Vampires #1: Not clear what niche this fills when Taylor's still definitely doing DC3sed down the road, and I assume Tynion's involvement will be minimal, so this might be a pass.

EDIT: Anonymous asked: Tynion seems like the main guy on DC Vampires from his newsletter! He was the one who pitched it, then brought Rosenberg on board as co-writer.

This does sound a lot more interesting, I'll check it out after all.

Human Target #1: All about it! I think Smallwood was being rightfully groomed as a big name in the making only to be working on Moon Knight when everything came out about Brian Wood, glad to see him making a comeback. Not that familiar with the characters' comics adventures, but it's a good concept that's a great fit for King and that's before Lex gets involved. The only problem is that my love for the franchise doesn't come from the comics - which means I'll inevitably be disappointed by this being something very different - it comes from the TV show, specifically the best opening credits of all time:

Aquaman/Green Arrow - Deep Target #1: Bonkers pairing but really looking forward to what Thomas will do with it.

Batman: The Audio Adventures Special: Did this podcast start and I heard nothing about it?

Wonder Woman 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular: Very solid lineup of talent, looking forward to this.

Wonder Woman: Historia #1: At last! I'm not the biggest DeConnick fan but I'm very interested in this, even if it's a shame they finally bit the bullet and brought in other artists for the other issues even if the alternative would be waiting another 5 years or thereabouts for Jimenez.

Nubia & The Amazons #1: Was initially very uninterested but realized I was mixing up Stephanie Williams with Stephanie Phillips, I'll definitely check this out.

Wonder Woman: The Adventures of Young Diana Special #1: If you haven't been getting the regular Wonder Woman definitely grab this collection of the backup feature, it's a lot of fun.

Action Comics #1036: THE CREW IS HERE. Clark wearing his regular clothes and not graying seems to confirm Morrison's guy in Superman and The Authority won't be the 'regular' Clark, however that plays out, which is alright with me given it'll likely help that stand alone as a perennial more strongly. Wonder if Janin comes on partway through here.

Batman/Catwoman #8: lol

Justice League #69: Gonna go ahead and be the one with the courage to say this should have been the issue about the League having an orgy, you know Bendis wants it

Superman vs. Lobo #2: Ok, this sounds fun.

Superman: Son of Kal-El #4: Really keeping it ambiguous beyond the basic details, though this really sounds like it's pushing the "bright mirror to Injustice" comparison.

[unbridgeabledistances]

ok i have an inbox full of prompts, but i was making valentine’s day plans & all of a sudden felt very inspired to write some valentine’s day gallavich! featuring uncle mickey, homemade cards and a lot of domestic fluff- i’ll probs have a part two up sometime this week!<3

--

It was a lazy, slow-paced Sunday afternoon at the Gallagher house. Mickey had been lying on the couch passively watching trashy reality TV for god knows how long—and apparently at some point he’d fallen asleep, because now the TV volume was just a low hum, and he was being woken up to the startling crash of the kitchen back door slamming shut, and the rustling of shoes and coats being taken off and discarded by the front door.

“Alright Franny, let’s set this stuff up on the kitchen table.” Mickey heard Ian’s voice sail across the room, his eyes still closed to block out the cheery sunshine teeming in the living room.

Mickey tried to doze off again, attempting to block out the bright light infiltrating his eyelids, but it was no use— whatever Ian and Franny were doing, murmuring and clanging in the kitchen, there was no way for Mickey to escape the sound now and drift back into his sunwarmed sleep. He begrudgingly shoved the scratchy crocheted blanket off of his lap, stretching as he rose and stumbled into the kitchen.

He wasn’t expecting the carnage that he saw when he turned the corner; the kitchen table was covered in an explosion of sheets of multicolored construction paper, all reds and pinks and whites, with tiny multicolored stickers and tubes of glitter and shiny ribbons arranged and spread wide across the countertop, scattered with glue sticks and pairs of scissors and an exploded box of crayons. There was a small mountain of cut-out hearts piled high on the table, smattered with glitter-glue and blocky handwriting.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking in the scene. “What’re you two Picassos up to?” he asked drowsily.

Ian looked up, his eyes light. “Look who’s awake!” He gestured at the table emphatically, like it was Christmas morning. “Isn’t it great? Me and Franny grabbed all this stuff at the dollar store for less than ten bucks. The glue sticks definitely kind of suck, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Mickeys eyes scanned to Franny, who was hard at work trying to cut a shape out of a piece of red construction paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. Ian kept chattering on as he unwrapped another sheath of the paper.

“Debbie left Franny with me since some rich lady called her with a weekend handywoman emergency that popped up at the last minute, so now I’m helping Franny make her valentines for school.”

Mickey scoffed. “Fucking valentines?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he contentedly started to glue together two pieces of paper. “Yes, Mickey, valentines. You know, those nice things that normal people give to each other on Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates or some shit and a note about how much they love each other—”

“Yes, I know what they are, smartass. Don’t know why you didn’t just buy the little cardboard ones at the store though.”

Ian smirked, his eyes still focused on the paper beneath him that he was smudging glitter on. “Yeah, well. Franny wanted to make them, and I thought it’d be kind of fun.”

Just then Franny gasped triumphantly, raising a lopsided and crumpled paper heart up for Mickey to see. “Look, Uncle Mickey! I cut a heart! Uncle Ian showed me how!”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who had a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many hidden talents, Gallagher.”

Ian flashed a grin. “I used to be really into art class in elementary school, what can I say.”

Franny looked up at Mickey with wide eyes. “Do you want to make valentines with us? We have to make twenty-seven, because that’s the number of people in my class.”

Mickey faltered. Sitting here gluing fucking glitter to pieces of paper was not exactly what he’d had in mind as his plans for the weekend…

“Uh. That’s okay kiddo. I think you two’ve got it covered.”

Franny seemed to readily accept Mickey’s answer, instantly looking downward again and grabbing a fistful of crayons from the table to continue enhancing her masterpiece. Ian, on the other hand, tore his gaze from his own valentine.

“Oh c’mon Mick, you don’t wanna help?” Ian asked, his voice goading and his eyebrows raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” He turned, walking over to open the fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf.

“C’mon, just one valentine. Franny can show you how to cut out a heart shape, right Fran?”

Franny nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know how!”

Mickey took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Jesus, fine.” He pulled a chair between Ian and Franny, slowly scraping it on the linoleum, and then perched on the edge uncomfortably. “Alright Franny, show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so the first thing that you have to do is pick which color is your favorite. What’s your favorite color?”

Mickey had taken another sip of his beer, and now he sputtered slightly. “I don’t know Franny, you pick for me.”

Franny’s face melted into a pout. “But you have to pick, Uncle Mickey, it’s your favorite color!”

Ian bit back a laugh, his eyes still bright and cheerful. “Yeah, Mick, c’mon. What is your favorite color? We’ve never gotten this deep in our relationship before.”

Mickey gulped again from his beer can and flipped Ian off in the process. “I don’t fucking know. Never thought about it before.”

Franny held the stack of construction paper up to Mickey. “Look! There’s red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and green—”

Mickey cut her off. “Uh, give me a green one.”

Ian smirked. “Green?”

“Fuck you, it was the first color I thought of.” Of course, that wasn’t really true—if Mickey needed to have a favorite fucking color, it was obviously going to be green, like the green eyes that met his gaze every morning and were the last thing he saw before he went to sleep at night— even if he would never be caught dead admitting that sappy bullshit to Ian.

Ian looked like he was holding back a smile. “Right,” he mused. “Hey, Franny, pass me a blue paper? Cause y’know, that’s my favorite color.”

Mickey gently shoved Ian in the square of his chest. “You’re being fucking soft.”

Ian let a crooked smile burst onto his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, holding the piece of thick green paper in front of him appraisingly. “Okay Franny, what’s step two?”

Franny stretched her body across the table to reach for one of the strewn pairs of scissors. “Now, you fold the paper in half, and then you cut out the shape of half of a heart, like this.” She drew an example of the curved pattern on the backside of Mickey’s paper with the tip of her finger. “And then you unfold it and it’ll be a perfect shape!”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Mickey took the scissors from Franny’s grasp, and held them up to the paper. It was just a fucking half circle with a little indent at the top— this wasn’t going to be too difficult. Ian and Franny went back to being absorbed in crafting their valentines, while Mickey started to botch and slash at his piece of construction paper.

When he was finally satisfied he unfolded the shape, the outer shell of the paper falling away. It was… well, it was kind of a heart, with two slanted sides and a wonky top half. It looked more like a blob attached to an angle than anything else.

Ian looked up from where he was doodling on a glittery heart and snickered.

“That’s uh… that’s a good first try, Mick.”

Mickey slammed the piece of paper down onto the table. Fucking arts and crafts, he was never good at this shit even when he was little—he fingers were always too fumbling, too clumsy for him to make anything delicate and pristine. Ian’s hands should have been as ungainly as his, but instead they were quick and nimble, smoothly cutting perfectly-rounded circles and gluing neat lines of glitter.

Franny noticed that Mickey was done cutting his shape. “Good job Uncle Mickey! Now you just have to draw on it, and put on stickers and glitter.”

“Yeah Mickey, let’s see those artistic skills.”

Mickey aggressively flicked some flecks of glitter from the table in Ian’s direction, then picked up a crayon and gripped it with an iron fist. What the fuck was he supposed to draw? This was a valentine for kids at Franny’s school, the fuck did kids like anyways? He started to draw some sort of stick figure, but the arms were too long and the head was too small, so he tried to color over it and make some sort of tree or some shit…

As Mickey scratched at the paper, he looked over at noticed suddenly how content Ian looked—how blissed out and settled he was, just running a crayon over the colorful paper and shaking bits of glitter onto pools of glue. If Mickey was being honest, he hadn’t seen Ian this light and happy in a while; he’d had a hunch in his shoulders for months after the wedding and the pandemic and all the minimum-wage job bullshit, the shadows of expectation hanging over him and causing a deflated weariness in his gaze that was impossible to ignore. But right now, Ian looked like he was having as much fun as Franny was, practically vibrating with satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his drawing and reaching to place his completed valentine in the growing pile.

Mickey snatched the paper out of Ian’s hand, slightly crumpling it around the edges. “Wait a second. How the fuck did you do that?”

The valentine was immaculate, the heart symmetrical and traced in a thin outline of glitter. In the center of the paper there was a perfect little cartoon of a dog in a top hat, with an air bubble that read “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ian shrugged. “Watched a lot of cartoons when I was little. And I’ve always kind of liked to draw.”

Mickey shoved the valentine back in front of Ian. Goddamn perfect fucking husband who’s good at fucking everything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, suddenly losing all motivation to play along.

Ian smirked, then reached to rest a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck. “Giving up already?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian’s smile just widened. “Here, how about I cut the fucking shapes and you glue stuff onto them. That’d still help me and Franny a lot, right?”

Franny nodded. “It’s okay Uncle Mickey, I was bad at cutting the shapes too at first.”

Mickey huffed. Okay, so maybe he was horrible at this shit, but the least he could do was suck it up for Franny’s sake. “Fine,” he muttered, and grabbed a glue stick and a bottle of glitter.

A few minutes passed and they settled into a comfortable silence, enveloped in the sound of the scissors gliding and Franny scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, Franny looked up as Mickey reached across the table to grab a pad of stickers.

“Hey Uncle Mickey, what do you and Uncle Ian do for Valentine’s Day?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer that question— he darted a glance over at Ian, trying to signal as much. Could you ruin the spirit of Valentine’s Day for kids in the same way you could fuck up Christmas? “Uh, nothing really.”

Ian chimed in. “We used to like Valentine’s Day when we were little like you Franny, but now that we’re big we don’t really celebrate it. Right Mick?”

“Yup.”

Franny’s brows were furrowed again, this time in contemplation. “But. You love each other, right?”

“Sure, Franny. But we don’t need a special day for us to remember that,” Ian explained.

Franny seemed appeased enough by that answer to resume her drawing. “You don’t give each other valentines or candy or anything?”

Mickey almost laughed. Of course he and Ian had never celebrated fucking Valentine’s Day; if he was being honest, he didn’t remember even really thinking about Valentine’s Day before now, other than it being a day when Mandy came home crying in middle school because the boy she liked didn’t ask her out, or buying all the half-priced chocolates in red and pink wrappers at the drugstore a week later with his brothers. With all the shit in his life the past few years, frilly fucking holidays like Valentine’s Day were just… not on Mickey’s radar.

But maybe— maybe this year was different. This year, for maybe the first time in his life, Mickey felt secure and steady in a way that he never had before, like the ground was solid beneath him and wasn’t going to cave in at any minute. He had a fucking husband that he loved—why couldn’t they celebrate Valentine’s Day like a normal goddamn couple? Ian didn’t seem to be too bothered that they both didn’t give a fuck about the holiday, which was all the more reason to catch him off guard. He kept pressing stickers down onto the construction paper, his mind starting to churn.

By the time they’d made the twenty-seven fucking valentines, Mickey had made up his mind; this year, he and Ian were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

part two here!

[smol-and-grumpy]

EUPHORIA - Chapter 5

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Flangst. Feelings. Yeah, definitely feelings.

WC: 2822

A/N: Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Dean paces around in his office. 

He’s restless and fucking agitated, muttering curses under his breath. Dean has had an awful sleep, if he has had any sleep at all, he doesn't really know. He remembered going to bed and then it was morning and there was still no fucking message. It’s like he’s in his teens or early twenties again, only that it was the other way around back then. He was the one who ghosted all those girls and he can’t lie, it’s a fucking awful feeling. Dean would go back and right his wrongs if he could. He’d be frank with them from the start instead of giving them hope. 

Karma has its own fucking way, apparently.

They should have met yesterday. She should have come around. He waited way too long and was grumpy all fucking night about it. Was grumpy because she didn’t send him a text to tell him that she can’t make it. Which, in hindsight, he thinks was so unlike her, but what does he know? Maybe she changed after all. Maybe she likes fucking with his head. He didn’t want to be like, all over her, so he didn’t call or text either.

Now, it’s close to opening time to a new day, and she still hasn’t contacted him. What’s the fucking etiquette about texting or calling someone? He doesn’t know, and it’s driving him fucking nuts!

He sits himself onto the couch in his office and rubs a hand over his face when his phone vibrates in his pockets. Dean takes it out, looks at the caller ID, hoping that it was her but he doesn't recognize the number. Maybe it’s her? Maybe she lost her phone and has a new number? But if she lost her phone she would have lost his number too, wouldn’t she? He doesn’t know, alright? Dean groans out of frustration before sliding his thumb over the screen to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello. Is that Dean Winchester?” It’s a male voice.

“Who’s asking?” He hopes it’s not a fucking marketing call because Dean has zero patience for that and he would give the guy hell.

“This is Rufus Turner, I’m Y/N’s supervisor. I believe she’s been to your club and she reported in three nights ago, but we haven't heard anything from her since and she hasn’t picked up the phone when we have called. It goes straight to voicemail. It’s a long shot to be asking you this, but maybe you’ve heard from her? You were supposed to meet again yesterday, no?” Mr Turner pauses before he adds, “Look, I wouldn't normally do this, but she told me after the first meeting that she knew you from high school and that she was excited to meet you again, so I thought it would be okay to contact you. I’m sorry if I’m out of line.”

She’s really a good girl, isn’t she? Dean should have known that her boss would be aware of their meetings. She had always been a teacher’s pet back in high school.

But now they say that they haven’t heard from her and he hadn’t either. What if something had happened? He doesn’t even want to think about it as it makes his head spin. All of a sudden, Dean’s heart sinks to his balls. 

He clears his throat, “Don’t worry about it, alright? I haven’t heard from her either. She was supposed to show up yesterday, but she didn’t. Have you tried her apartment?”

“I have sent someone around but nobody answered.”

“Right. You mind giving me the address? I’ll follow up on it if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” Mr. Turner said. Dean couldn’t hang up fast enough after he had been given her address. 

Dean floors the Impala, abandoning his work for the night. 

*

She doesn’t live in the safest part of the city but she’s probably used to it. Dean is, too. They grew up not too far from each other after all. The difference between him and her, though, is that he could leave his life behind while she is still stuck here. And that doesn’t really sit right with him. He hoped that she would have gotten out as well. Hoped that she had gone on to be a best selling novelist or a successful journalist. He knew that it was her dream and honestly, if someone deserved to get out, it was her. More so than him. She always worked so hard while he just floated through the shitty educational system.

He takes the stairs, three steps at once. The staircase smells like fucking piss and he has to hold his breath.

When he arrives in front of her door, he needs a moment to compose himself before he knocks. When nobody answers, he tries again, louder this time, and lays his ear to the door. He could swear that he heard something shuffling inside. 

Dean quickly abandons the door and runs down the flight of stairs, almost stumbling out of the building. He runs to the back alley and climbs up the fire escape. It’s not like anyone even cares about him doing it around here. When he’s level with her apartment, he peaks in. The apartment is pitch black and he closes his eyes, willing them to adjust to the darkness quicker to be able to see fucking something. 

Opening them again, he takes another look inside, and he thinks he feels his heart taking a leap. She’s in there, in her bed, blanket pulled up to her chin. She’s obviously asleep but he needs to wake her up anyway because he needs to make sure that she’s o-fucking-kay. 

He knocks at the window and waits.

Knocks again when she still didn’t move. 

Dean tries a third time, and he swears if she doesn’t fucking open her eyes right now, he’s going to break in. 

He exhales when he sees that he doesn’t have to go all Chuck Norris on the window, because he can see her slowly opening up her eyes. He knocks some more to get her attention, “Sweetheart, here, look at me!”

He can see her lazy eyes, can see the sticky hair when she turns her attention to him.

“Can you open up for me? I promise you can go straight back to bed.”

She nods, her eyes empty. But she gets out of bed, walks over to turn at the window knob. She doesn’t wait for him to open it up before she returns into the comfortable cocoon that she’d made.

Dean tries to squeeze his big form through the window, damn near dislocated his fucking shoulder while doing it, but he couldn’t care, his full attention is on her. 

The air is thick inside and Dean decides to leave the window open. 

He quickly walks around her bed to be by her side. He sits down and she curls herself up on her side, facing him.

Dean places his hand to her forehead and quickly withdraws out of shock, before doing it again, “Jesus, you’re burning up,”

“‘M cold,” She mumbles.

“Did you eat anything? Did you drink enough water?” 

Her head lolls around. She’s trying to shake her head, he realizes, “‘M not hungry,”

Dean strokes her hair, leaving his hand on the side of her face. Her heat is almost unbearable, “I know you aren't, come on, gotta get something in your belly, alright?”

“Mmh-huh,”

“Right, I’ll be right back, okay?” He says and gets up from the bed.

“‘K,” 

He walks into her living room, and goes straight for the fridge of the small kitchenette. He finds nothing edible in there but a bottle of water. This is just great. Who knows how long she’s been in this state?

Fishing out the phone from his pants, Dean calls her supervisor. Mr. Turner picks up at the third ring.

“Yeah, Mr. Turner. I found her in her apartment. She runs a high fever. Say, uh, is there anyone I can contact who could come take care of her?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Turner sighs, “I know that her mother is dead and I don’t recall her talking about any relatives,”

Yeah, Dean should have known, “Alright, thanks. I’ll take care of her. I’ll get her to contact you once she’s better,” 

They said their goodbyes and Dean takes a look around. Her phone’s still in the living room, but the battery is dead. Picking it up, he brings it with him when he walks back into her bedroom. He unscrews the bottle and lets her take a sip, propping her up so she can swallow better. 

“I’m taking you to mine, okay? I have plenty of food and water,”

It seems like the most logical thing. That way he can make sure that she’s alright and he can still be close should someone need him at the club. It’s the only thing he can come up with, really.

“‘K,” Her eyes are closing again. 

Dean stands up to close the window before he picks her up and walks her towards the front door. Her body shivers and she tries to bury herself deeper into him.

“‘S cold,”

“I know, sweetheart,” He whispers and picks up a key that’s hanging next to the apartment door. He tries to see if it fits and thankfully it does.

He closes the door and locks it before slipping the key into his pants pocket as well. 

Inside his car, he props her comfortably against the door and drives back to his apartment with a passed out Y/N. 

Dean gnaws on his bottom lip on the drive back, thinks it’s maybe fate that brought him to her. She does not have anyone else who she can turn to, and maybe it’s weird that he thinks that, but he’s actually kind of glad about it.

She’s still out of it when they arrive and Dean takes the back door and gets into the elevator to ride up to his loft.

There, he goes straight for his bed, strips the sheets from the duvets and covers her up with only the thin sheets. She’s still shivering but she’s going to get better. It’s not the first time he’s taken care of a sick person. He took care of Sammy more times than he can remember.

He leaves to call down for Cas, his club manager, to let him know that he won’t be in tonight, and plugs her phone into the charger. He is glad that they have the same phone. He also draws a bath, a little hotter than usual, because he will need time to feed her and the water will have time to go tepid. 

Dean changes into something comfortable and cooks up a soup he knows will help. When he finishes, he places all the things he needs onto a tray and carries it over to her.

Sitting down, he touches her forehead. She’s still burning up.

“Hey, Y/N,” He pulls her up into a sitting position.

“Hmm?”

“Open your eyes, come on, sweetheart, you gotta drink,” He places a straw to her mouth and watches her open up her eyes. Her lids probably feel heavy as hell because she’s fighting to keep them open. 

She takes sips of the water. At least there’s that. Dean tries the soup next. He has already mixed it with cold water so it won’t burn her tongue. The goal is to get something into her that has anti-inflammatory effects. 

He watches her suck at the straw and her eyes are half closed again. She swallows loudly and Dean grins for the first time this evening, “Good girl, that’s good, sweetheart,”

Her eyes are almost closing but the glass of soup is empty and she’s already shifting around in bed, trying to make herself comfortable. Dean has to pull her right up, “We gotta get you in a bath, Y/N.”

She frowns and pouts. He thinks it’s so cute it’s not really fair, “Why?” She whines a little.

“Gotta get you to cool down, baby—” Dean pauses. The word slipped out without thinking and he stared at her but she’s kind of out of it again already, so phew!

He scoops her up, carries her to the bathroom. Once in there, he strips her off her shirt. She’s not wearing a bra so her tits are bare to him but he tries to be good and not stare at them too long. Next, he rids her off her pj pants and pulls her panties down with them. He forgot to take some of her clothes with him and made a mental note to text Cas to get Claire to go buy some clothes for Y/N.

When he has her naked, he tries not to groan out loud, tries to keep his mouth shut and his dick in check because it’s already half hard. Dean places her into the tepid bath water and she whines, “‘S cold,” 

Dean kneels down next to the tub, braces his forearms on the ledge and rests his chin on it, “I know, just a little, okay? We gotta cool you down,”

She pouts with half closed eyelids. Dean thinks that he probably can’t leave her alone for too long because he’d hate if she would fall asleep and drown. So he just goes out quickly to grab his phone. He’s right by her side in a heartbeat and sits down to text Cas that he needs to send Claire out for a clothes run right now while the stores are still open. 

After the bath, he wraps her up in a towel to dry her off, sitting her down to brush her teeth with a new toothbrush he broke off a pack. He forgot a shirt so he runs out, comes in with a simple white t-shirt. He takes the toothbrush out of her mouth to rinse it, puts it back into the holder where his toothbrush already is and pulls the shirt over her head, helping her with her arms. He’s fucking hard by now, even if he tries not to look at her but she’s in his fucking shirt and she doesn’t wear panties. How is his dick supposed to be acting?

Dean carries her back to bed and she buries her face into the crook of his neck. It’s still hot, but it’s much better already. At least there’s that. 

“Dean, ‘m cold,” She mumbles into his skin and it makes all the hairs on his body stand up because it’s the first time that she calls him by name tonight. It makes him happy that she knows it’s him. 

“I know, sweetheart, I’ll get you to bed, okay?” 

“Mmh-hhm,”

She clings on to him and he has to pry her arms from around his neck. He covers her with the sheet, “I’ll be in the living room, you need to rest, Y/N,”

Her eyes are already closed, “Stay?”

Dean lets out a huff of air, his lips curve up into a smirk, “Okay,” He walks around and climbs in with her and she turns herself, curls up against his body in search of more warmth.

 *

 About an hour later, Cas knocks at his door and Dean drags himself up and returns with a bag full of clothes. He isn’t sure if they’ll fit nor is he sure if Claire was the right choice to let go clothes shopping for Y/N but he hopes that at least one of the things would not make her look like a rebellious teen.

Dean takes his laptop and props himself on the couch, thinks about going through some emails since she’s sleeping peacefully but he gets disturbed by a ringing of a phone.

Her phone.

It’s almost midnight, who would call her?

He gets up to look at her phone, sees the name and frowns. 

Jody Mills.

Dean picks up on instinct, forgetting for a second that it’s not his phone and regrets it immediately. 

“Hello,” He says, claps his hand over his face.

“Who’s there?”

“Dean,” He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“As in fucking Winchester?”

“Yeah,” He says, “that’s not what people call me but, yeah.”

“What are you doing with Y/N’s phone?” Jody can be so fucking loud, he has to hold the phone a little further away from his ear. 

“Listen, if you want to talk to her you might wanna try in a couple of days. She’s sick and has a high fever. I don’t think she’s coherent enough to listen to your whining about your daughter.”

“Oh, my god, you got her under your control too, don’t you?”

Dean groans, “Oh come on, you can’t possibly blame me for everything! I did nothing!”

Jody hangs up before he could. And boy, is Dean mad that he isn’t the one to hang up first.

Chapter 6

[yikesharringrove]

You've given us DadHopper taking care of Billy and learning how to deal with his issues with the help of Steve, buy what about Hopper and maybe Joyce (because Steve's parents always seen like a double dose of bad that feeds off each other) accidentally triggering a panic attack in Steve? Maybe that being when they realize how important they are to Steve with a bit of Billy and/or some of the kids yelling at them to really drive it home?

Under the cut. There’s some mentions of Steve’s terrible parents and Steve having a panic attack. This is based on a lot of my own personal head canons for this tiny boy that I include in most of my works.

Read on ao3

Steve can take being made fun of.

Seriously, look at who is best friends are, his boyfriend. The kids poke at him, Robin is always cracking jokes, and Billy loves teasing him just to get him all riled up.

But they always know what to avoid, how certain deliveries can cut him.

He’s sitting at dinner with Hopper and Joyce and Billy. He was over, just watching a movie with Billy when Joyce arrived, toting a big lasagna and a few side dishes.

Hop had invited her over while El was having dinner with the Wheelers’. (He thought Billy and Steve were going out, but apparently Billy just couldn’t be fucked to leave the house tonight). So now he was kind of on a double date with his son.

Dinner was nice. Steve helped Joyce in the kitchen while Hop and Billy set the table, crashing onto the couch after. Billy grinned and winked at Steve, starting cracking jokes about look at our cute little wifies makin’ us dinner. Get yourself a GOOD woman. Steve threw a piece of garlic bread at him.

Everyone was having a good time, crowded around the small table Hopper had bought after realizing they all needed a lot more space than just he and El did. Joyce asked the boys about school, how Steve’s new job at the ice cream place in the mall was.

But then Hopper turned to Steve, asked him what his plans for after graduation were.

“I was thinking about taking some time off. Working for a little while so I can figure out what I want to do.” Steve was pushing a chunk of tomato around on his plate.

“So you’re big plans are working at the mall?” Steve’s ears were tinged red. He was staring at his plate, the piece of tomato.

“Why does he have to know right now? He doesn’t.” Billy was always quick to defend Steve, but he could tell where this was going, could smell it a mile away. He knew Hop didn’t mean anything by it, was just being the chiding dad wanting to look out for his son, but this was a touchy subject. Steve often got yelled at for not having future plans, for throwing his future away.

“I thought Jonathan told me you were going to work for your dad.” Steve starting taking practiced breaths, glancing up to smile at Joyce before looking back down.

“Uh, that was the, the plan but that’s, it’s not anymore.”

“What do you mean? That would be a better job to tide you over than the mall.” Billy kicked Hop under the table, shaking his head just a little, eyes wide.

“Uh, yes. Yes it would be, but um, since I  don’t, won’t have a, a degree, the offer has been rescinded.” Billy closed his eyes. Figured rescinded was the exact word Mr. Piece-of-Shit Harrington had used after calling his son his idiot for an hour. Billy hadn’t gotten the whole story, Steve didn’t tend to speak clearly when he was sobbing into Billy’s neck.

“Wait, what do you mean you won’t have a degree?”

“Dad-”

“I didn’t get into college. Any college. Not even Tech,” He placed his fork down, blinking rapidly. “Thank you so much for dinner, but I really have to be going.” He gave a weak smile at Billy who stood up with him, following Steve out of the cabin, throwing a glare over his shoulder at Hop.

Joyce began picking up plates.

“I don’t feel good about that, Hop.” She put the plates on the kitchen counter, standing on her toes to look out the window. “Oh no.”

Hop joined her, got a clear view of Billy sitting on the porch steps, Steve draped over him, completely in his lap. He had his face buried in Billy’s shoulder, and they could see the way his back was heaving, shaking as Billy rubbed gently up and down it, one hand playing with Steve’s hair.

“That, uh, that doesn’t look good.” Joyce turned to Hopper.

“I didn’t think we were, were hard on him, I mean maybe you could’ve gone in on him less-”

“I just spent a lot of years dealing with that kid being a brat. I want to make sure he’s good enough for my son. Billy has all of his eggs in that kid’s basket and he’s working at a mall for the foreseeable future.”

“Yeah but Hop, that’s not your call to make. He’s a good kid, he’s good with the kids, and he’s good to Billy, good for him to. Billy can make his own decisions about who’s in his life.”

“But I’m just worried about Steve being dead weight. Billy’s smart I’ve seen his report cards. He could go anywhere, do anything, but he’s gonna end up sitting in Hawkins working minimum wage because he doesn't wanna leave Steve.”

The front door slammed shut.

Billy was standing in the threshold, shoulders drawn tight, fists clenched.

“Jesus Hop, tell me how you really fuckin’ feel.” Hopper sighed.

“Look, you know I like the kid, you’ve just got a brighter future than-”

“You know he told me he sees you guys as his parents. You know why? Because his parents fucking suck.” He came to stand on the other side of the L shaped counter, looking sternly at Hop and Joyce. “Do you remember when he came over because he wanted to tell me he got a B on the essay I helped him write, and you patted him on the back and said good job, kid.” He gave a gruff imitation of Hopper. “You probably don’t, because it was such a nothing moment, but he talked about that for weeks. If he had brought home a B to his own parents, his dad would’ve yelled that he can do better and his mom would’ve taken her Vicodin and went to bed. Because that’s what his house is like. A B is the best grade he’s ever gotten.”

“Well, not for nothing, but there is a grade higher than-” Billy cut Hopper off with what sounded like a fucking growl.

“When Steve was five his teacher wanted to test him for dyslexia and ADHD and all this other shit that, mind you, he obviously fucking has, but his dad wouldn’t let him get tested. He said Steve just needs to work harder and calls Steve a retard and all this shit like every day. School is really fucking hard for him because he can barely fucking read on a good day and no one has ever helped him. He got a B on that paper because I read the book out loud to him, and he could actually understand the meaning of everything because he wasn’t trying to decipher all these letters moving around. And when he didn’t get into college, his dad went off on him, and told him he’s a disappointment, and told him he has one year to work and re-apply and get into college or he’s cut off. And don’t even get me started on his mom.”

Joyce looked like she was about to cry. Hopper felt like shit, felt like there was cold water running down his spine.

“You know she tells Steve she doesn’t love him? Seriously, she did it in front of me one night, like got drunk and starting talking about how she feels literally no emotions towards him, and never has.

He took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the counter so tightly his knuckles were white.

“So then tonight, you start in on him, saying a lot of the same shit his dad has been saying to him, except this time, he actually really cares what you think, thinks of you as more a father than his own dad, and you just shattered his fucking world. He’s out on the front porch right now, probably calling himself stupid and trying to pull chunks of his fucking hair out, because that’s his panic attack M.O.” Billy snatched up his and Steve’s jackets, Steve’s keys. “I’m going to take him home and stay the night with him to make sure he doesn’t fucking hurt himself because of this.” He stomped towards the door, turning back one last time. “And I expect and apology.”

It was silent after he left. They could hear him gently coercing Steve into the car, lots of hushed it’s okay Baby and hey, quit pullin’ your hair. They could hear Steve’s car start and pull out of the drive.

“Joyce, I feel like shit.” Her eyes were sympathetic.

“Me too, Hop. I had no idea. Can you imagine having a child and being that cruel?” Hop sat down on the couch, burying his head in his hands.

“And I can’t even fucking adopt him because he’s eighteen.” Joyce was quiet.

“Is that how you solve problems now? Adopting kids?” He looked at her.

“Worked for the other two, didn’t it?” She gave him a Look.

“I’m so embarrassed.” She sat down next to him, tucking herself under his arm. “That poor boy. That actually explains so much.”

“It really does. God, he’s just been crying out for fucking attention this whole time. Why didn’t I see it?” He groaned. “And I called him fucking dead weight, Joyce I’m a terrible person. I fucking remember that essay, because his face fucking lit up, and I thought it was kinda, kinda weird, but I don’t know if he’s ever heard good job before.”

Over the next few weeks, every time Steve was over Hopper tried to be kinder, softer. He had apologized to Steve, told him he didn’t need to figure himself out right now, and told him about how it took Hop three years of wasting away at University to realize he wanted to joint the police force.

The next time he came in with B paper that Billy helped him with, Hopper put it on the fridge, next to El’s list of daily vocab words, a few pictures Jonathan has taken, three of Will’s drawings, and Billy’s quarterly report cards (straight A’s, 4.0 GPA because his son is fucking smart).

“So, I pulled a few strings, got you in here with pretty short notice.” Hop was standing with Steve outside of a plain building. He had taken him into the city, said he needed help with something for Billy.

“What, what do you mean?”

“You’re gonna be tested for dyslexia. The test takes about 6 hours, but afterwards they’re going to know exactly how to help you.”Steve was looking at him with big eyes. Hopper awkwardly handed him a brown paper sack. “Joyce packed you some snacks and a lunch. You’ll get breaks and stuff. And don’t stress yourself out. There’s no right answers, this is just to find the best ways to help.” Hopper led Steve into the building, checking him in at the front desk. Steve was quiet behind him, had been blinking a lot as he looked around the testing center.

“I’m going to stay in the city in case you finish early.” He gave Steve a small smile, squeezing his shoulder. “Good luck.” He went to turn around, but was tackled into a tight hug, Steve squeezing Hopper probably as much as he could. He squeezed the kid back, gently patting his back. When Steve pulled away, he looked Hop int he eye.

“Thank you.”

[princesssarcastia]

yes, ghosts CAN time travel, actually, don’t be such a Richard, Klaus

titled “frozen time between hearses and caskets” in my fic folder, aka idea #3 from my poll two weeks ago on which Umbrella Academy Season 2 fic I should write.  vague vibes also from this poem which I adore; “I AM TIRED OF RE-WRITING TRAGEDY WITHOUT CHANGE. LET THEM LIVE. LET THEM LEARN. LET THEM LOVE.”  Because let people grow, goddammit.

this mess to follow is dedicated to @levhach, the only respondent to my poll.  I hope you enjoy!  also dedicated to Klaus’ genuine kindness and empathy for others in season 1, may it rest in peace.

                                        —————————

“Well, unfortunately, ghosts can’t time travel,” Klaus says, playing at exasperated and put-upon.

“Klaus, don’t be an asshole,” Ben intones from the corner of the room, but Klaus can hear the edge of desperation in his voice. 

It’s been years since either of them could even lay eyes on their siblings, let alone speak to them. When Allison appeared at the edge of that pool, it was like heroin; that kind of emotional high could be addictive, if he let it, and he would know.  Seeing and being seen are kind of important, apparently.

Nobody ever sees Ben but Klaus.

Except for three years ago, in Vanya’s theater.

Klaus heaves a sigh, letting his shoulders rise and fall.  “Oh, fine, you big baby.” He throws up his hands as they take on a distinctly blue hue.

And the whole room…stops.

“Ben,” someone says, or maybe they all say it, and then Diego is in front of their dead teenaged brother and clutching desperately at his stupid leather jacket, and Ben is clutching back and crying. 

He sighs again, for real this time, and lets them have this moment.  Even Five seems swept up in the emotion of it all, hovering just on the edge of the crowd with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a constipated look on his face.

“So that’s our brother?” Vanya says from right behind him, jesus christ!

“God, we should have put a bell on you,” Klaus says.  “Yeah, that’s Ben.”

“Ben,” Vanya draws out his name, like she’s trying it out, and Klaus glances back at her.  There’s a hint of some je ne sais quoi, a glimmer of confused grief, in her eyes—like she wants to cry with no idea why, or how.

Vanya, who got teary when they stepped on ants as kids, went berserk and killed the whole world…and then conveniently forgot all about it.  Hmm. Klaus has some ideas about that, personally, but he sees no need to share with the class; in his experience, people will remember terrible shit in their own time.  Trying to force it will only set her off again.

Plus, he’s not nearly drunk enough for that conversation, even after a morning of margaritas with Allison, who’s turned into a wonderful enabler.

Ben finds him briefly from the center of their little gaggle of siblings, seemingly content with more attention than he’s had in decades.

“I missed you all,” he hears Ben say, and watches their dead brother look at Vanya with grief that isn’t confused at all.

—

They stumble out of Allison’s house, away from her lovely husband—really, Klaus can’t even begin to explain how hard it is to find a partner willing to hide a body for you—and straight into the car Klaus sped over here in.  Diego, of course, insists on driving, but Allison is still upset over Raymond and Klaus can’t be bothered, so it works out.

Ben calls shotgun and Klaus automatically pulls Allison into the backseat with him.

“I just,” Allison clears her throat, “Vanya?”

“Again?  What are the odds, am I right?”  Klaus jibes, and flinches dramatically away from Allison when she elbows him.

“Last time, it was Luther and the rest of you morons that set her off.  But none of us have seen her since she left after the dinner from hell, so it couldn’t have been one of us.”

“What is she even doing in the federal building in the first place?”  Ben asks.

Klaus hums, “good point, Ben,” and relays it to the others.

He can hear the leather steering wheel creak as Diego tightens his grip.  “I don’t—I’m not sure, I was moving pretty quickly to avoid getting caught at Headquarters.”

“But?”  Allison prompts when he doesn’t continue.

“But,” Diego’s jaw tightens, “I think she got arrested.  By the FBI?”

“The FBI?” Klaus screws up his face.  “Who the hell—Allison, did you get her involved with the SJCC in the, what, ten minutes we were all together?”

“No, no I didn’t.  But…I mean, someone named Vanya with memory loss in 1963 when the president is in town…” Allison trails off, like the words she emphasized will make some sort of sense when put together.

“They think she’s a communist spy,” Diego says flatly.

“Oh!”  Klaus exclaims.  “Oh,” he repeats, when that sinks in.  “Oh, that—that won’t be good.”

“No, it won’t,” Ben agrees.

Silence fills the car like Agent Orange, and Klaus is just choking on all the implications.

—

His ears haven’t rung like this since helicopters and machine guns and Dave and medic!  I need a fucking medic!, but Klaus foists the memory back into the arms of his subconscious because now’s not the time for a panic attack, goddammit. 

Allison and Diego are saying something, but he can’t quite hear them; it’s hard to focus with wave after wave of energy flowing into him and into him, into that terrible void he doesn’t like to think about and in fact has spent his whole life drowning out. The energy Vanya is pulsating through the federal building feels like nails on the chalkboard of his soul. 

“Question, guys,” he interrupts, “Who are we trying to save Vanya from, again?”

“The FBI,” Diego, Allison, and Ben all say together, and in the same you’re-an-idiot-Klaus tone of voice, too, isn’t that adorable.

Joke’s on them, he’s about to say something relevant. “But if they’re all sucking ceiling right now, why hasn’t she stopped?”

All the bodies scattered about with their eyes burnt out of their skulls is a pretty graphic kind of horrific, even for Klaus, who’s seen pretty much every kind of dead body there is.

Actually…

Klaus waves to get Ben’s attention.  The others turn to look at him and Klaus ignores them.  “Why aren’t there any ghosts?” He shouts, hands still tight around his ears.

Not Ben, though.  He’s just standing there, arms at his sides, like Vanya’s energy isn’t on quite the same wavelength for him as it is for the rest of them.  “I don’t,” he frowns, “yeah, that is weird.  Can’t you feel that, though?”

Klaus hesitates, then nods back, refusing to explain to Allison and Diego when they make encouraging gestures.  There’s no way to articulate it to them, anyway, not in time for them to understand what it means that Vanya can affect his connection with Ben.  That Vanya can, apparently, banish the other ghosts, the ones Klaus isn’t anchoring here in the land of the living.

Pressure is building in too-tight air, like a balloon pushed to the brink of bursting.  According to Diego, Vanya will defrost the Cold War in another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes or so. 

“Can Ben go find out what’s going on with her, then?”  Diego shouts at him, and Klaus looks at Ben, who nods and strolls down the hallway more easily than they could, but it feels…weird.  Something in his chest tightens, in that same place Vanya’s reaching and Klaus doesn’t like to be aware of it the way he’s forced to be right now.

God, he wants a drink.

It takes almost five minutes for Ben to get there and back, and Klaus feels the blood drain out of his face when he gets a look at Ben’s expression.

“They hooked her up to some kind of generator.  Klaus, the readout says it’s up to a thousand volts,” Ben says quickly.  “She’s seizing pretty violently; I don’t think she even knows what she’s doing.”

Klaus lets out a blistering string of curses, the kind Sarge would be proud of—come to think of it, Klaus probably learned it from Sarge. 

“What, what is it?” Allison shouts, leaning in and trying to look where he’s looking, where Ben stands, intangible and desperate.

“They’re torturing her!” Klaus shouts back.

“So, this is some kind of defense mechanism?” Diego adds his two cents, though Klaus doesn’t think the what of this is really relevant right now.

“We have to go turn it off,” Klaus darts to look at Allison and Diego and then back at Ben.  Pressure keeps building in his ears, against his skin, in his brain, in his soul.  How the hell are we going to get back there?  He’s pretty sure they won’t even be able to stand, let alone walk a hundred and fifty feet.  They’ll pop like grapes before they reach the halfway point.

Allison and Diego are shouting something else, now, but it doesn’t matter, because Klaus is looking at Ben and Ben is looking at him and Vanya is reaching that point inside him that anchors Ben, even from all the way back here, and Vanya’s going to blow up this building with them inside it and start World War III and they can’t reach her but Ben can.

Ben can.

He shivers.

Seventeen plus years together means Klaus knows exactly what Ben is thinking, because he’s thinking it, too.

“Are you sure?” He leans into Ben’s space, and Ben crouches down so they’re eye to eye.

“I’m sure,” Ben says easily, like this is easy, god, what a prick.

Something twists in his chest, and he can’t tell if it’s Vanya or his own stupid feelings.  “No take-back-sies this time, mein bruder. If we do this—”

“We?” Ben raises his eyebrows and smirks.

“Oh, please, this is at least forty percent me and you know it,” Klaus narrows his eyes petulantly. 

His brother shifts weight he doesn’t have back onto his heels, freeing his hands to rise in front of him, palms toward Klaus.  “You remember the first time we tried this?”

“We?” Klaus mocks, but takes his own hands off his ears and presses them into Ben’s, letting that peculiar shade of blue envelop both their hands.  Not quite visible, not quite tangible, but it’s power.  Parts of Klaus flow into Ben like Vanya’s energy waves are crashing into everything around him, twining with the anchor between them until it’s a constant stream Ben can feed off of.

He sucks in a shuddery breath and blows out a shaky one.  Allison and Diego are staring at him, wide-eyed, but he keeps ignoring them in favor of Ben.

“Do you think she’ll remember me this time?” Ben asks, smiling at him in that soft way Klaus thought they’d agreed to stop doing years ago.  Rude!

Oh, what the hell. 

Klaus quirks a real smile at Ben and squeezes his hands.  “She’d better.”

—

“I remember everything.”

“Tell Klaus something for me, would you?”

—

fin.

[ngeibheann]

Nobody Needs to Know

don’t ask why i’m doing this just [john mulaney voice] go! FETCH!

For the record, medicine isn't miracles. He's not really sure what it'll take for other people to get that through their thick skulls.

A re-write of The Oaths They Take, almost five years later.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880353

When shit goes south with a dullahan, Worth spends about two hours cleaning wounds, applying runes, and swearing at any little thing that moves. Hanna’s out for the night, medicated to a comfortable sleep on Worth’s insistence that he needs to be asleep unless he makes a break for it to go chasing after the monster again. He puts tall, dark, and dead in charge of making sure he stays asleep, but leaving the room gives him the perfect opportunity to start antagonizing a vampire the second he starts asking questions.

 It’s an awful goddamn pantomime they’ve got going on. Someone gets hurt, someone starts yelling, someone starts punching. It’s a social re-run, with the dialogue blurring together with past arguments. It’s remixed and retooled, and suddenly calling someone a cunt seems fresh and exciting. What’s less fresh would be the right hook to the jaw, knuckles scraping just barely against teeth.

 In their equal defenses, bickering about how much effort Worth had put into stabilizing Hanna probably was going to end with someone swinging. A lot of bloody rage for his apparent ineptitude as a medical professional, a lot of misplaced wish-upon-a-star bullshit about what medicine can do and how fast it works.

 “Medicine ain’t magic, an’ I’m not some fuckin fairy. You, maybe. Not me.”

 The comment is spat out with a tall leer and a bandaged hand running across his face, attention paid to a busted lip. The indignant look Conrad gives Worth isn’t anything new, but there’s a flash of what, regret? That maybe behind all of the bastard bravado there’s something that makes him feel some kind of guilt for hitting him? Shame isn’t tolerated in the clinic, usually.

 Worth crosses his arms over his chest when he realizes the silence is punctuated by that stare. “He’s gonna be out fer awhile. Y’can leave if yer gonna just stare at me like that.”

 Conrad blinks himself out of the daze, mirroring the crossed arms in a bout of defensiveness. “I expected you to punch me back.”

 He doesn’t expect the doctor to roll his eyes, a sigh like a heavy hiss before moving away from his position in their little stage at the center of the clinic, meandering back to a filing cabinet behind his desk. Conrad follows, if only out of morbid curiosity when he hears him mutter don’t feel like it as a response.

 “Wait, wait,” Conrad says, hand dropping onto the scuffed surface of Worth’s desk, only to immediately retract it when he comes into contact with some sort of slick substance that sticks to his hand for a moment. “You’re pissed.”

 Worth doesn’t dignify the analysis with a response, hissing and cursing at the filing cabinet when he rattles it loose on its bearings. It groans and screeches on the rails, metal screams against metal— the contents inside clattering with a glassy clatter and wet noise. It’s enough to cause some flinching on Conrad’s behalf, vampire senses be damned.

 When Worth turns around, he’s got a handle of tequila in hand and a neutral glare on his face. He sidles closer to Conrad, lean-sitting against the edge of the desk and unscrewing the cap of the bottle with deadened abandon. It’s unnatural, his silence stilted and the level of visible malice in him dropped to a complete standstill. It’d be pleasant if it didn’t manage to fill Conrad with curious dread.

 “Don’t tell me you grew a conscience after I decked you,” Conrad says, if only to goad Worth into acting more like himself and less like a haunted mannequin. “I might think you actually—“

 Worth cuffs him in the back of the head, his free hand delivering an open-palmed smack while he takes a belt from the amber bottle. It’s a sharp hit, enough to earn an ow, fuck in response. The look he gets is incredulous, offended, and yet somehow died back to a state of bewildered mystery.

 “Fuck yer conscience bullshit,” Worth finally bites out, bottle hanging loosely from the neck in his grasp. “Yeh wouldn’t be in here pissin’ an’ moanin’ about m’ bedside manner if yeh actually had an ounce a’ competence in your body. All of yeh, fuckin’ amazing.”

 “Oh, so Hanna being attacked by some weird horseman thing is my fault, now?” Conrad asks, and his fists curl at the nod he receives in return to the question.

 “All of yer faults. Stupid as sin, can’t keep that kid outta trouble, then yeh come in and have me patch Little Red Ridin’ Rune back up—“

 “Keeping him out of trouble is like keeping you out of a fucking liquor store, jackass.”

 The interruption earns another swat, only to be stopped mid-swing when Conrad swivels to grab his wrist with some degree of bruising force. Worth swears under his breath, sucks in air through his teeth, and takes another drink.

 Conrad glares back at him, bony wrist still in hand. “So were you always this much of a callous douche, or do you just need therapy and an AA meeting?”

 “What is this, a first date?”

 “Always a dick. Got it.”

 There’s a long pause before Worth thrusts the bottle of tequila in Conrad’s general direction, the tension in his shoulders dropping when he gives a protracted sigh. Conrad doesn’t take the offer, which then lets Worth remember that right, he is a vampire. No matter how much tequila is in his bloodstream, there’s no blood in booze.

 “Take a wild guess why I dropped out.” Worth says, an exhausted command. The bottle sits on the last remaining free space on the desk, atop a stack of messy papers. Conrad finally lets go of his wrist, only to cross his arms and close his eyes in an overblown act of thought.

 “My money’s on illiteracy or completely flunking out.” Conrad says, finger tapping against his arm. He opens his eyes to look back at Worth with a smug grin. “Am I right, or am I painfully right?”

 “I’ve got a BS in pre-med, dickhead,” Worth says, but there’s some degree of a smile on his face. It’s weird, Conrad admits to the existence of some positive expression on Worth as a bizzaro hex, but it’s more welcome than whatever hollow demon was possessing him moments ago.

 “You’re bluffing.”

 “I went t’ fuckin’ NYU. Grossman.”

 Conrad stares back at him, knowing full well the insinuation is that Worth did well, and at some point, had an obscene amount of money. Certainly passed an MCAT along the way, which is possibly the most un-Worth thing he could have ever guessed. But, by the venom in the way he says Grossman, Conrad knows it’s not a lie.

 “So, why’d you leave, then? Money run out?” Conrad asks, and Worth makes a point of looking back to the exam room, as if he could somehow see everything behind the wood of the door. His hands tent together before picking at the gauze on his arms.

 “Yeh ever think about how patient info sounds like bible verses?” Worth asks, which gets a blank stare if only for the insane revelation that Worth gives enough of a damn about the bible to draw that conclusion. “John, 19. Claire, 28. Steven, 14. Like that.”

 Conrad clears his throat to absolve him of any lingering ogling of the way Worth seems to quiet himself when he brings up the suggestion, fixated on his own arms. “Can’t say I have.”

 Worth looks up from his wrists, head slightly tilted. There’s exhaustion in his expression that his voice barely carries. “Y’think about it more when they die.”

 “You dropped out because—“

 “I didn’t have th’ balls t’ watch people mistake medicine fer miracles every night a’ my life? Or maybe it was watchin’ people die?” Worth answers with a question that’s not quite a question, pushing a hand through his hair with a ragged sigh. He taps the pockets of his coat, quick to fumble through getting a cigarette and jamming the filter between his teeth.

 There’s a dead silence between them and the click of the lighter, and Conrad finally notices the flecks of red on the gauze covering Worth’s arms. He hadn’t been picking at his skin, but if blood was— jesus christ. Leave it to him, really. Walking around with someone else’s blood on him, despite an apparent attempt to have washed it off if his hands are any sure sign of concern. It’d be poetic if it weren’t so fucking morbid.

 Instead, Conrad opts to put a hand out. “Pass me one.”

 Worth gives him a side eye of insane proportions. “Since when d’ya smoke, princess?”

 Conrad rolls his eyes at the nickname, instead leaning over and taking a cigarette from the coat pocket himself. It’s a risky move, it’s a little too weirdo-intimate, but judging by the lack of protest, it’s probably fine. He mentions something about a metric fuckton of weed in college- art school bullshit and all that jazz. It’s enough of an answer to get Worth to give him a light at least, the two sitting on the table and taking silent drags.

 It was stressful, the bad shape Hanna had been in, and Conrad doesn’t exactly get Worth’s opinion on Hanna, but he knows he has to care somehow. In his own insult you on the operating table sort of way, but it’s still giving a shit. Seeing him visibly shaken feels cruel, almost. Any other day he’d be reveling in the way Worth’s been knocked off his hostile high-horse, but now it’d seem evil. A trespass of some kind.

 He doesn’t know when he started leaning against him, maybe an instinct to hunt for some extra bodily warmth in the chill of the clinic. It’s a bitter late November, and being undead doesn’t do Conrad any favors in the cold.

 He figures it can’t hurt to ask another question, that maybe Worth actually brought it up because he wants to talk about what the hell happened in New York. That maybe he’s moved on from being a petulant child and learned to use his words.

 “Why’d you tell me this?”

 The question is quiet and gets a huff in response, a slow drag hazing the air around them. Worth puts a free hand on Conrad’s shoulder, slowly slinking down his back to give a firm clap against his shoulder blade.

 “Cause,” He says slowly, staring at the front door of the clinic. “Nobody’s ever gonna believe ya if yeh squeal.”

 Of fucking course. Conrad can’t quite make out the tone, if he’s been bluffing the whole time or just pointing out that nobody in their right mind would ever believe he’d ever admit to that, especially to him.

 “Fucker.” Conrad says under a smoke-laiden exhale, opting for the response that gives Worth some plausible deniability to keep up the unshakeable asshole facade.

 “Bitch.” Worth mutters back, hand still idly moving against his back, personal space entirely forgotten in that moment.

 It’s going to be a long night.

[smile-files]

heya folks

gonna write a long post about the nicest person i know who i’ll probably never see again :’[

it’s an interesting story, but i wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to take the time to read it. do what you’d like!

it was after 7th grade just ended; i wasn’t in the best place emotionally, things kinda sucked. i was excited for camp, however, something i always looked forward to. i got placed in a bunk and stuff, of which there were 4; i was happy with the counselors, too (their names were ariel and jared). i was kinda bummed that one of my favorite counselors, named eli, wasn’t working there as a counselor anymore - he still worked at the camp, but whatever position he had i didn’t see him around as much. 

at camp i would carry around a drawing notebook and a fanny pack, in which i had pens, pencils, the like. i soon noticed that another counselor, named shai, had a fanny pack; no, we didn’t ‘bond’ over it or whatever, but that’s one thing that made him grab my attention. 

my camp is a ramah camp, which is a jewish camp; one of the activities that we’d have were a kind of elective we’d sign up for, called ‘shiur’ (literally means work), which integrated jewish learning with some activity - sometimes it’d be calligraphy, or pokemon, or super heroes. during first session i chose the pokemon shiur. normally, during the shiur period, counselors would go off and have a meeting. but, for some reason, shai would always hang out near where we’d have our pokemon shiur. i knew, of course, that this was because of julian.

i don’t know a specific reason why, but camp ramah tends to have a good number of autistic kids going there; some of them have a specific ‘caretaker’ of sorts who are with them to make sure they’re okay. my sister had one, my friend abby, and julian - shai tended to be with him and made sure he was okay. (something i find fascinating about julian was how he loved drawing road maps and signage)

it just so happened that julian picked the same shiur as me both sessions -pokemon in first and super heroes in second - so shai tended to be around. in this way i got to get to know him.

he noted my art on several occasions - he said that i’d be good at doing henna considering how frequently i’d draw on the back of my hand; when making the banners for color war, he said he’d abduct me so i could do the banner for his team (no abducting ever occurred, lol)

shai is a very funny person - i don’t know his mbti type, but i’m dead set on him being an nf. he was nice to be around, and i keep describing him as ‘supportive’; no wonder why, considering the circumstances of most of second session.

near the end of each session, we would have an overnight trip we’d go on (for two nights, three days). on the first trip, shai unfortunately wasn’t able to come for whatever reason. it was still a fun trip, but i still missed him.

come second session, however, and things would be different - shai was able to come with us on our trip to baltimore! i ended up sitting in the back of the coach bus, and shai was sitting across from me. something i noted is that he’s one to ask ‘you okay?’ a lot. and i mean a lot. 

on the first day of the trip, we went to the national aquarium, got caught in a downpour, and watched an orioles vs yankees baseball game in the rain. we arrived at the synagogue we were staying in and went to bed; i got my typical 7 hours of sleep.

the next day we went to six flags! i chose the slow group because i’m a wimp. i had been wearing my galaxy hoodie at the time; when we stopped to have lunch, shai seemed concerned about me. woop

we went back into six flags after lunch; at one point we went on some raft ride type thing, and we were sitting on a bench in the sun to dry off (we’d gotten drenched). i was still wearing my hoodie (which, i may note, is rather thick). eventually shai’s group came around and they sat next to us on the bench. 

shai checked the temperature on his phone, which was 90 degrees farenheit, so he said that i should probably take off my hoodie; i was only convinced after the “do it for me” thing that people do that just sells it. note: after his group left i put the hoodie back on lmao, now that’s a story i tell a lot (along with the story of eli having gone illegally ziplining with jesus)

that night, for whatever reason, i slept terribly. i fell asleep at 10:40 and woke up 48 minutes later, at 11:28. i was left sitting in the dark, super bored; i watched counselors walk in and out of the room, i counted to 1000, i went to the bathroom to sing to myself, i looked out the window. either way i had to wait 8 hours for everyone else to get up.

by this time this was the last day on the trip, and we were going to go to an elderly home. we packed up our stuff, something i did quickly. i then kind of wandered aimlessly around the room, waiting for everyone else to finish. this prompted another ‘you okay?’ from the shaister. 

i managed to nap on the bus, but only for half an hour. we eventually got to the place; we were going to talk to them, give them ceramic gifts that people had apparently made, and that one kid who can play any song on the piano by ear just went off. 

you may know that i’m a rather shy person; this, for whatever reason, felt like any party i’d ever been to - isolated and very anxious. there were a number of girls who said they were scared, but they weren’t shy - they were just scared of old people or something. shai convinced them that old people are not scary, then came to console me; he noted that people used the pun of “shy” and “shai” sounding similar on him a lot, but now he could actually use that himself. he didn’t pressure me to do anything i didn’t want to, and even suggested going outside if i really felt uncomfortable. i probably should’ve gone outside, but i didn’t. eventually we all went outside anyway to have rita’s ices, but i didn’t want any. 

i’m pretty sure that’s all the trip stuff, but there’s more afterward. there are some stupid inconsequential things that i just find kind of amusing, to say the least. for one thing, there were these tacky plastic champagne glasses that the counselors had for whatever reason; there was this show going on, and everyone was bored out of their minds. shai just gave me one of these stupid glasses with no context, for the lulz or whatever. my response was to draw a smiley face on it with sharpie and give it back. he found this rather amusing.

one day i brought this shark plushie to camp, whom i called ‘smore’ because he looked like a marshmallow. shai insisted it was a piranha just to annoy the heck out of us, an argument that lasted two days.

another thing, one of the counselors was going to be leaving for israel before camp ended, so we had this whole thing where basically you could give a shoutout to anybody and thank them; i decided to thank the counselors in general, as most teenagers wouldn’t tolerate leading around a bunch of loud middle schoolers; shai knew i was a rather shy person, so he said that it was a very good thing of mine to do. 

my age group was actually an amalgamation of several age groups - rising 6th graders, rising 7th graders, and rising 8th graders. being in the latter group, i was going to take part in some stupid graduation. and, you see, we all had to write speeches for it.

i wrote a speech, whatever, which mostly consisted of thanking counselors (in general i get along better with figures of authority, eg. counselors or teachers or whatever rather than fellow kids). i was very worried about the whole ordeal, but i did it; afterwards shai said he was proud of me for giving my speech despite how anxious i was about it.

and note how i never outright told the guy how anxious i was about any of these things - he’s just the type of person who knows; i always value people like that, given how i never tell anyone anything :’]

when it came to the last day of camp, i wanted to make sure shai knew how thankful i was for everything he did for me. i didn’t know a single other person who was half as validating and supportive of me as he was. but, being me, i couldn’t just tell him. no, i had to make a hand out of pipe cleaners, write a card, fold it up and make it look like an ice cream cone, put the folded card into the hand, and then awkwardly give it to him.

he initially said he’d read it later; but soon enough he read it and then i got a shai hug. yea!

welp everything after camp sucked! before school started i was so worried how i’d cope with my dumb issues without shai being there; i came to miss him a ton. like really, a ton.

before that summer, i had camp dreams like, heck, maybe once or twice a year?

but since that summer of 2019, i’ve had ~15+ camp dreams. i really missed him. i longed for the support he’d give me when i was anxious, for the knowledge that somebody understood me. i eventually started having headaches a lot, so i came to ‘think’, “oh! he’s trying to telepathically talk to me!”

i never did believe that to be the case, but imagining that i could talk to shai was comforting. every day i’d talk into my hand, telling him how my day went, asking him about his, and sometimes singing him a song or something. this came to be a normal thing i did routinely. i would get worried when i didn’t get headaches for a while, as i perceived those as him ‘responding’, so i would think i did something wrong.

i would frequently worry about if i’d ever see him again - i had no way of knowing if he’d be a counselor at camp this year. then covid-19 came and i knew he couldn’t. at some points it really bothered me how much my mental health revolved around this person who i knew for around 2 months and who i’ll probably never see again.

as of now, i still do miss him. i still had camp dreams. i literally had one last night, where i saw shai and was trying to call out to him, but he didn’t hear me. i still do ‘talk’ to him, but it’s not like i think i’m actually speaking to him. but heck, if it’s comforting to me, there’s no reason not to. 

but really, shai seems more like a figment of my imagination now. it’s been a year since i’ve last seen him. was he ever real? 

i would draw him sometimes, imagine what it’d be like to talk to him again. how i wish i could talk to him again. 

there are so many silly little things i remember about shai - his poofy hair, his aviator sunglasses, how his fanny pack had writing on it in red sharpie and had multiple sunscreens in it, how he almost got hit by a cookie... 

shai is the nicest person i’ve ever known, and it’s a shame that i’ll probably never see him again. he’s the kind of person i want to be - i want to be able to understand people and cheer them up when they’re upset. i want to have poofy hair and call people ‘bud’ unironically...

oh to be you, shai...

(oh wait, i know he exists because apparently you can find his channel on youtube and his pfp is his face... the only thing on it is one comment saying “thanks for subscribing” lmao :’])

if any of you know who i’m talking about, or think you do, please tell me!! :’0

thanks broskis *sob*

[peremadeleine]

The Empathetic Dog Thief, Episode 1

Alternative titles: “Will: Deer Hunter and Dog Dad,” “Crimes Against Costuming,” “What Year Is It: A Crime Drama”

Armed with a gin & tonic and one sleepy cat, I finally gave the NBC show another shot.

I didn’t know Will had a superpower. Cool...?

How come he’s play-acting the murderer, though? Just because he can think like a killer doesn’t mean he needs to be reenacting it himself. That’s just confusing for the audience?? The way they did it in the Red Dragon movie was still effective without coming off as “aw, Will’s playing serial killer”

“This is my design” what

Plaid shirt and striped tie, truly a costuming sin. I didn’t love Will’s “modern wild west” costume vibes in Red Dragon, but it was better than this.

Don’t pretend that Jack and Will don’t know each other. Hate that.

Do look forward to hearing how many different ways people can pronounce “Graham” though.

Oh boy, why does Crawford push Will’s glasses up on his face while murmuring “hey” softly like a lover?? They’re strangers. That was mighty uncomfortable.

is he just assuming Will is on the spectrum? Right after they met???

and then Will confirms, but wait, he just has an “active imagination”?

STAY IN YOUR LANE

at least in canon Crawford doesn’t take advantage of people on the gd spectrum, and he spins it as being for the good of the victims. jfc.

“based on the characters by Thomas Harris”

Of course all the victims in the first episode are going to be women

“it’s not about all of these girls, it’s about one of them”--seven minutes in and they’re already ripping off Silence.

“he’s like Willy Wonka. every girl he takes is a candy bar.” no. nO.

“I mean, I would. Wouldn’t you?” no Will, Crawford’s a douchebag, not a murderous psychopath.

8 minutes in, me: WHERE’S THE TITLE CHARACTER THIS IS B O R I N G

“Why is it now a crime scene?” Because Will says so and he’s his own forensic team, apparently. Next question.

Also apparently he only owns red plaid-print shirts. Huh.

Lol Will has empathy for everyone but a grieving father confronted with his daughter’s dead body???

I don’t like the way Crawford is speaking to Will one bit. It’s supposed to be sensitive, but it comes off as condescending and mollycoddling. Ew. That is SO not Jack Crawford.

"You wrote the standard monograph on time of death by insect activity"?!?

so Will IS his own forensic team. Weird flex, but okay.

Antler velvet. Christ, HERE WE GO.

“You not real FBI?” Rip-off of Silence #2!

“You unstable?” Stop coming at Will, Jesus!

Will is a serial dognapper. SIX DOGS. Maybe, maybe, people in this neighborhood are missing their gd dogs, you monster.

none of them are even UGLY dogs

Will’s also drinking tho. One point for Gryffindor.

Oh, another plaid shirt. At least this one’s got a nice pattern. And isn’t red.

The bathroom is painted red, tho. What is it with Fuller and red walls?

Hugh Dancy’s American accent slips when he tries to like...emote. Yikes.

Strangulation is neither quick nor merciful.

A forensic specialist who wears her long-ass dark hair loose down her back and shoulders in the lab should be FIRED.

Implied “we covet what we see every day” scene: Silence Rip-Off #3

nineteen minutes in, me: W H E R E  I S  H A N N I B A L this is false marketing

Okay, I actually kind of like the “okay, I can cover him 80%” scene. Crawford’s real good at fucking up people’s lives in order to save lives.

twenty-one minutes in, me: HANNIBAL’S HERE THANK CHRIST

will probably regret this thought later

it’s okay, Hans. I, too, hate the career choices that have led me to this point.

the fact that he has tissues by HIS chair in his office is fuckin’ hilarious, what a douche, I love him

same, tho

The costumes and sets and cars are all screaming 70s/80s. But smartphones!

I’m watching this pretty late so my volume is a bit low and I cannot understand 70% of Hannibal’s dialogue, uh oh

Hannibal is supposed to be short so I don’t think this little “oh Crawford confused the short weepy patient with Hannibal” bit is that cute...I’ve always felt like Mads was poorly cast for that reason, among others. Oh well.

I take it all back:

HIS FACE

“No secretary?” “She was predisposed to romantic whims.” Not sure whether I like this line because Hannibal’s the one acting on whimsy or if it makes me cringe because of the way they’re dismissing Hannibal’s former secretary. Hmm.

“Are these yours, doctor?” a) Duh and b) Silence Rip-Off #4

Why the fuck does Crawford think he can just examine Hannibal’s papers? Like?????????

no wonder he hates your rude ass, Jack

HANNIBAL WHY IS WOUND MAN LYING ON YOUR DESK YOU PRECIOUS IDIOT

“Very interesting, even for a layman” Wow, unexpected Red Dragon rip-off (by the Red Dragon adaptation) #1

this whole scene is made of cringe HELP

why is Hannibal dressed in his Easter Sunday suit

Tattlecrimes.com. I’M SPEECHLESS at the stupidity of that.

tabloids are, in fact, still a thing in the Year of Our Lord 2013

No way is Hannibal fucking Lecter going to drink the swill that probably is Jack Crawford’s coffee, as if.

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Yes, Hannibal is the only character who should be canonically coming at anyone like this. (But also poor Will.)

But Will, at least look in his direction while he’s talking to you? I also don’t love eye contact...it’s rude not to even look at a person, though.

Hannibal finally used a contraction! He’s human after all. (This is a common Fanfic-Writing-of-Hannibal problem. I used to have it, too. You think to emulate him you have to write lofty, staid dialogue. But we’re talking about Hannibal the Punmaster General here.)

“This cannibal you have him getting to know” I’m sorry, who said anything about cannibals???

Stop incriminating yourself Hannibal honestly

Wait, is the implication that the victim whose lungs were taken is Hannibal’s? I hope not, because what would he be doing in Minnesota, and since when did Hannibal cut people up alive (Krendler notwithstanding--he’s a special case), especially women????? He’s a Monster(TM), but not a fucking sadist.

Will’s wardrobe also contains gingham!

no really, when did they determine that the serial killer was a cannibal?? did I sleep through that part?

“have Dr. Lecter draw up a psychological profile” bitch, please. Dr. Lecter doesn’t work for Crawford.

I don’t like hearing/watching people eat, especially in quiet moments. That’s going to become a problem in this show, isn’t it?

Will’s dream dear is fucking awful CGI. Wow.

That brown blazer--Hannibal would never.

EVERYTHING about Hannibal that should be black--his clothes and his hair--is brown here. It’s...weird.

to quote @random-emerald-thoughts​, “my homocidal boy aint about that tawny bullshit”

Hannibal Lecter: food snob--that’s canon. 

Don’t like this dialogue, though. And Hannibal bringing anyone he just met food in glorified Tupperware rings very false.

“Uncle Jack” what the fuck

Wow, Fuller jumped directly into the teacup thing right from the start. Yikes. He clearly didn’t understand it. (Clarice isn’t the teacup, bro. The teacup represents time, and disorder, and will it ever be reversed?)

Lots of weird metaphors in this episode overall, though none as bad as the Willy Wonka thing.

Why is Hannibal in Minnesota? Is he a crime-scene investigator now? Is he on the FBI payroll? Doesn’t he have patients with appointments to keep? Social obligations? I HAVE QUESTIONS.

He’s not a priss or a germaphobe. DISLIKE.

Do like the phone call. Just fuckin’ carelessly with people’s lives for the fun of it, that’s our Hannibal.

FBI? Are you FBI, Will?

He shouldn’t have been issued that sidearm if he can’t hold it steady.

One shot would have been plenty. Maybe two. Jfc, the reason Clarice shot Gumb so many times was because he was going to shoot her. Hobbs had a knife, which he dropped, and he was incapacitated by the first/second shot. Silence Rip-Off #5

How the fuck is he still alive and talking?! Will plugged him about eight times!

Call the police, Hannibal, or the ambulance, or take off your jacket and provide first aid to this girl. You’re a doctor!

It really is like he wants to be arrested or something.

And then he gets to ride in the ambulance?? Just Because?

Overall, it was...not very good, imo, poorly paced, very poorly written, with acting that jumped wildly from “very good” to “awful,” sometimes from the same actors. Intense cringe throughout a lot of the script. Ripped off Silence of the Lambs, a superior movie about many of the same characters, way too many times. Will is boring and I don’t care about him, but then I also don’t care about canon Will. And I still think Mads Mikkelsen was poorly cast as Hannibal...the costumes aren’t doing him any favors, either. We’ll see if he can bring me around.

Some moments of genuine humor that I appreciated, though, and some nods to the canon that I grudgingly appreciated, too, including Hannibal being a dick and Jack Crawford fucking up people’s lives.

Hopefully if you made it this far into my observations you got a kick out of them. I probably won’t go into this much detail for every episode, but I do intend to try to watch at least all of Season 1.

Painful as it might be.

[truthbeetoldmedia]

American Gods 2x04 “The Greatest Story Ever Told” Review

So much happens in every single hour of American Gods and this week’s episode is no different! We saw how Technical Boy came to be, Mr. Nancy trying to get Bilquis and Mr. Ibis to actually play their part in the war, and some weird Girl Scouts who were far scarier than an angry Mr. World or Mr. Wednesday.  

The story of how Technical Boy came to be started with a young boy who expressed minimal interest in classical music but showed great enthusiasm for all things technical. All the boy’s father wanted to do was share his love of classical music (his self-proclaimed way of praying) with his son. While the boy was talented on the piano, like any young child during the rise of computers, his interests were held elsewhere. By college, the son found a way for his computer program to write music. The boy was so proud, he showed his father. When his father found out that it was the computer, and not his son, that wrote the beautiful music, you could tell he was disappointed. This new technology encroached on the one thing he loved most. Well, the two things he loved most.  

The father ends up dying. At the funeral, Technical Boy comes into the picture. As mentioned before, music was how the father prayed. Incorporating music into tech is how the boy prays, thus Technical Boy appears above the man’s casket. For some reason, that’s not how I envisioned Technical Boy to come into being.  

Seeing Technical Boy come to be and seeing him lose usefulness to Mr. World in the same episode is kind of fascinating. As New Media said in the last episode, the two of them existing at the same time is kind of redundant. With Technical Boy letting Laura kill Argos in the last episode, Mr. World is beyond pissed. Technical Boy not getting the job Mr. World sent him out to do isn’t exactly doing him any favors. New Media is coming across as the favorite child with the big boss, while Technical Boy is sent into a time-out. (I’m taking it as a time-out. Whatever that ball that ate him is, I don’t think it destroyed him, so I’m calling it a time-out.) Technical Boy went to the young boy-turned-CEO for help in this war. This ended up being his downfall. For the longest time, Technical Boy was this man’s only friend. However, this man’s attention is fickle. New Media is easy to distract him with her technology and Mr. World essentially shows Technical Boy that he’s no longer essential and that he’s replaceable, which isn’t an easy thing for a god to hear.  

The first scene with Shadow picks up right where the last episode left off. He had the stuffing kicked out of him and he was FEELING it. Mr. Wednesday made him a deal that if Shadow wasn’t feeling better in the morning, then he could ride off with Better (his car) and leave Mr. Wednesday behind. You see, Shadow’s been feeling beyond frustrated with Mr. Wednesday lately and I can’t blame him. The man is keeping him in the dark about why he even chose Shadow to begin with. He wants to leave. He wants to find Laura and do what? Well, I’m not sure. You can’t very well go back to a life before you found out gods were real with a walking, talking corpse of a wife.  

Anyways, it’s nighttime and Shadow is in bed. A naked woman is sitting right on top of him. Her name is Bast and she’s an old warrior goddess, who also happened to be the goddess of cats. They start having sex, because apparently now Shadow has sex with random women who just find him in the middle of the night. (I’m not slut-shaming Shadow. I’m just saying that that’s not exactly practicing safe sex there, pal.) While they’re doing the dirty, she starts clawing at his skin...like a cat. She licks his open wounds from when he was beat up and then she starts leaving actual cuts on his chest and back. In the morning, Shadow wakes up and the woman has vanished. There is, however, a cat in Shadow’s room.  

Shadow goes down and speaks with Mr. Ibis and Mr. Wednesday. Wednesday wants to head out to St. Louis, where they find themselves at a diner. Mama-ji is there because she works at every Motel America, apparently. (Hope the paycheck is worth it, Mama-ji!) Tensions continue to run high between Mr. Wednesday and Shadow because Mr. Wednesday, as I previously mentioned, refuses to key Shadow into the reason he was chosen for this job. Mr. Wednesday tells him it’s because he’s essentially a nobody to everyone and, let me tell YOU, Shadow is EVERYTHING to ME.  

They end up meeting with these creepy girl scouts, who ask them if they want to buy candy and if they’d like to use debit or credit. It’s code for a meeting between Mr. World and a bookkeeper, but it’s the weirdest thing to actually witness. Whatever exactly this meeting was, because I’m still a tad confused to be honest, it ends in a draw because the bookkeeper isn’t making any decisions. I take it to mean that it’s really anybody’s war.  

While Shadow and Mr. Wednesday are in St. Louis, Mr. Ibis is attending to a dead woman’s body at his funeral parlor. Bilquis happens upon the deceased woman’s granddaughter in the chapel. One can only assume that Bilquis was searching out the old gods because maybe she’s finally chosen a side after Mr. World confronted her in last week’s episode. Anyways, Bilquis is all about human connections, so she starts speaking with the granddaughter, whose name we find out is Ruby. The topic of discussion is all about faith, of course. Ruby speaks of how her grandmother believed in Jesus and the sense of community that faith brought her. Ruby seems to appreciate the community, as well.  

Mr. Nancy shows up at the funeral parlor as well to deliver some much needed truth. Mr. Ibis and Bilquis have made it clear so far that they aren’t on any side. Well, Mr. Nancy wants them to decide. All three of them are some of the oldest gods out there. They are three powerful African gods. While it’s nice that Mr. Ibis and Bilquis don’t want to choose a side because they just want peace, they’re going to have to actually participate in order to reach that peace. The death of Zorya Vechernyaya brought Czernobog into the fight. To paraphrase Mr. Nancy, it took the death of an old white lady for Czernobog to swing his hammer. If it had been an old black lady, who’s to say Czernobog would’ve taken a stance? Like last season when we were introduced to Mr. Nancy, what he says speaks truths about America’s politics today. I believe that may have been enough for these three to show a united front, especially between Mr. Nancy and Bilquis with their steamy lip-locking.  

While this episode left me questioning some things, I was overall very pleased with it. I’m hoping Shadow gets more answers soon. I hate seeing him so confused and torn on his place by Mr. Wednesday’s side. I also want to see more Nancy/Bilquis/Ibis. I’m looking forward to their next interaction with Wednesday. One thing I’m hoping is explored more is New Media’s power and her new personality. We caught glimpses with Technical Boy, but there’s still so much more they could be showing us.

Some thoughts on the episode:

I’m actually really mad with how that father reacted to his son’s way of writing music. The boy was so proud of his creation, but his father didn’t see that. He just saw technology “ruining” something he loved so much. There’s definitely a generational divide with something like that. I can see both sides to the issue at hand, but I can’t help but be on the boy’s side with this one. Technology is AMAZING. It can do SO MUCH with just pressing a few keys on a keyboard. It was a real shame the boy’s father couldn’t take pride in something his son made because while the computer technically wrote the music, the son made it all possible to begin with.  

Can’t anyone have any normal sex on this show? First, the human-eating vagina. Then, the technical tentacle sex. Now, Shadow has sex with the cat-lady. I am DISTURBED.  

I’m shipping Mr. Nancy and Bilquis! They’re stunning! Mr. Ibis is their supportive mom friend.  

I actually felt really bad for Technical Boy by the end of the episode, which is something I never thought I’d do, considering I find Technical Boy to be awfully bratty.  

I like Mr. Wednesday more than Mr. World just for the record!

American Gods airs on Sundays at 8/7c on Starz.

Sarah’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 039: Deku VS Todoroki 2 - Flashback Boogaloo

Previously on BnHA: Todoroki and Izuku began their one on one! Todoroki blasted ice attacks at Deku and Deku broke up each one with mini One for All finger smashes. Todoroki’s right side slowly froze up, but meanwhile Deku went through all five fingers on his right hand and then proceeded to blow up his entire fucking left arm. You’d think this would have been the end of it, but no, this motherfucker then went and busted out another smash through his already-mangled right hand. Rather than going into shock at this point like a normal person, Deku fucking screamed at Todoroki to use his full power, because apparently he wants to die in the most spectacular way possible. I don’t even know.

Today on BnHA: Everyone just sits back and watches while Deku destroys his own body in his crazed attempts to get Shouto to use his left side. It’s not fun. Then Shouto starts having flashbacks to his horrifying past. This is even less fun. Basically no one is having a good time here. But eventually something in Shouto clicks when Deku yells at him that his power is his own. And then Shouto finally fires up his left side. So that part at least is fun, but the rest of it has me needing some damn blood pressure medication you guys.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 91 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

oh my god literally the first panel is a baby Shouto POV of his mom

I don’t know if I’m ready for this chapter guys

“when did I forget what came after that?” oh my god. is it so bad his mind blocked the memory for self-preservation reasons or something

Todoroki is really mad that Deku would suggest something so absurd as him using his full power. I assume Deku is going to tell him something similar to the “you’re not your dad” thing that he already said to Endeavor earlier

seriously Shouto, you can use your full power and still piss your dad off

now he’s really mad and he’s charging right at Deku

that’s maybe not the best plan

meanwhile Bakugou is watching intently and it’s so cute I have to post the panel

you go ahead and take your notes kiddo. you’re gonna need ‘em if you end up having to battle him yourself

now that they’re up close Deku is using the microwave trick again!

BUT HE’S STILL USING HIS RIGHT ARM. WHAT GOOD IS THE MICROWAVE TRICK IF THE ARM’S ALREADY FUCKED UP

PLEASE DON’T PUNCH HIM WITH A CLOSED FIST WITH YOUR BROKEN HAND, I MAY ACTUALLY FAINT OH MY GOD

I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW DEKU!!!!!!

has Horikoshi ever broken any of his bones?!! COME BACK AND WRITE THIS SCENE AGAIN AFTER YOU’VE BROKEN A BONE, ASSHOLE. COME BACK AND TELL ME THAT HE CAN FUCKING DO THAT AND NOT FALL DOWN SOBBING AFTERWARDS

the only possible explanation I can come up with is that he’s somehow completely hopped up on the adrenaline of it all and isn’t actually feeling the full pain just yet

but he SHOULD be, because that’s the body’s way of telling him, “DON’T FUCKING PUNCH ANYONE WITH THIS HAND YOU COLOSSALLY STUPID FUCK!!!”

anyway, Todoroki is FLYING ACROSS THE RING, but DEKU SHOULD BE FUCKING DEAD AND NOW I’M JUST MAD, DAMN IT

whoever wins this match has to fight either Shiozaki or Iida next, depending on who wins their match (probably Iida). and then after that, either Bakugou or Tokoyami (probably Bakugou). but I don’t know if either of these guys will actually be up for that at this rate

I can’t believe it, but Todoroki actually doesn’t look too good. just use your stupid left side already, Shouto

JESUS CHRIST CAN WE GET AN ACTUAL RESPONSIBLE ADULT OUT HERE??? ANYONE?? AIZAWA????

he’s agreeing with my hypothesis that Deku is so hopped up on adrenaline that he’s not feeling the full pain of what he’s doing to his body. and he’s already done so much damage that it can’t all be fixed in a single healing session. that’s what I’ve been fucking saying

should they stop the match? ABSOLUTELY. will they stop the match?? FUCKING WHAT DO YOU THINK

fucking hell, even Aizawa and All Might are just watching in awed admiration

SUPERHEROES ARE THE FUCKING WORST

Deku’s gonna be in the hospital for a fucking month and ALL OF THIS IS ON YOU SADISTIC FUCKS

ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAIIIIINED

oh my god finally

YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN ABLE TO MAKE A FIST IN THE FIRST PLACE. BUT OKAY. YEESHHH

now he’s... biting... his thumb...

aaand that’s another smash

this is fucking horrifying. I’m not enjoying this at all, not even gonna pretend. it’s just absurd to me at this point that they would let this keep dragging out. I hope this inspires a series of rule changes to future sports festivals to lessen the risk of children doing irreversible damage to their bodies all for the sake of a fucking exhibition match

Shouto asks why Deku is going this far and Deku says he’s “just trying to meet expectations”

All Might you need to sit down with this boy after this and explain where he’s supposed to draw the line in this regard. like, when you did the plus ultra thing? that was for a good cause! sacrificing yourself to save other people’s lives! but he’s just doing it because he has something to prove and it’s the dumbest fucking thing, ugh

sorry guys, I might be bitching about this the entire chapter if this keeps up

“I want to be a smiling, dependable, cool hero!” Deku fucking shrieks

then you might want to step back about twenty feet and take a good long look at what you’re doing so far to accomplish those goals, Deku. because right now, “smiling” and “dependable” are not the words that come to mind

OH MY GOD!!!

BABY SHOUTO WITH NO SCAR!!!

RED ALERT. GOT MY BOX OF TISSUES OUT. ICE CREAM IN THE FREEZER AND ASMR PLAYLIST CUED UP ON YOUTUBE IF I NEED SOMETHING TO CALM ME DOWN AFTER THIS SHIT

Deku says he can’t begin to imagine what Shouto’s experiences have been like or how fierce his determination must be, but...

oh my god more flashbacks oh my god oh my god

(ETA: adding this note a couple years after the fact to warn people reading these recaps for the first time that my initial reaction to the full Shouto backstory was kind of intense. I really blew up at Rei in particular because without getting into any detail, that scene hit close to home for me in regard to some experiences I had while growing up. so I kind of projected a bit without meaning to. anyway, please see here for the “part 2″ version of this post, and fwiw Rei is now one of my favorite characters.)

THIS CHAPTER IS MAKING ME SO FUCKING ANGRY I’M GONNA FUCKING HULK OUT. SHIT. FUCKING SHIT

SHOUTO’S SCREAMING AT DEKU TO SHUT UP AND I FUCKING AGREE. YOU JUST SAID YOURSELF THAT YOU DON’T KNOW THE HALF OF WHAT HE’S BEEN THROUGH AND NOW’S REALLY NOT THE TIME TO START FUCKING PREACHING AT HIM OVER WHETHER OR NOT HE’S SERIOUS ABOUT HIS GOAL

NOW BABY SHOUTO IS HUGGIN’ HIS MOM AND SAYING THAT HE HATES DADDY AND DOESN’T WANT TO BE LIKE HIM

BECAUSE HIS DADDY “BULLIES” HIS MOMMY OH MY GOD

HE KEEPS REPEATING THAT HE DOESN’T WANT TO BE LIKE THAT

WHY DID WE HAVE TO HAVE THIS STUPID FLASHBACK. I WANNA GO HOME

I KNOW IT’S MY FAULT!! I ASKED FOR ANGST!! I KNOW!! I’M SORRY! I NEVER LEARN SOBB

SHOUTO’S MOM IS PATTING HIS HEAD GENTLY

DEKU IS SCREAMING AT SHOUTO AGAIN. STOP SCREAMING AT HIM!!!

BABY SHOUTO IS LOOKING AT THE WINDOW AT SOME KIDS PLAYING

-- THOSE ARE HIS BROTHERS?????!

AND HIS DAD SAYS NOT TO LOOK AT THEM, “THEY BELONG TO A DIFFERENT WORLD THAN YOU”

JESUS CHRIST. DID ENDEAVOR JUST WAKE UP ONE DAY AND DECIDE TO BE THE WORST??? JUST LIKE, THE WORST EVER? SINCE HE COULDN’T BE THE BEST, HE DECIDED TO BE THE WORST?!

LIKE, IF I HAD A GUN WITH TWO BULLETS AND WAS TRAPPED IN A ROOM WITH ENDEAVOR, MINETA, AND THE SKYPE VILLAIN, I WOULD SHOOT ENDEAVOR TWICE AND THEN PISTOL WHIP HIS DYING ASS UNTIL IT STOPPED TWITCHING??

NOW SHOUTO IS WALKING BY THE KITCHEN AND IT LOOKS LIKE HE’S ALREADY CRYING FROM SOMETHING (ABUSE, PROBABLY!!) AND HE’S OVERHEARING HIS MOM TALKING ON THE PHONE AND SHE’S SAYING THAT SHE CAN’T TAKE IT AND SOMETIMES THE LOOKS AT SHOUTO AND HIS LEFT SIDE AND HATES WHAT SHE SEES

WHAT A FUCKING THING FOR YOUR CHILD TO OVERHEAR!! AND I SEE A KETTLE ON THE STOVE! SHOULD I BE PREPARING MYSELF TO PUNCH MY COMPUTER SCREEN

SHE SAYS SHE CAN’T RAISE HIM ANYMORE

HE’S LOOKING UP AT HER WITH WIDE EYES

SHE’S LOOKING AT HIM LIKE... I CAN’T EVEN DESCRIBE IT. I DON’T WANT TO DESCRIBE IT OR POST IT

AND THE NEXT PANEL AFTER THAT IS HIM WITH A BANDAGE OVER HIS LEFT EYE

I HOPE SHE FUCKING WENT TO JAIL FOR FUCKING LIFE. MAN, I DON’T EVEN CARE. I HAVE ALL THE SYMPATHY FOR HER, RIGHT UP UNTIL SHE (A) LEFT HERSELF AND SHOUTO IN THAT SITUATION RATHER THAN TRYING TO REMOVE HIM FROM IT, AND THEN (B) FUCKING MAIMED HER OWN FUCKING CHILD, WHO LITERALLY HAD NO ONE ELSE EXCEPT FOR HER

I HATE THIS!!! I HATE ALL OF THIS!!!! I HATE THAT I AGREE WITH ENDEAVOR’S DECISION! I HATE THAT SHE ENDED UP PAYING FOR HIS GARBAGE BEHAVIOR! AND I HATE THAT SHOUTO IS NOW STUCK WITH HIM ALL ALONE!

AND IT SEEMS LIKE SOMETHING IN SHOUTO JUST SNAPPED FROM THAT POINT ON AND HE BECAME DETERMINED TO DEFY HIM

BACK TO THE FIGHT OMG

DEKU IS GOING FULL SHOUNEN JESUS

OH MY GOD AND IT FLASHES BACK TO BABY SHOUTO AGAIN

AND HE’S WATCHING A VIDEO, AND IT’S AN INTERVIEW WITH FUCKING ALL MIGHT

HE SAYS QUIRKS ARE PASSED FROM PARENT TO CHILD, BUT IT’S NOT JUST THAT AND “ONE MUST RECOGNIZE AND APPRECIATE ONESELF”

FUUUUUUUUUUCK

HE LOOKS SO HAPPY AND RELIEVED AND IT LOOKS LIKE HE HAS THE SAME BABY BOY CRUSH ON ALL MIGHT THAT BABY DEKU HAD

I’M JUST SO MAD AND UPSET THAT THIS WOMAN COULD HURT THIS CHILD, KNOWING FULL WELL HOW DIFFERENT HE WAS FROM HIS FATHER, HOW MUCH HE DIDN’T WANT TO BE LIKE HIM, AND HOW MUCH THE MERE THOUGHT OF IT HURT HIM

OH MY GOD AND NOW PRESENT-DAY TODOROKI LOOKS LIKE HE WANTS TO CRY

PROBABLY WHEN THE SAME WOMAN WHO SHOWED YOU THAT VIDEO LOST HER MIND AND POURED SCALDING WATER ON YOUR FACE

WELP

I just want to press pause for a sec and let you guys know that I’ve been listening to my “fight music” playlist during my readthrough of this chapter, and this scene was absolutely perfectly timed. got to this point RIGHT when I read that panel. I got so fucking fired up lol

so finally Todoroki has gotten over his stupid insistence on not using his left side! yay! I think Deku could have picked a better sort of therapy than this, personally, but hey! anyways, are you happy now dude?

you know what, forget I asked. no one cares about you

I’m just happy for this little guy:

THAT WEIRD SMILE AT THE END I CAN’T I’M FUCKING DEAD. HE LOOKS SO HAPPY AND DORKY

ALSO, WAY TO BLOW ANY CHANCE THAT BAKUGOU OR ANYONE ELSE HAD OF DEFEATING HIM LOL. MIGHT AS WELL JUST WRAP UP THIS COMPETITION NOW

(ETA: well I mean. it would’ve been true if this breakthrough had actually stuck lol)

well, Deku, you did it. you can pass out now

BONUS: 

Kouda’s pure, sweet face is all the ASMR I need after this chapter that fucked up my emotions in every possible way!

gotta tell you guys, I liked his design from the start. but this?

this just seals the deal. he is in fact the best character in the whole series. THIS WHOLE TIME IT WAS KOUDA, who the fuck would have ever thought

[radiojamming]

this is looooong overdue, but have ana’s first meeting with john! i know it took a long time just to get this one out, but i do have on planning another with more interaction between the two of them. they’re hella fun. >:3c

- - -

“It’s nothing personal,” Jacob says, left hand dangling over the the top of the steering wheel, right hand up beside him like he’s literally handing Ana the apology. “Just the Veterans Center really isn’t a place for--”

For kids, Ana thinks he’s going to say. She almost bristles, until she remembers that to him she is a kid. 

“--my niece,” he finishes, if not a bit lamely. His right hand slides back onto the steering wheel and he sighs,. “Anyway, John’s got a better set-up. Actual house n’ all.”

That’s the plan, at least. Ana’s overheard one of the telephone calls between her uncles, and she’s heard enough to know that John either doesn’t know who she is or doesn’t care. Judging from how Jacob talks about his youngest brother, she’d put her bets on the former. 

Either way, she sits with her hands splayed out on top of her thighs, watching the dreary gray peaks of the pines pass in blurs by her window. Rain comes in misty sheets off the Whitetails, and if Ana was the sort of person to believe in omens, she would think this isn’t a particularly good one. The warm air coming from the vents makes little patches of vapor on the window glass, so she occupies herself with tracing a little smiley face on it.

“So,” she says, dotting the eyes. “Any word on what Joseph wants done with me yet?”

Jacob hums a negative. He doesn’t sound particularly broken up about it. “He’ll come around,” he replies. 

It’s not really the answer she was hoping for, which suggests that there was something in particular she wanted in the first place. The reality is that Ana doesn’t know what she wants. It’s not like she came to Hope County with the expectation that she would just skip into her father’s waiting arms, to be scooped up like a small child and greeted with warmth and happiness. She’s known for a long time that there was always the possibility of their meeting going wrong. She just didn’t divine how wrong it could have been.

“Don’t think too much on it,” Jacob continues, drumming his fingers on the wheel as they pass by a twisted carcass of some... one? thing? It’s hard to tell by how rotten and mangled it is, so Ana just focuses on her vapor drawing, even as one corner of the mouth is dripping. “He’s probably holed up somewhere in the compound, praying or writing or whatever it is he does.”

Ana frowns, tracing a little thin line under the smiley face with her pinkie nail. “What if he decides to string me up? Make an example or whatever? Or take me out just to make his story legit?”

“He wouldn’t.”

It might be her imagination, but Jacob doesn’t sound entirely confident in his own answer.

- - -

Ana’s quickly getting the idea that her youngest uncle is eccentric, for lack of a better term. Dramatic might be more apt, judging by the general arrangement and choice of decor for his entire region. She gapes at the billboards of his face, at the massive Hollywood-esque YES standing out among the low mist in the foothills, and his ranch.

His whole ranch.

Ana’s adoptive family is fairly well off, although not enough to justify buying a mansion or having a yacht or anything like that. She’s always had enough to be comfortable and secure. Her uncle, on the other hand, clearly thinks that the more ostentatious, the better. The sheer amount of land is one thing, and when Jacob points out that he owns the entire peninsula cut out by the river, she almost balks. Then she sees the airstrip, the smaller YES on the road, and the house--

Jesus Christ, she can’t live here.

It appears from the sheets of rain like something out of a home and gardening magazine for people who consider a getaway cabin to be something that has at least five bedrooms and a pool. There’s a fucking hangar and a sleek black plane already out in the little turn-off that goes to the airstrip. The place is heavily fortified and patrolled by a massive guard presence, and Ana’s left to wonder if they’re only defending John and his property, or there’s more to this place.

John himself appears not long after Jacob’s turned the truck into a gravel driveway. He steps out into the rain, under a massive black umbrella, dressed in a simple black silk button-up with the sleeves rolled up to expose his tattoos. Jacob grunts at the sight of him before offering Ana a look that she supposes might be as close as he gets to sympathetic.

“Ah, one more thing about John before I turn you over to him. He’s... He’ll probably take some getting used to.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, and then looks at where John’s standing, waiting for them near the front door, looking for all the world like he’d rather be somewhere else. “Pretty brotherly of you to say,” she says, not really thinking before she does it. Fortunately, Jacob doesn’t see her wince.

He shrugs, opening his door. “Didn’t know him for most of either of our lives,” he says, and Ana doesn’t have to parse out the meaning, at least.

After getting out of the truck, Ana dutifully trails after Jacob with her rucksack thrown over her shoulder, not minding the mud already splattering up the backs of her legs. For the past few weeks, getting filthy is part of the status quo, and possibly something Jacob revels in. It’s only when John gives her this level, sort of judgey look that she realizes how different her uncles are going to be.

Jacob stands in front of his brother, not minding that he’s getting absolutely drenched. “John,” he says as a greeting.

“Brother,” John returns, although his eyes stay on Ana. “Do you mind telling me now why the Deputy has to be here?”

Well, Ana got that right. He doesn’t know. Awesome.

Jacob grunts again, crossing his arms over his chest. In the gray light, his scars and rashes just look like mottled dark wax stains rather than anything gory. “We might wanna go inside for this,” is all he says.

John appraises them both before sighing and turning around. “Fine,” he says. “But you’re both taking your boots off the second you get in the door.” - - - A large fire is already underway in the fireplace, crackling joyously and filling the whole room with the scent of seasoned pine. It’s almost festive, if it weren’t for the fact that John might be about thirty seconds from having to be peeled off his own vaulted ceilings. Fortunately, the fire is also a welcome distraction for Ana so that she doesn’t have to watch his reaction.

“Joseph-- He--” John tries, and these are just a few of his false starts. Out of the corner of her eye, Ana can see the white of his knuckles as he grips his coffee cup hard enough that she worries about him shattering it. Finally, he ekes out a, “You believe her?”

“Mhmm.”

“How?”

“She’s got documentation.”

Ana feels like she has to add her own voice here, seeing as how they’re talking about her like she’s not present. “It’s on Dutch’s Island right now,” she says.

“Oh, naturally,” John replies snidely, although some of the heat is gone due to what might be shock. “Conveniently out of sight on an island that no one wants to be caught dead on.” Then, he snaps his attention back to Jacob. “Have you seen it?”

Ana thinks Jacob might shake his head, because the next sound from John is one of perfect indignation. Then Jacob amends, “I still believe her.”

“Well, that’s fantastic for you. I’m glad that you’re so willing to believe a violent stranger that threatened the Project.”

By now, Jacob’s starting to sound a bit annoyed. “That’s part of the reason why I came with her. I saw Joseph’s reaction. I have no reason to believe she wasn’t telling the truth.”

“Other than the fact that she has nothing on hand to prove it otherwise?” Then, John sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. Now, Ana faces him, watching the high color in his cheeks above the dark line of his beard, and a telltale pinch in his brow. “Joseph believes her?”

Beside her, Jacob shrugs and leans back on the sofa. “Wouldn’t know. He hasn’t said a word to me since then, and I’m thinking he hasn’t said anything to you or Faith, either.”

John’s silent a moment before he shakes his head. “He hasn’t,” he says.

Jacob nods like this is what he expected. “He left in a hurry. I figured he went back to the Compound to think this over or pray on it. Anyway, if you’re really doubtin’ it, why don’t you just pull some strings and get the records for yourself?” “Oh, absolutely, Jacob. Let me just carefully pull some strings from my highly isolated seat using our valuable and tenuous internet connection to find out if the Deputy--” Dehp-hyoo-tee, he says, like every syllable is individually sour. “--is my brother’s long lost child, because that makes perfect sense and is completely viable in the span of, oh, we’ll say the next half hour, hmm?”

Jacob retorts with an instantaneous, “Good idea. Get on that,” before getting up with his coffee cup and walking back to the kitchen, leaving Ana alone with her uncle who might be seething in his overstuffed recliner.

He’s glaring at her. She knows that. She can feel it even when she tries to distract herself again by watching one of the logs in the fireplace shiver and collapse into two glowing pieces, sending a plume of sparks up into the chimney. Immediately, Ana feels like she has to defend herself here, as if John is about to burst into some prosecution talk. 

Defend herself about what, though? ‘Oh, sorry that I’m your brother’s kid and apparently he lied to you about it? Sorry to inconvenience all of you by existing.’

She bristles before looking up at John, at his eyes that apparently are designed to make boreholes out of anything he stares at. 

“I can give you any information you’d need to look up my records,” she offers, trying to keep her voice as level and pleasant as she can. “Hospitals, clinics, schools, that kind of thing.”

He scoffs. He actually scoffs like some haughty socialite in an old movie. “Forgive me, Deputy, if I don’t immediately take to the idea that I might actually be related to you.”

“Forgiven,” Jacob says from behind her, coming around the side of the sofa to take his place back, now armed with a full cup of coffee. “Seeing as how I know you’d have no problem pulling those things up. You’ve done more with less.” Then, he completely relaxes, looking more at home in the living room than John does. “Besides, I think Ana’s gotta be pretty exhausted by now, and I remember telling you to set up a place for her to sleep, yeah?”

It’s John’s turn to bristle, but some of his ire seems to be shaken off. Finally, he sighs and jerks his head towards the staircase. “The guest bedroom is the first door. Bathroom attached, so feel free to...” He wrinkles his nose, looking her over. “Help yourself.”

Ana doesn’t have to be told twice, especially with the air of an oncoming talk between the brothers.

For the best, she thinks as she gets up. It’s been a damn long week.

[justgenlockthings]

gen:VIEW Episode 2, “There’s Always Tomorrow”

Rooster Teeth knows how to make a premiere that packs a punch when it comes to their serialized dramas (yes, I’m including Red vs. Blue in that category). But it’s the non-premiere episodes that generally give you a better idea of if the show’s gonna be good or not.

Or maybe you’re someone like TheFloofArtist and you were predisposed to hate the show long before you even saw it and so found literally every possible reason to hate it from the 2nd episode and dramatically “dropped it” despite the fact that if you hated the show so much you were shitting on it without having seen a single episode your opinion was never gonna be considered valid.

(Why do grown men throw hissy fits about TV shows?)

Ahem...so. Episode 2 of gen:LOCK...

Let’s Get Down To Business

Where episode 1 was about establishing the relationship between Chase and Miranda, this episode seems to be about establishing the gen:LOCK program itself: how it works and who’s gonna be in it. For that reason, at least for the first half, it’s very expository, but not in a way that ever feels boring. Honestly, the longer episode lengths means the amount of time they spend standing around and talking doesn’t feel like vital time wasted, unlike RWBY which has often made that terrible mistake. This is information we need to get a basic understanding of how this program works, and we also get a chance to hear Dr. Weller passionately talking about his life’s work. Jesus christ, David Tennant gives such a good performance. He really sells the good guy mad scientist voice you expect from Dr. Weller.

I wasn’t entirely sold on Michael B. Jordan as a voice actor the previous episode, but even if at certain points it was clear we were watching a scene that hadn’t been initially animated to his voice, this episode convinced me things were gonna be fine. I loved his performance in the scene of Julian in the tank chatting with Migas: the sort of bittersweetness of the reunion between the two after all that had happened to them, but they were still glad to finally see each other again. Miles Luna deserves some praise too for helping sell the fact that this is a reunion. After all, even though we caught a brief moment of them interacting and joking around in Episode 1, we didn’t really have a chance to establish they were close friends. This scene does well to convince us that yes, they were friends, and they are relieved to see each other again.

Chase and Miranda’s situation was very well-handled in this episode. It was always going to be painful for Miranda to find out Chase was still alive, and even though it’s perfectly logical that Chase wasn’t able to reach out to her in the intervening years, it still isn’t something she can just brush over. She didn’t immediately jump at the chance to see him in-person, and actively avoided him for a day. It would have been a major mistake for her to be the first one who went to visit him. I love this whole situation with Miranda: the way the marketing was going you kind of expected just a bland character defined by her relationship with Chase, and, well, I guess what she does in this episode is sort of defined by the relationship, but it’s done in a way that’s actually interesting, where you actually care about how she feels about all this. Dakota Fanning does a great job conveying the hurt Miranda feels seeing someone she loved after so long who she’d given up for dead. I think she might easily be the third best voice actor we’ve heard so far, behind Monica Rial and David Tennant.

Here’s another case where one of my few pre-show expectations got subverted. From the character teasers I’d sort of expected us to get a depiction of the formation of the gen:LOCK program from the start: presumably that path would have followed Chase and Yasamin’s initial training and the early mech designs we saw in the early posters and the first two teasers. Of course, this was before I had known what they were planning with Chase’s crash, a path in the story that I could not have possibly predicted. And now I’m realizing why they didn’t do that: 1) it would have been too similar to RWBY and probably have made for a very slow show otherwise, and 2) they wanted to get right into the giant mechs fighting things. Sure, it sort of robs us of seeing some cool stuff about what it was like for Chase to join the program, but I figure we’ll get that depicted in flashbacks or in the comics.

One of the accusations regarding Kazu Iida was that having him speak Japanese while everyone else was speaking English would create “The Lopez Effect.” For those unaware, Lopez is a robot on Rooster Teeth’s show Red vs. Blue who speaks “Spanish” (really sentences run through Google Translate) that is translated for the audience via subtitles but no one else can understand. Now, for what the complain actually entails, I think “Lopez effect” is a bad term for it because Lopez’s situation is played for laughs while in gen:LOCK everyone understands Iida and doesn’t bat an eye. The complaint is more that it creates a tonal dissonance in what’s designed as a dramatic show: while everyone’s speaking English Kazu’s saying all his lines in Japanese with subtitles. Now, I can understand why that could all sound a little weird, but the thing is the way they set things up in the episode I really don’t think Iida speaking English is gonna be as distracting as one might think: they set it up where the characters can understand what he’s saying thanks to the augmented reality gear everyone seems equipped with, so that already established a method of communication, and I just didn’t give any thought to the fact he’s speaking Japanese for the rest of the episode. I would honestly be more bothered if he just spoke English all the time.

The other accusation is that the fact that he is the only character who speaks a foreign language was they’d have an excuse to get the voice of Spike Spiegel, which apparently is bad because it’s “weeb-baiting.” I’m sorry, I didn’t realize they were trying to draw audiences in with who they were casting...

As far as the new gen:LOCK recruits go, we didn’t get too much information about them, and this is probably the only issue I have with this episode. Still, there was a lot going on here, so I can forgive not learning everything about them in their first appearance. And the thing is, the sequence with the imposter Sinclair (bravo to Blaine Gibson for being able to flip a coin––heheh––from friendly recruit Sinclair to Evil!Sinclair) offered us a good glimpse into who they are as fighters. Especially in recent years, Rooster Teeth fights are a chance to really get an idea for the character (and for that I wholeheartedly thank Monty Oum) and how they handle dangerous situations. Yasamin is clearly someone who can jump into a fight and hold her own without hesitation, Iida is someone who will jump right into a fight, Valentina will keep her distance but can still be quite deadly, and Cammie is a scared little bean...who with a little encouragement can still be helpful.

Now, the Sinclair reveal was a slight bit predictable if you picked up the hints in Character Reveal Teaser 4 (which I hadn’t, and in retrospect was blatantly obvious). The fact that it was predictable was the source of derision by some of the more gen:CRIT crowd, but honestly? I don’t see predictability as a sign of whether something’s good or not. Things can be predictable and still be fun to watch, so long as it’s delivered in an entertaining manner. And we got a pretty awesome fight sequence out of it.

I’ve seen a few people say that the jokes in this show feel forced. I’m inclined to disagree. The type of humor Gray and Evan are employing in the writing is more grounded than the kind you see in RWBY or Red vs. Blue or Camp Camp: it’s designed to feel more natural to the conversations these characters are having, while also not taking attention away from the more serious aspects of the story. Most of Rooster Teeth’s core group (more recent additions less-so) know how to create an engaging story based in serious tones, but they never really stray from their comedy roots––Day 5, their most dramatic venture to date, was a lot funnier than the concept would’ve implied because Josh and Chris knew where to inject humor when it would be desperately needed. This episode isn’t very different: the drama of Chase basically coming back from the dead gets natural moments of levity from his and Migas brief Siege mention and Dr. Weller being disappointed that he couldn’t participate in the reveal; the tension between Chase and Miranda gets a moment where Miranda refuses to hear out Migas on visiting Chase, a moment that can draw laughs while also being realistic to her and Chase’s actual situation; Chase popping up behind Fake!Sinclair and saying “Boo,” which...actually that was more a legit joke, but I laughed really hard. What I mean to say is gen:LOCK is not trying to be a comedy, but Rooster Teeth knows how and when to make its audience laugh.

(save for Red vs. Blue Season 16 of course...)

Conclusions

Another solid episode of gen:LOCK, and a little more interesting one than “The Pilot” because it delves into the meatier stuff that this series is going to follow. Stellar vocal performances by the cast give us a sense of the relationships that need to be picked up in the four years since the war began, and some amazing fighting shows us gen:LOCK means business as an action series.

My only concern is that the way this episode is formatted it doesn’t quite stand on its own in the way “The Pilot” did, but the fact that it was released alongside “The Pilot” worked in its favor, since both episodes give us a good ground to establish what this show is looking to do, and hopefully further episodes will follow on that.

I’ve said enough about people who were predisposed to hate the show commenting on this episode, but I wanna say this also: people. We are two episodes in. The show premiered less than a week ago. There isn’t a whole lot of content to draw from to know where it’s going. Be a little more patient.

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: The King of Hell’s Kitchen

And we’re back! Last time, Matt beat the crap out of Fisk, unmasked in Josie’s, and declared himself the new Kingpin. We pick up a year later, with Ben explaining to an unseen companion at a diner just what’s been going on for the past twelve months. This is gonna be a long one, guys, sorry. (Bendis/Maleev, DD v2 #56-60.)

[Content Warning: There is a passing reference to Squirrel Hill, as in the Pittsburgh neighborhood - no connection to the recent tragedy there, as this comic is about 15 years old. I just didn’t want anyone blindsided.]

Basically, despite Matt unmasking in front of a room full of criminals, everyone is too terrified of him to actually admit that they saw his face, which means that he’s been able to keep up the double life game, even though fewer people than ever believe he’s not Daredevil anymore. This is all stuff Ben has gathered through hearsay, since Matt told him to stay away for his own protection and they haven’t spoken directly since before Josie’s.

Matt even had time to grow a horrible goatee!

It’s SO BAD, MATTHEW, WHY.

He also won his lawsuit against that one tabloid, meaning that currently, in the eyes of the court, Matt Murdock is not Daredevil. He donated the enormous amount of money he won to neighborhood charities. Please note this line: “See, Matt’s new girlfriend, Milla Donovan, actually works at the Hell’s Kitchen housing commission.” Just hold onto that for a minute.

Matt’s so popular, in fact, he’s approached to run for mayor!

“I am dizzy from you.” Wow, Franklin. WOW.

Not everyone is happy with Matt’s recent choices, though, as evidenced by an intervention from some of the local superheroes:

Do you think Luke got all the way to that fourth panel before realizing he was the only one here without an alliterative name and felt suddenly self-conscious? Do you think he had a split second of “Should I try to go by Carl Cage just for right now? Could I pull it off?”

Anyway one of the things I really love about Maleev’s art is the specificity of his...well, either photo referencing or just drawing from life. I could take you to the exact spot they’re standing in Bryant Park. (It’s a logical meeting place for this group, too, since it’s centrally located and walking distance from - but not inside - Hell’s Kitchen.)

Anyway, the others are pissed because Matt saying “Get out of Hell’s Kitchen!” to criminals just...made them do crime above 59th Street and below 34th, which was a pretty foregone conclusion. Matt’s unsympathetic:

Who wants to tell Matt that Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, and the Village are all in Manhattan and his little plan here doesn’t make sense? Like, Matt and Luke covering neighborhoods while the other three, who can travel further and faster, cover the city as a whole, does make sense, but also “go do crime over there” doesn’t stop crime. As Peter points out, while wearing a very strange facial expression.

But Matt ignores the warnings, and ignores the growing tension in Hell’s Kitchen, and then, just a few days before Ben’s telling this story, he and Milla are attacked by like a hundred Yakuza assassins. He sends Milla running for safety...and hasn’t been seen since. And that’s all Ben knows.

And that’s when we see who he’s been talking to:

I want to clarify that Ben’s explanation of the past year of events has taken two full issues. That’s like five bucks worth of comics that is Ben mansplaining Milla’s own recent history to her, including explaining to her what her job is. They should have killed 616 Ben instead, Jesus.

Also, Milla and Matt are married! Hey, how about that?! She goes on to explain to a stunned Ben (who, I guess, didn’t ask her any questions before he started talking for two entire months holy shit Ben what is wrong with you) that they got married about four months ago, and we later learn that Milla’s the one who proposed. So she proposed to a man she’d known for eight months, who is...sort of a crime boss? An anti-crime boss? Anyway, keep that in your pocket for a bit.

(I’m sorry, I’m still so angry about these two issues. Anyone who wants to hear me rant about decompression, the ask box is open.)

Uh, Milla, that’s not a compliment. You want Matt to be in love with you as a human being, not the abstract concept of you as a conglomeration of eight million people and island real estate.

Anyway, Matt told Milla that if anything went wrong, she should contact Ben. She and Ben are both baffled by this, so Ben goes to see the actual person most likely to know where Matt is:

Take the money and just make shit up, Fogy! Anyway my poor beautiful tired boy has no idea where Matt is, and is also rather wounded that Matt had a contingency plan in place for Milla but a) not for Foggy and b) didn’t tell Foggy about it. Especially since the Yakuza are out in full force and Foggy has been sleeping in his office because he can’t safely leave it.

My heart. Foggy has never really gotten to grieve on page for Karen, given that he was in jail for her funeral, but he knew her as long as Matt did (technically slightly longer) and he loved her too.

Ben tracks Matt to the Night Nurse (who, remember, is not Claire Temple in the comics) and floats a new theory by him:

I’m very sorry Matt but i can’t take you seriously with that facial hair.

Matt stops crying long enough to deny it, but by now Ben knows he’s right:

I’m...pretty sure this is the first time someone has seriously said: “Matt, your behaviors are unhealthy and I’m concerned about your mental health.” And, like, itemized them (including explicitly saying that flaking on Foggy and leaving him in these crisis situations is cruel!). People have said “you’re crazy” or “you’re being a jerk” but it’s always been said in anger. This is uncompromising but compassionate. This is “a terrible thing happened to you and I know that you’re still in pain.” No wonder Matt cries.

And Matt’s not the only one who’s listening:

Wow, Foggy has a good memory. And the face of a man who is contextualizing the past few years of his life and doesn’t like what he sees.

(A+ for the frazzle of of hat hair, Maleev.)

Matt goes to a safehouse. Foggy goes...somewhere undetermined. A spa? Everyone gets naked:

No, seriously, I have no idea why everyone needed to be SO NAKED in this scene (although I’m not complaining). Anyway please enjoy FOGGY’S TATTOO (WHAT???) and also Matt calling him both “Franklin” and “good boy” in a single page.

If you want to, like, read the actual words and pay attention to plot, I GUESS, Matt promises to deal with the Yakuza situation. Foggy’s still not happy:

YES I HAD TO INCLUDE THIS DOUBLE PAGE SPREAD, IT’S IMPORTANT. Text if you can’t embiggen:

Matt: Are you breaking up with me?

Foggy: I don’t think you’ll let me.

Matt: I need you, Foggy. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right.

Foggy: Yeah, okay. So just do what you have to do.

Matt: I need you to bring me something to wear.

Foggy: Something red?

Matt: It’s red?

Foggy: What?

Matt: I thought it was yellow.

Foggy: ...Are you serious?

Matt: No.

Foggy: That was pretty funny.

IT IS A VERY GOOD AND IMPORTANT EXCHANGE and it is only slightly marred by Milla draped in silent nakedness over Matt the whole time because...of reasons? Ugh.

Matt goes to get backup and finds himself being dragged for like the third time in 24 hours:

Haha! Pregnant women! So hysterical about being lied to by their friends and employers who they are risking their lives for! Hormones, fellas, amirite???! LOL.

(Seriously, fuck this shit.)

Anyway. Main Yakuza Dude Whose Name I Forget is still pretty confident about moving on Hell’s Kitchen now that Matt’s out of the picture:

Oh man, sorry about your life, Main Yakuza Dude!

“Are you guys sure you want me to do this pose? It feels more ‘boy band’ than ‘badass.’“

“Yeah, Luke, definitely!"

“Yeah? I don’t know, I kind of feel like...”

“No, dude, it works, it looks totally cool, I promise!”

They beat up the Yakuza. Meanwhile, Foggy joins Milla at the safehouse:

Why is Milla still in her underwear???????????????? #cancelmen

When Matt returns to the safehouse after defeating the Yakuza, Foggy is gone, and Milla is finally dressed...and very unhappy. She tells him what Foggy told her:

Here are the things that jump out at me about this page:

1. Milla says “this Karen Page person,” which implies that she has rarely or never heard Karen mentioned before. Considering that Matt (and Foggy!) knew Karen for, as Ben pointed out, almost all of his adult life, and that she was intrinsically tied not just to Matt (and Foggy!) but Daredevil and Nelson and Murdock, this is stunning. How do you spend a year with your wife and almost never mention someone you were intimately close to for at least a decade? I know Matt is secretive by nature, but this makes me think that Matt and Milla essentially never had any real or deep communication. Which, honestly, checks out.

2. We don’t see the conversation between Milla and Foggy. Theoretically, he could have said “LOLOLOL MATT NEVER LOVED YOU HE STILL LOVES MY DEAD FRIEND SUCK IT” but that seems...out of character, to say the least. I suspect, given how confused and distressed Milla is, that he said something more like “I think the reason Matt is acting like this is because he is still processing his trauma over the death of someone he loved very much.” Which shouldn’t be a surprise to Milla, considering that one of the very first things Matt told her was “Two women I loved have been murdered.” But apparently this is a great betrayal somehow??? Because:

And this is why I just can’t with Milla. So much of what doesn’t work with her character, like the thin personality and the helplessness and the fact that she’s IN HER UNDERWEAR ALL THE TIME FOR NO REASON, is because of sexist writing and drawing, and I’m not laying that at her feet. And I’ll be the first person to declare that Matt Murdock is a shitty boyfriend/partner and has been to literally every single woman he’s dated.

But the compassionate response to “the person I love is having a nervous breakdown because he lost someone he cared about” is not to scream “SHUT UP!!!” and accuse him of lying. I’m not married but I’m preeeeeetty sure the vows don’t include “I swear that I definitely never loved anyone else and if I did, I don’t love them anymore.” Matt broke no promises here (for once!) and, as I’ve said before, Milla went on two highly dangerous dates with Matt Murdock and then he declared himself Kingpin and then she proposed. She had all the evidence she needed that life with Matt is dangerous, bizarre, and full of ethical pitfalls and the ghosts of murdered girlfriends, and as an educated, intelligent adult woman in charge of her own business, she decided to sign up. This one is absolutely not on Matt and it pisses me off that it’s treated like it is.

Anyway. *breathes*

Next up: Black Widow returns!

[princesssarcastia]

more aos!trek sense8 au

hi! I’ve decided to commit to the crazy and continue writing this au.  i have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I am a sucker for outsider POV, so uh.  have some outsider POV.

                                                           —

Little Nyota has a voracious appetite for languages and alien cultures and the stars; smart as a whip, too.  None of them laugh when her five-year old brow furrows and she declares she’s going to learn all of the languages, because—

Well.  If Lela would believe it of anyone, it would be her niece.

But this is...unexpected.

After that Starfleet recruiter turned up at their class, she begs and begs and begs, twirling around the yard to find one old-enough relative to take her on a tour of the outpost in their city.

Lela knows what it feels like to be so excited about the future you can’t breathe, so she smiles and agrees.

The tour guide for the Starfleet outpost is Vulcan, of all things; a rarity, though more common here than other parts of the world.  The dry heat of their city is apparently similar to that of Vulcan. 

And when the Lieutenant greets their group, Nyota straightens her spine and offers the ta’al right back, with a carefully articulated Vulcan phrase.  A greeting.

Lela stares at her niece in shock.  No Uhura had taught her that, and it wasn’t offered in school yet.  How...

The Lieutenant raises an eyebrow, more expression than Lela’s ever seen on a Vulcan, and says something else to Nyota, who nearly vibrates with excitement before screwing up her face and replying again.  She didn’t just pick up stock phrases, she’s actually speaking Vulcan.

They head out for the tour soon after; Nyota whispering to one of her invisible friends the entire time.

No one seems to know how Nyota learned to speak Vulcan, when Lela asks, and eventually they write it off as part and parcel of raising a linguistic genius.

—

Alexei watches on, curious, as his nephew goes through what looks like basic fencing sets: lunge, parry, riposte, repeat.

Every so often he will adjust his stance, as though he’s being corrected.

Another one of his mind-friends, no doubt.  After everything he’s seen in his life, Alexei saw no reason to doubt Pavel’s claim that he shared a telepathic bond with six other people.

It didn’t hurt that verifying their existence was relatively easy, once Alexei had their names.

“Watch your footwork on your retreat, Pashenka,” he calls firmly, observing how Pavel reacts to the interruption and the criticism.  Smiles, when his nephew corrects himself again and throws him a grin without pausing.

These mind-friends of his are good for Pavel. 

—

Amanda retreats to the balcony in the early morning, as she always does.  The cool night air hasn’t entirely dissipated yet, allowing her to enjoy the fresh air until the heat of the Vulcan day chases her back inside. 

Today, Spock follows her.  He’s spent less and less time sitting with her as his schooling progresses.  It hurts her heart, a little, to watch him draw away, and she suspects the attitudes of his classmates may have something to do with it, but she also knows her son’s devotion to be just like his father would have pulled him in that direction anyway.

So she gives him as big a smile as he can be comfortable with when he settles across the table from her. 

“Mother, I have a query,” he says solemnly.  Her mouth twitches at the expression on his face, just a little, but she knows better than to laugh at her serious boy.

“Go ahead, Spock.”

“Do humans ever exhibit signs of telepathy or empathetic abilities?”

She blinks.  “Certainly.  Humans of non-human descent often take on such abilities.”

He frowns, just a little, and she sees she must have misunderstood him.  “But do humans ever spontaneously develop telepathic bonds with one another as children?”

Something in her stills.  She recalls her studies of the Eugenics Wars on Earth and takes a deep breath.  “Not in recent memory, but there are unconfirmed reports of such bonds developing before the Eugenics Wars.  It’s believed if the ability ever did exist naturally in humanity, it died out then.”  Amanda hesitates, then says, “There are some family records of that period to indicate that my ancestors may have possessed something like this ability.”

Spock’s face clears, and Amanda knows she guessed correctly.  “Spock,” she says gently, “have you experienced one of these bonds?”

“Yes, mother.  Six of them.  Nyota and Jim were unable to determine the origins of the bonds through their research, but I predicted you would have some knowledge of it.”  Something she wouldn’t hesitate to call satisfaction or pride on a human brushes across his face. 

“Six,” she breathes.  There is no reason to lie, and Spock’s preternatural telepathic abilities are well documented.  This is not beyond the realm of possibility. 

Sarek, she knows, will ask how long this has been happening, want to calculate the distance between Spock and these other people, measure the strength of the bonds.  But those are questions for Sarek to ask.

Instead, Amanda asks, “What are their names?” and sees her son’s face brighten for the first time in ages

—

Sharon monitors the signals from USS Shenzhou, USS Farragut, and USS Prometheus, all schedule to check in with Command today, when she notices a sonic anomaly in one of the transmissions.  Only, they don’t look like subspace, more—

“..hear me?  —lo, can you hear me? —fleet command, —me?”

Her eyes narrow.  That voice doesn’t sound right, and they’re not hailing from any assigned frequencies.  How the hell...

She boosts the transmission.  “This is Starfleet command; state your name and location.”

“Oh, thank god!  Uh, my name is Nyota Uhura and you have to send a ship to Tarsus IV, now!  Governor Kodos, he’s—”

The voice cuts out again.  Sharon frowns and responds.  “Kid, I have no idea how you got on this frequency, but this is reserved for Starfleet communications only.”  She makes a note in the log and then scrambles the line.

Only, five minutes later it happens again.

“Starfleet command, can you hear me?  This is Nyota Uhura again, you have to listen, please he’s ki—”

Who the hell is this girl?  “Listen, Uhura, this frequency is reserved for Starfleet Command.  You need to clear it for official business.”  She reaches out to scramble the line again when her voice comes through, much clearer this time.

“Please, he’s killing them, he’s shooting them!  You have to listen, please!”

Killing?  “Who’s killing who?” She says sharply, hands hovering over the controls.  God, what the hell, the girl sounds genuinely distressed.  Val’tk turns to look at her questioningly and she waves her hand at him.

“Governor Kodos, on Tarsus IV.  He’s—he shooting them.  He told them he had to kill them, the crops are failing, they don’t have enough food, please you have to send someone right now!”

“Tarsus IV?” Sharon replies.  “The new colony near uncharted space?”  She hesitates.  This would be a hell of a prank to play, but...

Muting her transmitter, she turns to Val’tk.  “When was the last transmission from Tarsus IV?”

He eyes her, but pulls up the logs anyway.  His eyes race over the data.  “A few days ago; nothing out of the ordinary.”

She frowns, and unmutes.  “Look, nice try, kid, but seeing as you’re on Earth and Tarsus hasn’t reported crop failures of any kind, there’s no way what you’re saying is true.”  A few more seconds and she initiates traceback on the signal, putting her somewhere in eastern African Confederation.  

“Now, I’m ordering you to surrender this line, as it’s reserved for Starfleet Command only.”  And she scrambles it again, kicking Uhura, whoever she is, off the frequency.

But then the kid comes back again.

“Starfleet Command, this is Nyota Uhura, again.  I’m not going to stop until you listen to me!  Please, just—please.  Jim needs your help!  They’re running away from the guards now but I think—I think everyone’s dead,” her voice breaks, and Sharon hesitates again.

Jesus, this is crazy, there’s no way.  But...oh, fuck it. 

“Look, Uhura, there’s no proof what you’re saying is true.  Where are you even getting this information?”  She asks.

The line falls silent, for long enough that she considers switching it off again, but then Uhura comes back. 

“You can...you can contact the Vulcan embassy. What’s your name?”

And now they’re back to crazy, but there’s still something about this...”Lieutenant Sharon Cartwright.”

“Lieutenant, contact the Vulcan embassy and tell them your name.  They’ll put you through to...to someone who can confirm what’s happening.”

“Look, kid, I don’t have time for—”

“Please, I’m begging you, please.  The longer you wait the more people are going to die, just contact the embassy!”

Fuck.  Is she really doing this?

“Hey, there’s...” Val’tk interrupts.  “Someone from United Earth just requested access to the Tarsus IV data transmissions.  It’s here in the logs.”  Sharon turns to him and feels something uneasy work through her stomach.

She stares at Val’tk for a long moment.  “Alright, kid.  Please hold.”

What even is the line for the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco?  Her fingers fly through the contact list, and she pulls up their number.

Man, she’s going to get in so much trouble for this if they’re wrong.  “Vulcan embassy, this is,” she blows out, “Lieutenant Sharon Cartwright from Starfleet Command.  I’m told you can put me through to someone to confirm what’s happening on Tarsus IV?”

A pause, a long pause, where Sharon goes back to thinking, this is nuts, I just got pnked by some asshole with a ham radio, when the Vulcan says, “One moment.  Connecting you to Ambassador Sarek now.”

“Ambassador Sarek?” she blurts, but they’re already putting her through.

The ambassador doesn’t waste any time. “Lieutenant Cartwright, I can indeed confirm what Ms. Uhura has told you about Tarsus IV.  Governor Kodos’s guards have opened fired on the colonists, for reasons unknown at this time.  We do not yet know how many are dead.”

Sharon just...stops.  Checks that she’s really taking to the Ambassador from Vulcan again.  Stares back at Val’tk, who hasn’t stopped looking at her.

“I’m going to...put you through to Commander Aldrin, Ambassador.”  She mechanically transfer’s the Ambassador’s line, sends a notification that her CO needs to pick up the comm right the fuck now what the fuck is happening.

Then she takes Uhura off hold.  “Uhura, the Ambassador confirmed your story.  I don’t,” Sharon laughs shortly, hysteria bubbling up her chest, “I have no clue what’s going on, kid, but I’m pretty sure you do.  Where are you getting your information?”

Crackling silence, then, “I share a telepathic bond with one of the colonists.”

“And what’s his name, kid?”

“Jim Kirk.”

Telepathic bond, fuck.  How clear is it?  “What’s Jim Kirk,” she looks at Val’tk pointedly, “doing right now?” Val’tk moves hurriedly to pull the information up.  Fuck if this isn’t either of their jobs, but also fuck if Sharon’s going to foist this off on someone else.

“Running.  He’s—they’re running.  When he figured it out he grabbed people and they starting running and the guards started shooting and now they’re outside and it’s loud and—”

I put this kid on hold, Sharon thinks.  I kicked her off the line, twice.  “Okay, Uhura.  It’ll be—” alright? no it won’t, fuck, “the Ambassador is talking to Starfleet right now, we’re aware of the situation.  Just keep talking to me, okay?  Can you do that, Uhura?”

“...yes.  Yes, I can do that, Lieutenant.”

—

Chris blinks at the sight of that crazy Russian genius kid everyone keeps going on about waving his hands in Spock’s face yelling about math.

And then raises his eyebrows when Spock starts clearly arguing back, with more agitation in his movements than Chris has ever seen before, even that one time they got into it with the Tellarite delegation on that one planet.

Huh.  Now that he thinks about it, they’re about the same age, even though Spock seems so much older in Chris’s head.

“Lieutenant Commander Spock,” he calls out, stepping forward to insert himself into the conversation, just because he’s curious.

Spock immediately straightens and pulls out of whatever staring contest he’d been in.  “Yes, Captain.”  He salutes, picture perfect, while the Russian kid is still pulling himself out of whatever fugue math-rage he’s in.

“At ease.”  Chris nods to the kid.  “And who’s this?”

“Oh!”  He gets off a salute and immediately starts babbling.  “Chekov, sir, Pavel Andreievich.  Sorry, sir.  We were just arguing about the mass gap and Yang-Mills existence.”

“Of course you were.”

—

Hendorff spend the entire shuttle ride trying not to send angry, confused glances at Uhura.  His abdomen is still bruised like a peach from where she planted her foot in his stomach out of nowhere, just because he hit the townie hitting on her.

Yeah, he was buzzed, but she was clearly miles ahead of this asshole.  She should be thanking him.

But instead, she and the asshole spend the entire ride sitting next to each other, leaning into the space between them.  He’s had classes with Uhura before, last year, and they see each other in passing around campus; not once did she seem like she was...basking in anyone’s presence like she is right now.  Even helped him with his fucking seatbelt!

At least the asshole seems just as awed to be sitting next to her, but come on.  He calls bullshit.

And then the shuttle lands.

They dock right on campus and the other cadets start unlatching and pouring out the hatch, bleeding off in twos and threes while Captain Pike does final checks before shutdown.  Uhura and the asshole practically leap out the door, and Hendorff catches up just in time to see them crash into a group of cadets waiting just outside.

He recognizes them, mostly; the same guys Uhura spends all her time with.  Not that Hendorff is keeping tabs, its just that everyone knows who they are.  Academy rumor has it they’re either going to run the ‘fleet someday, or burn it to the ground.

All four of them, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov, have the asshole in a death grip, seeming to clutch at whatever part of him and each other they can reach.  He feels something like unease run down his spine.  Maybe...maybe they know each other?

Fuck, of course they knew each other, you don’t hug a stranger like that.  Now the question is how the hell do they know each other.

As he sidesteps them (still basically right in front of the shuttle hatch, like they hadn’t noticed they were in the way and about fifteen different people stopped to gawk) he hears the asshole say, “When does Bones get in?  And where the hell is Spock, huh?”

At that point, he mentally throws up his hands and surrenders to the confusion.  No fucking way he’ll figure out how a dumb hick from Iowa knows Starfleet’s brightest cadets and Lieutenant Commander Spock before even setting foot on campus.