#also i had fun learning what “rankle” means

[so-called-quail]

'Are we riding far tonight, Gandalf?' asked Merry after a while. 'I don't know how you feel with small rag-tag dangling behind you; but the rag-tag is tired and will be glad to stop dangling and lie down.' 'So you heard that?' said Gandalf. 'Don't let it rankle! Be thankful no longer words were aimed at you.

Sorry, Gandalf...

Merry felt more like unneeded baggage than ever, and he wondered, if there was a fight, what he should do.

Merry got up and yawned. His few hours' sleep had not been nearly enough; he was tired and rather dismal. He missed Pippin, and felt that he was only a burden, while everybody was making plans for speed in a business that he did not fully understand.

'I am afraid I am only in everybody's way,' he stammered; 'but I should like to do anything I could, you know.'

...Merry absolutely let it rankle.

[eccentric-nucleus]

so there's this old actionbutton review of prototype (that has apparently been removed from the actual website, which i guess is fine b/c on reflection the review overall isn't super good) that has a part that i think about a lot.

Prototype is clearly a game that was originally meant to be a challenging action game that took the concept of super-powered main characters out of the ego-trip where you simply explode in ever greater fireballs the entire universe, like a Final Fantasy character in a platformer, and into the realm of the thoroughbred racer. A realm where the power is a tool that must be used carefully, because there’s so much of it, that there’s too much of it. Restraint is what we play video games for, in a sense. We restrain ourselves from making the wrong choices. We take pleasure in our sense of timing. We enjoy learning and growing and doing and, above all, not doing (the same thing over and over, due to failure).

b/c like... yeah that's the thing with power? power invites complications; that's kind of what power is: the ability to affect change at greater magnitudes, which invariably means a reduction in your fidelity of control. unintended side-effects and all that. but the entire concept of the 'power fantasy' is about not having the drawbacks of power, & that's what video games are all about, so it makes sense that that doesn't really come up that much in games. leveling up is just Good, it makes you better at things, because if it made you worse gamers would find that to be bad design, etc

this also comes up constantly in progression fantasies. unsurprisingly!! b/c their thematic content is entirely the power fantasy, so of course getting more powerful is an unalloyed good.

there's another prose chunk in a similar vein i think about a lot that's from a wizard of earthsea, near the beginning: duny (as a kid, before he's named ged) has his island raided by barbarians and they're gonna burn down the town and kill everybody.

He had worked all night at the forge-bellows, pushing and pulling the two long sleeves of goathide that fed the fire with a blast of air. Now his arms so ached and trembled from that work that he could not hold out the spear he had chosen. He did not see how he could fight or be of any good to himself or the villagers. It rankled at his heart that he should die, spitted on a Kargish lance, while still a boy: that he should go into the dark land without ever having known his own name, his true name as a man. He looked down at his thin arms, wet with cold fog-dew, and raged at his weakness, for he knew his strength. There was power in him, if he knew how to use it, and he sought among all the spells he knew for some device that might give him and his companions an advantage, or at least a chance. But need alone is not enough to set power free: there must be knowledge.

(incidentally i think reading progression fantasies has made me a worse reader. they're frequently so wordy and yet nothing happens, and the writing never really says anything or has specific sentences that capture the mind, and so i've gotten into this really bad habit of skim-reading through them snatching out nouns and verbs. so now when i go back to reading prose that's actually, you know, good, i still end up skimming it and missing out on relevant details, since relevant details actually matter in real stories, instead of just being wordcount padding.)

anyway the rest of a wizard of earthsea is basically all about the relationship between knowledge and power and what responsibility comes with that.

i guess this is yet another post all about how i really don't like the thematic simplicity of all the progression fantasy but boy have i been thinking about that a lot as i've been writing other stuff. fun fact, 'goblin cave', my royalroad story, and 'blinded by the summer sun', the tmnt porn i've been writing, have basically the same themes b/c they're both actually about the blunt nature of power + the problem of needing power to exist in the world vs. the grotesque nature of people who seek only power. b/c as you can see by all the above that is kind of a thing i've been thinking about a lot recently. it's just one of them has turtle porn.

i mean i'm fairly sure i've mentioned it here also but they're very heavily influenced by dead zones of the imagination, which i would recommend everybody read. it's only like 20 pages.

To be more precise: violence may well be the only form of human action by which it is possible to have relatively predictable effects on the actions of a person about whom you understand nothing. Pretty much any other way one might try to influence another’s actions, one at least has to have some idea who they think they are, who they think you are, what they might want out of the situation, and what their aversions and proclivities are. Hit them over the head hard enough and all of this becomes irrelevant.

It is true that the effects one can have by disabling or killing someone are very limited, but they are real enough—and critically, it is possible to know in advance exactly what they will be. Any alternative form of action cannot, without some sort of appeal to shared meanings or understandings, have any predictable effects at all.

[...]

As long as one remains within the domain of theory, then, I would argue that simplification can be a form of intelligence. The problems arise when the violence is no longer metaphorical. Here let me turn from imaginary cops to real ones. A former LAPD officer turned sociologist (Cooper 1991), observed that the overwhelming majority of those beaten by police turn out not to be guilty of any crime. “Cops don’t beat up burglars,” he observed. The reason, he explained, is simple: the one thing most guaranteed to evoke a violent reaction from police is to challenge their right to “define the situation.” If what I’ve been saying is true, then this is just what we’d expect. The police truncheon is precisely the point where the state’s bureaucratic imperative for imposing simple administrative schema, and its monopoly of coercive force, come together. It only makes sense then that bureaucratic violence should consist first and foremost of attacks on those who insist on alternative schemas or interpretations. At the same time, if one accepts Piaget’s (1936) famous definition of mature intelligence as the ability to coordinate between multiple perspectives (or possible perspectives) one can see, here, precisely how bureaucratic power, at the moment it turns to violence, becomes literally a form of infantile stupidity.

and so on. that's power, baby! the power to define a situation and stop anybody else from objecting to your framing. by killing them!

[russilton]

I don’t really know what people is on when they first shit talk Mercedes, Lewis, George and the team and then proceed to say “X driver to Mercedes in 2024 when Lewis leaves”! Dudes, Mercedes is incredibly selective on their drivers, You have not only to bust your ass to get a chance, but also have certain talents and qualities required. There’s a reason why they’ve had 5:6 drivers in there since their creation as a team. Now my rant is done, I’ll go lay down and drown in britcedes feels, goodbye

Yeah I have a lot of thoughts on this honestly. Some nice and some not so nice lmao but all agreeing with you.

Long ramble under the cut bc I guess I wanted to get some stuff out of my brain and I can just refer back to this later if asked again lol.

And let me say first of all that look, I get it, I would bend over backwards and lie to myself and god when it comes to my favourite drivers. Part of me deeply and truly believes George and Lewis could walk into any other car in the grid if they asked, I really do. I don’t think they’d want to, but if they did, they could. Because we are ALL delusional about our faves. Sometimes it’s what makes this site so fun, we’re all a little stupid for these dudes.

But I have a very salty view of people who people who think certain drivers could just walk into Merc without a Nico level fall out, or a Lewis level of skill in the sport*. ESPECIALLY when it comes to “problematic” drivers like Lando, Max, Carlos, etc.

* more on that one in a sec, spoiler alert: they’ve already got that, his name is George.

I think what really grinds my gears about it (and I mean the people who SERIOUSLY think their driver has a shot at Merc, not people having fun) is it comes down to three tracks of thought; people who think Lewis is genuinely about to retire, people who seem to forget George exists, and people who seem to profoundly misunderstand how Merc work as an organisation.

The first one is easy to be annoyed at and dismiss, Lewis has made it clear over and over he’s not going anywhere. I’m rankled by people who think he’s suddenly going to retire bc of his age. Alonso is still here and he’s fuelled by salt rather than skill, you think Lewis is gonna go just bc he’s 38? He’s insane, and there is nothing he is more buck wild about than F1. I also don’t like thinking about Lewis retiring. Sue me.

The second I get but hate a lot. I’m a George fan, I am biased but George is ignored by a lot of people; and the narratives about him being PR63, even by some Lewis fans, are flimsy and shitty. He’s got so much heart in his stick thin frame that it flows out his ears. You look at him, past the surface for a couple seconds, and god you can see it shine like a beacon. He doesn’t answer Lewis and himself when he’s asked for the perfect driver line up because of PR, but because he fucking adores Lewis. He adores the team. He goofs around with them, spends time with them, he’s embedded with the engineers and mechanics. He seems boring off track because he’s private, but he has been going to dinners with them and travelling with them for years, he’s boring because he’s an old soul who puts focus on his family and his mental health. He does try to be funny online and people scoff at him. He posts shirtless pictures and he’s teased for it. Like what do you want from the guy; if he’s genuine he’s cringe and if he’s reserved he’s PR boring. Fuck that, he makes Lewis smile and that’s enough for me.

But then It’s because of his less than popular off track self that people look past him on track, and you shouldn’t because this man is insane. This is what I was talking about earlier when I said Merc have got their Lewis 2.0. George is him. He drives like Lewis, he’s learning to approach the garage like Lewis, he knows how to restrain himself to the media just like Lewis. Talk less, smile more, because they want to bait you more than anyone, they’re waiting for you to slip. Don’t give it to them and then unleash a terror that leaves other drivers blinking in shock on track. Singapore this year SHOULDN’T override Austria, when George drove from the back in a garbage car to finish 4th. He copied Lewis in Spain like a text book because that’s the kind of driver George is. He knows how to manage his tires because Lewis taught him. He says over and over again how important he finds it to learn from Lewis because Lewis is his standard of greatness. Merc have trained him like this, because together he and Lewis mesh well. They both know where to put their cars to make overtakes others wouldn’t, they drive like their cars are an extension of their body. Nothing bothers me more than people who set team line ups at Merc without Lewis or George, because it often assumes Lewis would retire and Merc would just… throw George out?

George Russell is grit, spirit, positivity and determination, and I feel like the people who don’t see him as an insanely impressive generational talent like Charles or Max are choosing not to look, or were blinded by how trash Williams was. I’d you don’t judge Mick on where haas dragged him down; you can’t judge George.

(Yet another place george is like Lewis, is he let the hard times humble him and make him better. He will never, ever have to struggle the same way Lewis did and he’s been afforded privileges that Lewis won’t, he himself will tell you that. But they were both boys from families without much money who’s parents struggled to let them follow their dreams. Why do you think Lewis likes him so much? He’s said it himself, he sees the same instinct he had, in George)

And finally the third thing I’ve probably spoken on most: some people really only see Merc as a fast car and not as a team. Which I guess is fair if you aren’t a massive fan of either of the boys. You think I’m invested in how mclaren or RB or Ferrari behave as organisations outside of drama? Of course I’m not. I barely even cared about Williams outside of GR and NL. But Merc is another breed of team honestly. Not to suck corporate dick bc you know I hate it but there’s a reason they aren’t really ever involved in silly season. Why them CHOOSING to hire George was monumental. They are unlike anyone else in how they cultured George. He’s been in the Merc garage on race weekends since 2016. They watched and carefully primed him for it, they made him work so hard for every step. I’m not sure they would have ever got rid of Nico and hired Val if he hadn’t chose to leave. Do you know how resistant they were to put anyone other than George in their car? They were worrying about who would take Lewis’ seat in Sakhir if they couldn’t get him. Their reserve driver, stoff, WAS RIGHT THERE.

If George hadn’t gone above and beyond to prove himself ready for Merc, they would have stuck with Valtteri. Merc play it safe and close to the chest far more than they’ll admit, I think it’s why our number one issue with races this year has been emergency strat choices. We so often play it safe and panic when pushed. And that’s why I end up laughing at some driver move theories bc it’s like really? You think, safe playing, elitist weirdos Merc are gonna do that??

The only driver on the 22/23 grid I genuinely, truly think Merc would consider putting in their car if LH decided to split second retire, or George, idk, stabbed Toto in the leg, is Esteban Ocon or MAYBE they’d go back to VB if VaL would be willing to accept the pressure of the seat again. They like Ocon, he has history with the team, he’s got some real promise in his development, and he’s got a lil bastard in him they like their drivers to have. But that would ONLY happen if they had 0 prep time and had to pick another grid driver. Merc have their dream team right now.

[keaalu]

Secondary Trines

Everyone thought the fallout from TC and Pulsar’s affair was dealt with, but it turns out Skywarp is not so easily satisfied. (And Pulsar has a big mouth – but everyone knew that.)

Set a few dozen orns after [How Long] . Nothing explicit, fade-to-black etc., but some element of mature discussion (plus lots of manufactured melodrama and authorial fiat, WOO).

Reminder: Pulsar is a bike. As a natural consequence of this, she has a big mouth, which often runs away from her and gets her into trouble.

As a natural consequence of Skywarp being Skywarp, this is a good thing; winding her up until she blurts out something embarrassing and/or incriminating is the usual end game.

Today, the trouble is associated with an interesting revelation.

Second little reminder: Pulsar is a little femme (like, just a smidge over half Skywarp’s height). ((What can I say; I like a bit of size difference.)) (((She is also unrepentant. The fact it makes her a useful projectile at times is just something she’s had to learn to deal with.)))

---------

Night had already secured a foothold in Deixar, dressing the house in deepening shades of indigo. Everyone else had already retired to their private suites, leaving just two residents to monopolise the furniture in the atrium.

Pulsar had been dozing comfortably on the couch, sprawled out with her head on Skywarp’s shoulder. Initially reading, while he watched something she’d seen a dozen times before, until her attention began to wane and the wafer slid from her fingers, disappearing out of reach… and she decided fetching it back was too much effort and she was just too comfortable, right now. She’d let her optics go dim, all her senses softening into idle mode, and a handful of dormancy protocols had begun to come online when-

A sharp sensation in the tip of one aerial startled her bolt awake.

“Stop that!”

Skywarp huffed but obediently took his lips off her antennae. “What did I do wrong this time?”

She noticed the entertainment system had all gone offline already, and wondered how long he’d been watching her snooze and waiting for her to wake up on her own. “There’s other ways to wake me up that don’t involve biting me-”

“Yeah, but they’re not so much fun.”

“-and I was comfortable!”

“You were offline.”

“That was the point!” She brushed a hand up over her antennae, checking for new kinks; finding none, she settled, trying but failing to find that cosy position again. “I was actually enjoying just snuggling up with you, for once.”

“Enjoying it so much, you couldn’t stay awake.” He raised his voice over her protests. “It’s fine, I get it. I’m boring, now.” He was quiet for several loaded seconds before asking, in a deceptively offhand tone; “was he better than me?”

It was Pulsar’s turn to be quiet for a second. “What?” She glanced up at him.

“Thundercracker. You’ve been in a funny mood since you two finally fessed up about fragging each other.” He was staring up at the stars, sprinkling the sky above the huge glass roof. “Got me wondering if you were just trying to save my feelings, by saying it was a fling and you didn’t think about it any more.”

“…the slag did that come from, Skywarp?” She propped herself on an elbow. “I was enjoying your company! How did you get from that to, oh, I bet she’s thinking about my best friend, now.”

Lips pursed, Skywarp let his gaze drift down to meet hers. He didn’t look particularly serious about it, though – no doubt his usual flavour of insincere windup – which succeeded in rankling her temper.

She squirmed out from under his arm. “It’s not a funny mood if I just want to be able to enjoy your company without slag like you biting my aerials. It wouldn’t kill you to be tender, every now and then.”

“Like Thundercracker would be, you mean.”

“Oh, shove off, Skywarp.” She stood to face him, bad-tempered. “He’s got nothing to do with it.”

He sat up as well. “Musta been a good frag if it was twenty vorns ago and you’re still thinking about him.”

“Primus, what is your malfunction, this evening?” Pulsar threw up her hands. “I’m not thinking about him! And I’m not comparing you against him, either! Let alone based on how good a frag you think you are.” She glared, and added; “or think you aren’t, apparently.”

“Not denying that you do think he’s better than me, then.” Skywarp vented a melodramatic sigh. “Anyone else would wanna take the chance to prove me wrong.”

“Mercy!” She covered her face with one hand and growled something incoherently obscene. “You're both gorgeous and I'd have the pair of you at once in a heartbeat if I didn't think I'd lose both of you just by suggesting it-!”

She visibly stiffened at realising what she’d blurted out full volume, optics brightening to such a humiliated cyan-white it was a wonder they didn’t short out altogether.

They just stared at each other for several long seconds, with the words just… hanging there, between them.

Skywarp’s brows had come up in a very steep arch, but his expression otherwise remained inscrutable.

Pulsar let her head hang. “Guess I'll go make myself comfy in dorms.”

“Hey. No.” Skywarp caught her arm before she could disappear. “Just… run that past me again.”

“What? No!” She jerked backwards on her arm but couldn’t quite get enough co-ordination together to extract it from his grip. “Are you telling me you didn’t immediately commit every word to your long-term memory? I am not repeating myself.” Her field felt scorching hot. “Certainly not for your amusement. Now let me go.”

“Aw, but I thought you liked it when I embarrass you,” he teased, pulling her into the circle of his arms.

“That’s different.”

“Howso?”

She closed her fingers into fists against his armour. “I'm trying to be serious here.”

“Uh-huh, me too.” He strummed a thumb down over her antennae.

She sighed, frustrated, and let her helm bonk down on his chassis. “You’re an infuriating glitch, sometimes. Being annoyed with myself and not in the mood to play with you doesn’t mean it’s because I suddenly want to get intimate with your wingmate instead.”

“…again.”

“Will you just stop.” She gave him a thump. “That’s not fair. I know we hurt you and I’m sorry, but you were dead, when it happened. Please stop making me feel like you want me to choose between you.”

He gave her a look with the most theatrically hangdog expression she had ever seen. “You do love him still, then.”

“Of course I do. We went through a lot together. I’d have never got out of Egypt in one piece, without him. He’s one of my best friends. But it’s not the same sort of love that we have.” She huffed hot air in a frustrated snort. “For one, he doesn’t send me obscene images of what he wants to do to me, or find the most inappropriate time of day to do it.”

Skywarp didn’t quite manage to successfully swallow the little triumphant ha! that leaped unbidden to his vocaliser. He made an abortive attempt to cover it with a cough of static.

“And that wasn’t what I meant, anyway, you obnoxious fraghead. You know you’re the one who wriggled his way under my armour, for reasons I absolutely cannot fragging understand, right now. You know how important you are in my life. You changed my life in a million amazing ways and I wouldn’t change you for the universe, but Primus if you aren’t the most frustrating aft I have ever met at times as well.” She stepped back half a pace, leaning into his laced fingers. “Now are you going to get off me, or do I have to sock you properly.”

He offered an exaggeratedly woeful little sigh and let his arms drop to dangle at his sides. “Fine. You wanna go be melodramatic, don’t let me stop you.”

She stepped free of his grasp, and resumed her flounce to the door.

He called after her; “What you said before. About the… both at once part… Do you ever actually… you know. Imagine doing it?”

She hesitated near the doorway. The silence clung on for long enough that it gave all the answer anyone could have needed, but she finally spoke. “…occasionally.” She flashed him a glare, optics like icy chips of temper. “But it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a stupid fantasy. All right? It’s stupid. I’m stupid.” She barged the door open with her shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

Disappointed, he watched her go; the streetlights glittered against her neon chequers and turned her into an abstract little ghost in the gloom.

Clearly this was not the good sort of embarrassed. He’d have to fix that.

-----

Night had fully sunk its teeth into the district when the boring square outline of Central station finally loomed up in front of her. Pulsar stomped past the front desk and ignored the desk sergeant’s attempt at a friendly greeting, and ducked into the dormitory block, going straight to the registry to see what options were available.

…aaaand it looked like home for the night was going to be whichever spare chair she could find.

Again.

She sighed, turned away and trundled wearily down the empty corridor. Had this stupid fragup happened earlier, she could have stood a chance at one of the spare berths in dorms. Mid-shift, though, and everywhere was already occupied.

Next time, she’d just… deactivate her vocaliser altogether, she figured. Rather than get needled into losing her temper and letting her big mouth run away from her. Again.

The couch in the corner of the officer’s mess was thankfully empty. (She wasn’t sure where else she’d have gone, if not. She was absolutely not going to camp out behind the intake desk in custody. Or in an empty cell.)

She let her motors unwind, plopping heavily down on the reinforced foam with a low whoomph of air. As couches went, it was… well, comfortable enough. So long as you weren’t hoping for too much. Someone considerably senior to her (and evidently never having been forced to recharge here) had ‘generously’ got it reupholstered, as well, so the cushions were annoyingly harder than she remembered. Not beaten to yielding softness by vorns of abuse from her friends and colleagues.

She scrunched a foil around her shoulders and tucked up into the corner, setting up a proximity alert so if anyone sat on her she’d have proof it was intentional; then shut off her optics, and initiated the first of her recharge protocols.

The last thought that flashed through her awareness before she successfully managed to switch off was of two pairs of wings, turning away from both her and from each other, and of being completely incapable of working out which set she should follow.

-----

Thundercracker was first to rouse, when morning finally rolled around. Skywarp followed him down not long after – unexpectedly alone.

It was… unusual, to have an empty seat at the table, but perhaps Pulsar had been called in early. Thundercracker didn’t pay it much attention; wouldn’t be the first time. The quiet made a nice change of pace, anyway. He called up the news on his wafer and got comfortable to read.

He got halfway through the headlines before the silence grew a little too heavy. Skywarp was never normally this quiet unless something was on his mind.

Thundercracker glanced up, and found his wingmate watching him, unexpectedly; optics subtly narrowed, head propped on one hand, twiddling a cube on one of its points with the other. Said cube was still almost full so he was obviously preoccupied.

“Is everything all right?” Thundercracker prompted, warily. “What’s with the intense scrutiny, this morning.”

“Had a lot to think about, before I managed to get offline last night. Still working through it at the moment.”

Thundercracker put the news to one side. “Did you want to talk about it? Maybe I can help.”

“Depends. Maybe.”

It was apparently one of those mornings. “Well you obviously do, or you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.”

“Fine.” Skywarp let his cube drop flat against the tablet again. “I was just wondering, if I look at you long enough… I might be able to spot what it is that Squeaky sees in you.”

“What?” It took an instant to parse the words, but Thundercracker visibly drooped. “Aw, come on, Warp. I thought we were done talking about this? We told you, we separated long before you came back. We’re not interested in pursuing anything intimate.”

“That’s why she said she wanted to interface with you again, huh.” The challenge in Skywarp’s voice had grown more overt.

“Uh.” Thundercracker licked his lips, uneasily. “…she said that?”

“Last night. Uh-huh.”

Well, that would explain the empty chair, at least.

And yet in spite of being his usual belligerent self, Skywarp didn’t seem angry. Just sharp, and challenging, in that way he got when he was determined to get an answer out of someone.

That someone wasn’t usually Thundercracker, though.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Warp. I can’t speak for her, but it’s never come up in conversation since you first found out. There’s been no reason for it to? We were being honest when we said we hadn’t continued anything.” But the longer the teleport stared silently into him, with those pursed lips and narrowed optics, the more off-balance (and slightly cross) he felt. “This is ridiculous, Skywarp. It was vorns ago! You know we wouldn’t suddenly choose to go behind your wings now.”

“Not denying that you’d like to though, huh. Interesting.”

“What? Primus. How did you get there from what I just said?” Thundercracker put his hands up. “You know what, this conversation is over. I can’t speak for Pulsar, and I don’t know why she said that, or if you’ve just… misinterpreted her, again. But I’m not playing along and letting you box me into a corner about something I haven’t done. Or said. Or thought. All right? Now if you’ll excuse me,” he turned his attention back on his flask, “I’d like to finish this? Because some of us have work to go to.”

“Sure, sure.” Skywarp watched as he picked up the wafer and glared thoroughly at the headlines, just to make it clear how extra done he was with this conversation. “Okay, anyway, fine. Confession time.” The teleport leaned forwards onto his elbows, features softening just a tiny bit. “I might not have been completely honest with you.”

Thundercracker paused with his flask midway to his mouth. “…go on?”

“I was trying to get her a bit fired up, right? I guess I thought I was just teasing, and she’d be all, right, time to prove him wrong! And she kinda… came out with something I wasn’t expecting.”

“I will never understand your idea of foreplay, but fine. Situation normal. What turned that into… whatever this big drama is?”

“So, what she actually said. Was.” Skywarp studied his interlaced fingers, where they rested on the table. “I'd have both of you at once, if the option was there.”

Thundercracker promptly choked on his energon.

“And yeah so ok, she didn’t really say it, as much as just…” Skywarp wafted his hands. “Vomit the words out and instantly look like she wanted the planet to swallow her.”

“So why are you telling me?” Thundercracker finally wheezed, once he’d managed to cough the last few drops out of his air intakes.

“Beeecause… I guess…” Skywarp offered a see-sawing sort of shrug. “I wanted to see if you wanted to?”

Thundercracker stared at him for a very long time.

Eventually he came up with a very inadequate: “What?”

“I thought it was a pretty straightforward question.”

Thundercracker made sure he’d put his flask down, just in case of any other bombshells. “After that time we spilled our sparks to you, and absolutely put ourselves through the mill in the process… You’re asking me if I want to interface with her. With your permission??”

“Not my permission, mech. With me. Together.”

In spite of it being physiologically impossible, it still looked like Thundercracker had paled. “…what?”

“You sure you should be downstairs yet, mech?” Skywarp waved a hand in front of his wingmate’s face. “Not really woken up yet, by my reckoning.”

Thundercracker grabbed the distracting hand and pinned it against the table. “With me. I did hear you right, right? With me. As in, both of us. At the same time.”

Skywarp smiled disarmingly. “Right. Humans call it a threesome.”

“A three-…” Thundercracker opened and closed his mouth a few times but nothing adequate seemed to want to come out. He quietly sagged against the chair’s backrest. “We’ve been trine for millennia. Is-is this something you’ve thought about before? Like, are you only just now telling me… you’ve wanted to do this… all that time? And I’ve just… what. Missed it? Never spotted it? Not even a hint?”

“Naw.” Skywarp’s features creased in that silly smile that crinkled his nose (and Thundercracker knew usually got Pulsar swooning. It… was kinda attractive). “I’d have told you long before now if I had. I guess she just got me curious?”

“Curious.”

“Yeah? I mean, why not? I know we’re both gorgeous.” Skywarp flattened his hand against his cockpit, fingers splayed, and Thundercracker couldn’t help the little snort of laughter. “You’ve never been interested to see what it’d be like?”

“Well-… no, honestly? You’re trine, Warp. The idea of interfacing with you has not once ever crossed my processor.”

One brow came up in an arch as if to say oh really. Skywarp sipped (intentionally causally) at his cube.

“I mean it!” Why did he suddenly feel so flustered. “A-aside from maybe… once. Thousands of vorns ago. We weren’t trine then. And then a war got in the way. Remember that part?”

“Pssh. Plenty of romantic trines out there, even if we never did.” Skywarp paused for effect. “…yet.”

Thundercracker rested his head against his folded hands. “I can’t believe you’re actually genuinely trying to talk me into this.”

“Why not?” Skywarp shuffled his chair closer around the table, and claimed one of his wingmate’s hands with his own. “It’d be fun!”

Thundercracker gave him a flat look. “‘Fun’.”

“Yeah. You know. That thing neither you nor Screamer know how to do any more.”

Thundercracker gave him a shove.

“Seriously.” Skywarp scooted back, and closer, this time. “So what if we’re wingbros. This is a thing we like doing, and you’re our friend. Pulse might not have suggested it on purpose, but friends share nice things with each other, and I thought: yeah, okay.” They were almost nose-to-nose, by now. He dropped his voice an octave or so. “…and you really are pretty attractive, into the bargain.”

Thundercracker snorted a laugh. “Colours aside, we’re identical, you vain glitch.”

Skywarp snickered. “Yeah but I never normally see me from this angle.”

“Are you sure Pulsar is all right with it?”

This time Skywarp did look a little sheepish. “Well I, uh, kinda haven’t seen her since she got mad at me and stomped off last night. I think she stayed in dorms. I haven’t actually told her I was gonna talk to you, yet.”

“Only because she’d have told you not to,” Thundercracker growled. “And you better not be using me as a way to apologise to her, either.” He sighed and let his forehead come to rest against his wingmate’s. “…can I think about it?”

“Sure.” Skywarp kissed his nose, playfully. “I can wait.”

-----

When Pulsar was uncharacteristically late to the daily pre-shift briefing, their boss dispatched one of her siblings to go looking for her.

Following her private signal, the eternally-elegant Longbeam tracked her down in the canteen. Pulsar looked somewhat frazzled; antennae askew, optics not quite at full brightness, and still covered in yesterday’s scuffs, contemplating her energon as though hoping to glean the meaning of life from the depths of the flask.

Longbeam slid into the chair opposite. “What happened to you.”

“No spare dorms. Stayed on the couch.”

“And there was me thinking you had a massive house – and a bunch of pretty seekers to go with it – out in the nice part of the city.”

Pulsar glared up from under hooded brows. “Those ‘pretty seekers’ are why I ended up sleeping on the couch. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh-ho.” Longbeam’s optics twinkled. “Say no more, sister. I wondered why you still looked so tired.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that.”

“Nothin’.” The tall bike gestured airily with her long, slim hand. “Crash with me and Vecks, next time. If nothing else, our couch is infinitely superior. You can fantasise all you like and no-one will interrupt.”

Pulsar swatted her hand away, and her sister snickered. “Why are you even here, Beemer.”

“Because you’re late to work?”

…Well done. Go draw a bit more attention to yourself, why don’t you. Idiot. Pulsar vented a long sigh and let her head clonk down against the table.

“So preoccupied that you flat out forgot why they make us come to this dump on the regular, huh,” Longbeam drawled. “Need me to go make some excuses to Nightsun for you?”

“No.” Pulsar’s words came out muffled by the tabletop. “Pass me a lid for my flask…”

In reality, nobody paid the two bikes the slightest bit of attention as they navigated the busy corridors, but Pulsar’s imagination was already in overdrive, (un)happily assuming everyone was talking about her. Why’s she still so scruffy / didn’t take a bath / stayed here overnight / have they separated / what did she do to upset him / really hope I don’t miss out on the juicy gossip. She kept her shoulders round and avoided eye contact.

Nightsun pinged a quick greeting as Pulsar slunk in and found a seat at the back of the meeting area, but otherwise didn’t break his flow, assigning cases and talking through the orn’s operations. She appreciated the discretion.

When Thundercracker drifted past on the way to his office, looking… distant, and distracted, for reasons she strongly suspected she knew… she slumped all the way down on her chair until she could hide behind Longbeam, and quietly took her beacon right off the grid. Just while he was in the vicinity. Just to avoid any awkward conversations in public. Just until she’d squared things up in her own mind.

This is such a screwup.

Eventually Pulsar’s shift ended and she’d run out of data to upload and reports to write and there came a point where she couldn’t justify loitering purposelessly at work any longer. And Longbeam kept giving her funny, knowing looks, so it would only be a matter of time before Pulsar ended up giving her an incriminating punch in the head. She left the building the most circuitous way she could find and skulked home with her tail between her legs, rehearsing over and over in her head what she was going to say to Skywarp. She’d not heard from him all day and didn’t really know what that meant.

I love you and can we forget I said anything.

…You spent all day thinking about it and that was the best you could come up with?

She settled uncomfortably in their lounge, on the edge of the couch under the house-maple, trying to concentrate on her datapad. She’d never really been that bothered that her feet didn’t reach the floor until now, when it felt like it might impinge on her ability to make a quick exit.

Across the room, the news unexpectedly clicked on, making her jump. Footsteps approached.

…and it wasn’t Skywarp. She swallowed the curse before it could escape.

Thundercracker settled intentionally nearby. She tried to ignore his proximity – and the way he was watching her read – but there was something off about his manner that was making the back of her helm prickle with a sort of anxious anticipation.

It was when he shifted slightly to artfully prop his head against one hand, still watching her, that she realised the game was indeed up.

She looked up and met his gaze, and immediately deflated. “…he told you,” she said, flatly.

At least he was smiling – and not in a mocking way, but a small, affectionate smile. “He did.”

She muttered something quiet that Thundercracker didn’t manage to parse, but sensed was probably pretty vulgar. “I might kill him.”

“I might hold him down for you!” He chuckled. “After I figure out which bit of this ridiculousness surprises me more – the fact you thought he might not, or the fact you’re surprised he did.”

His fingers drifted down over her antennae, trailing imaginary sparks all the way, and her fans hitched. She jerked her head away, frustrated. “This wasn’t fun to start with but it’s definitely not fun now you’re both sucking my sump.” She slid off the chair and made a break for the exit. “I thought better of you.”

He put out a hand and blocked her way as she went to pass him. “Didn’t you only just get home?”

“Yeah.” She looked down and watched as his fingers came up to softly encircle her wrist. “If I go now, there might still be some spare berths left. I’m not spending the night on that nasty hard couch again. And definitely not going to crash with Beemer, who can’t wait to rub it in-”

He kept his grip gentle – made sure she knew she could have stepped away any second she wanted, if she genuinely wanted out – but didn’t let go. “Why?”

“Really?” She gave him a tired glare. “Come on. Warp gets me to blurt out stupid, embarrassing garbage, shares the worst of it with you, and you wonder why I feel like I can’t face you right now. The last I need is for you to join in with mocking me.”

“I’m not teasing. I promise.” His smile widened, just a touch. He gave her hand a very gentle tug and she sagged into his lap.

“Well this isn’t fair,” she said, flatly.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to apologise.” Her fans had already picked up speed. Her antennae prickled, like someone had connected them to a lightning rod and a thunderstorm was brewing outside. “I get it! I have a big mouth and no filter and I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Maybe.” Thundercracker lowered his voice to a particularly pleasant rumble. “But I’m glad you did.”

It felt like someone had stolen all the air from the room. “…what?”

Pulsar realised she’d wound her field so tightly around herself, she almost missed it when the third person joined the room. A bolt of electric alarm shot right up her back and she froze.

Skywarp sat down on his knees in front of the couch, caging Pulsar at the centre of a circle of arms. “So are we doing this, or what.”

She refused to meet either of their stares, shocked and stiff. “Doing what.”

“Well someone said something about having us both at once.”

Oh mercy. Pulsar covered her face with both hands; felt like her field was on fire. “You’re a teasing pair of glitches.” Her words came out strangled and staticky. “You shouldn’t say things like that unless you mean it.”

Thundercracker leaned down; let his helm bump gently against hers. “Who says we don’t?” he said, softly. “We know you want to.”

“Just because I want-… I-” She let her head turn subtly to the side, until she could just meet the muted garnet of his optics. “I don’t want to hurt you. It was a stupid, unguarded comment-”

“We’ve all said something stupid and unguarded at some point. But now it’s in the open, and we can do something about it.”

Skywarp was leaning in, as well, now. “You left me plenty of thinking time when you flounced last night. Me and TC discussed it…”

“…and that made for an interesting orn…” Thundercracker added, dryly.

“…and we decided, yeah. We’re both up for it. Let’s see what it would be like.” Skywarp pressed in closer “I think it’ll be fun.”

“But you can say no. That’s fine too.”

They were both so intoxicatingly close she could barely think straight. There was no way this could be real. Perhaps she was still offline, scrunched up and uncomfortable and stress-dreaming in the canteen. She scrambled for something that might bring back reality. “This can’t-.. I-I don’t want to hurt you. What if it makes things… awkward, or you fall out, or-… I would never forgive-”

“It won’t.” Thundercracker dipped his helm, until his lips were microns from hers, easily close enough to steal a kiss. “After forgiving all the slag we’ve done to each other during the war… why would an expression of love hurt us like that?”

She could feel the subtle movement of the air as he spoke. So close.

So close.

“But, if you really don’t-”

“Yes.” She dimmed her optics, and breathed the words against him. “I do. Please, Primus; yes.”

Skywarp snrk-ed, then leaned all the way in and tightened his grip on them both.

A sensation of cold and freefall and of being in two places at once-

-and suddenly the lounge was empty.

-----

The first subtle blues of early dawn streamed in through the crack in the blind, slicing the room into a collection of shadows. Pulsar was first to stir, nudged awake by an internal alarm, and the reluctant knowledge that she had a shift coming up. She allowed herself an indulgent few seconds of stillness, to figure out exactly where she was – and more importantly, with whom.

It hadn’t been a dream, then.

Sensation slowly came back to her tired processors, as each individual module booted reluctantly back up. She felt sore, and stiff, and… weirdly stretched… and completely powerless to move, sandwiched between two large, heavy, affectionate bodies.

And… she found she really didn’t care, actually? It was a good sore. It came with quiet and calm and contentment, all folded up in a soft nimbus of protection and affection.

Would be nice to stay like this forever, actually.

She called up her memory record, just soaking in the remembered pleasure, for a little while. Thinking about those careful, cautious little experimental touches, working out each other’s boundaries and individual hotspots… Of trying really hard to give as good as she got, but also of being trapped at the epicentre of a tornado, swept along, ultimately able to do nothing except surrender control and enjoy the ride.

Then, when she was too sore and exhausted to do anything more, just… laying to watch, and purr contentedly, enjoying vicariously as they explored each other, in ways that were simultaneously completely alien (those wings, oh Primus those wings), and also so unbelievably familiar she could almost feel it.

Yeah; mmh, that had been good, too. Particularly good. She shivered at the memory, filing it carefully away, wondering if she’d ever be able to get Warp making those same soft little noises of pleasure and need that he’d wrung from Thundercracker.

She turned her attention quietly to her berthmates.

Skywarp was an untidy sprawl, of course, because when wasn’t he. Limbs and wings at all angles, as though he’d just been dropped there from a great height. His cheek pressed heavily against the top of her helm, though, and the arm on which she lay was bent around just enough for his fingers to rest on her hip.

The smudge of blue on the other side, in the periphery of her vision, was a less familiar sight to wake up to, but… welcome. It also revealed the source of the weight resting on her shoulder. One big wing protruded into her field of view, like a shield against the world. Thundercracker’s free arm stretched all the way across both of them; possessive, protective.

She managed to wriggle one arm free, and stroked the pale cheek pressed against her shoulder.

It took several seconds for Thundercracker’s optics to respond, and they remained dim, but his features softened into a smile. “Good morning.” His voice was thick, and distorted, but comfortable – as though he’d quite happily let his mind slip back into idle and stay that way for the whole orn.

“Very good morning, from my perspective.” She kept her fingers against his cheek and purred quietly as he leaned into the touch. “I was worried I just dreamed it.”

He harmonised his purr with hers. “I’m glad you didn’t. Thanks for including me.”

“Thank you, for agreeing to come.”

Thundercracker gave an involuntary little snrk, and they shared a tired giggle.

“Those were some interesting noises he got you making last night,” Pulsar added.

A little flicker of mixed amusement and embarrassment danced through the blue seeker’s field. “All that practice he’s had with you probably helped.” He stretched his shoulders, subtly, looking for a slightly more comfortable position. “…and I guess I needed it. It’s been a while.”

She pressed a little kiss to his brow. “I’d like to think maybe this doesn’t need to have been a one-off,” she suggested, carefully. “If you’d be interested.”

He brought his own hand up, and coaxed her closer for a proper kiss; her fingers threaded between his, pulling tighter against him.

“Definitely interested,” he murmured, letting his lips linger close to hers when they finally parted. “And flattered that you’d like to share.”

Her words came out underlaid with a subtle static. “You’re absolutely worth it.”

He chuckled. “And how long have you been fantasising about Warp and me together?”

Pulsar smiled and glanced away, optics brightening. “I stand by my assessment. You look so good,” she husked, drawing little wispy fingertip lines against his helm. “But who wants to just watch. Being involved with the two people I love most in the universe is better.”

He hummed his amusement, and let his head come back down onto her shoulder, at just the right angle to encourage those pleasant little doodles to continue.

All too soon, a reflected beam of strengthening sunlight had found its way through the nearby buildings, and lanced straight into his optics. Thundercracker grimaced and flinched his face subtly out of its line of fire, then sighed. “This is probably fate’s way of saying I should be starting to think of going to work, about now.”

“Call in sick,” Skywarp said, muffled and distorted; Pulsar hadn’t even realised he was awake, and if his volume were anything to go by, he was only just.

“Thank you for the tip, but some of us are meant to be setting an example.” Thundercracker pushed himself partially upright, and grunted softly. “Oof. Even if they’d rather stay here all orn. Until all their cable tensions rebalance.” But he soon succumbed to gravity, sagging back to his elbows. “Primus, ow. I am amazed you two can ever walk, if this is what the two of you get up to on a regular basis.”

Pulsar felt her optics brighten, and audibly rebooted her vocaliser to cover the embarrassed giggle. “Practice, remember?”

“They’ll survive without you for half an orn, TC,” Skywarp added, sleepily. “You’re the boss. You write the rules.”

Thundercracker dithered for several very long seconds, under the expectant weight of his friends’ combined stare.

“Maybe just another couple of breems won’t hurt,” he accepted, tiredly reorganising his bulk so he wasn’t pinning them quite so completely – but keeping that possessive arm around them.

…by the end of the first breem, he was clearly dozing contentedly again, growing heavier as systems went dormant, and by breem two was completely offline again, fans cycling with a low, quiet purr of satisfaction.

“So much for setting an example,” Skywarp observed, quietly, voice still muzzy. “I guess he never said what sort of example.”

“Aw, leave him in peace. He deserves at least one morning off for once in his life.” Pulsar gave his nose a little flick. “What about us?”

“Stay here as well, I guess.” Skywarp grunted and after a little ineffectual squirming managed to fold her a little deeper into his arms. “Seeing as we can’t get up anyway, looks like we have the boss’s permission for a lay in.”

“Probably imprudent to go to work with paintstrikes in his colours, as well.” Pulsar examined a little azure scuff on the teleport’s obsidian enamel. “Would you take a bath with me?”

“Guess I can indulge you, this once.” Skywarp remained silent for several loaded seconds before speaking again. “And fine. You were right.”

“…What?”

“…He is a better frag than me.”

Pulsar tried unsuccessfully to smother him with a pillow.

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

If you need a soundtrack to this, I guess it’d be this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSRYvYN1ayw (Górecki, by Lamb. One of my absolute favourites of all time)

(Yes OK I posted this to AO3 MONTHS ago. I’m still catching up with posting stuff here...)

[amjustagirl]

Broken Compass: Sakusa’s allergic reaction to Iwaizumi 

pairing: sakusa x f! reader  genre: parenthood fluff, romance  wc: 964

a/n: part of the broken compass fic, set in the storm chaser universe

“Iwaizumi called - Kiyoomi, don’t sneer when I say his name.”

Sakusa tries his utmost best to pull his features into something a little more neutral, but it can’t be helped. Hearing Iwaizumi’s name being uttered makes his body react involuntarily - much like an allergic reaction, but instead of rashes or hives, his face just contorts into a deep, dark scowl. Never mind that it’s you, his precious wife who brings him up. Anyone who even dreams of hurting you will have to deal with him. 

“What does he want”, he manages to say with a passable amount of civility. 

“He’s asking me out for lunch since he’s got a bit of time before the season starts again. I was thinking of meeting him at Shimbashi, they’ve got a pretty decent sushi set lunch that I was thinking of trying.” 

He shrugs. He knows full well that Iwaizumi Hajime poses no threat to his marriage, never mind that he’s an ex-boyfriend of yours, but it rankles that you’re so quick to forgive the man that smashed your heart beneath his feet. Still, that’s also one of the countless reasons he loves you, your kindness, your empathy making him fall in love with you anew every single day, so he doesn’t begrudge Iwaizumi this small part of you that still harbours some affection for him. 

“Go ahead. Have fun.”

You smile at him. Someone should really learn to bottle up your smile - it makes him, an incurable grump, feel as if he could burst with happiness and contentment, like the sun rising and birds singing and nice things that normal people appreciate - 

“I was thinking of bringing Sachiko along to meet him too - ”

His thoughts screech to a stop. 

“Absolutely not”, he replies shortly, gathering up said toddler to his chest. Sachiko gnaws and drools on the child friendly chew toy that he spent hours researching to make sure there’s absolutely no choking hazards, no strange chemicals involved, completely unaware of the staring match conducted above her dark, downy head. 

You sigh heavily. “Kiyoomi - “

“I’ll take care of her when you go out for lunch.“ 

“You have a work trip with Kuroo, remember?” 

“I’ll cancel with him, he’ll understand - right my little firefly?” Sachiko gurgles, giggling as Kiyoomi boops her nose ever so gently. “You don’t want to meet mean, Iwaizumi-san who hurt your mama - ”

“Kiyoomi”, you sigh. “We’ve talked about this before. Yes, Iwaizumi hurt me very badly, but things happen for a reason. If it weren’t for him, we’d never have had the chance to meet, let alone fall in love, get married, have a baby - ”

Sachiko dribbles on his shoulder. He wipes it away, more bothered by the thought of your ex-boyfriend coming anywhere close to his precious firefly than a minute amount of baby spit. Motoya would be astounded. “While that’s true, I’d like to attribute our current state of happiness to Miya Kaiyo for her matchmaking attempts than Iwaizumi Hajime, considering she didn’t break your heart, unlike him - ”

“Oh Kiyoomi”, you wrap your arms around your loveable, overprotective grump of a husband. “You know there’s no downside to Hajime meeting Sachiko - he’s just an old friend now. Remember he sent those lovely baby clothes for our baby shower, and that adorable volleyball anklet for her one month celebration -   

“Sachiko didn’t like it - ”

“Kiyoomi, you thought they were absolutely precious until you found out Hajime sent them, you silly thing.” 

Your husband just curls around your baby girl as if he’s intent on shielding her from some unknown threat, all six foot four of him. You laugh affectionately, leaning onto your toes to press a light kiss to the nape of his neck.       

“Kiyoomi, Hajime wouldn’t ever think about harming a single hair on Sachiko’s head. You know that, you’re just being obstinate about it. And if I don’t bring her for lunch, who’s going to babysit? You want me to leave her with Bokuto, when they’re just figuring out how to wean Kousuke so Mitsuki can go back to work - ”

“Bokuto might be the better choice”, Kiyoomi mutters beneath his breath. 

“Sorry”, you say sweetly. “Would you like to repeat that so I can record it and send it to Bo?”

He grumbles, incoherent. “Fine”, he mumbles, though he’s still clinging to Sachiko, who’s starting tugging on his curly hair. 

“What’s that?” 

“Bring Sachiko to meet Iwaizumi.” He waves the white flag, recognises that he is being ridiculous, but he’ll do anything to keep his little family from any shadow of threat - more so when Sachiko, his precious little firefly is so tiny and helpless, when she depends wholly on him - oh gods his little baby girl is going to grow up one day and not need him anymore, that thought just haunts him - 

“Kiyoomi”, you say his name, grasp his attention immediately. Warm palms cup his cheeks, and the familiar scent of vanilla and sugar settles him, making his fears recede. “You’re a really good dad.” 

He snuffles into your hair, breathing deeply. “I’m trying my best.” 

You smile again at him. It beats any sunrise in the sky, any bird song in the air. “That’s all that matters.”   

Sachiko babbles, bumps her fist against her papa’s cheek like a drum. He accepts her violence with equanimity. 

“Firefly, do that but harder when you meet Iwaizumi, okay? Papa gives you full permission to pull out his hair too.”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!”  

“What?!”

[trueromantic1]

September 6-Limitations

Summary: After Olivia gets injured, Elliot takes it upon himself to take care of her. It rankles a bit at first, but he's just what the doctor ordered.

Author’s Note: According to Word, this came in at 585 words. Which is more than 500, but honestly less than I expected. I also surprised myself with no smut. In fact, I didn't even allude to smut. Maybe next time. But honestly, I just felt like soft and fluffy Bensler was the way to go with this word.

Rating: General Audiences

ff.net: here

AO3: here

Sitting on the couch, her leg propped up on several pillows on the coffee table, Liv watched as the man in her kitchen prepared a tray of food. She’d been surprised when Elliot showed up at her door an hour ago, but she realized she shouldn’t have been. As soon as she told him she had a broken ankle, she should have expected him to come by, no matter how much she told him she was fine. So when he’d shown up with several bags of groceries and told her to go put her foot up like he was sure the doctor ordered, she’d bemusedly done as told. She’d spent the last hour chatting with him from the couch while he prepared chicken noodle soup at her stove.

Taking the tray from him, she groaned at the delicious smell wafting from the bowl. “Not that you need the ego boost, but this smells amazing. Did you learn to make this in Italy?” She blew on her spoonful as she watched him bring his own tray to the couch.

He blushed slightly, avoiding her gaze as he sat down next to her. “Actually, no. It’s one of the few things I learned to make from my mom. She used to make it when we got sick.” He looked at her then, slight smile lifting the corner of his lips as he watched her take her first spoonful. It widened, stretching into the full smile she hadn’t seen in months when she moaned at taste. “It’s good then?”

“Mmmhmmm.” She nodded slightly as she swallowed, savoring the burst of flavors lingering on her tongue as the soothing warmth went down her throat. “This is so good Elliot. Thank you. You didn’t have to come over and make me your mom’s soup, but it’s hitting the spot so well I’m not even going to say anything else about it. This is the first thing that hasn’t made me feel like it’s going to come back up since I left the hospital.” She spooned more into her mouth, relaxing back into the pillows he’d placed behind her as she enjoyed the soup.

“Well thanks. Speaking of that, Fin said he would stop and pick up your anti-nausea medicine from the pharmacy on his way over with Noah after school. And I already cleared some time off with Bell. And don’t say that’s not necessary Liv. You and I both know you’ve got some limitations right now with that foot.” He watched, trying to hide his amusement around his own mouthful of soup, as she managed a pretty good scowl even with her mouth full.

She swallowed, turning her scowl fully on him. “Elliot, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Liv, you’re still Badass Benson. You just also have a broken ankle that puts certain limitations on your mobility. Please. Let me help you and Noah out. I know you can do it yourself, but you don’t have to.”

Her scowl slowly melted away as she turned back to her bowl. “Okay, you’re right. I could use some help. I just…I don’t like that word. Limitations. People have been trying to place them on me most of my life. But I know you don’t mean it that way. I guess you could hang around awhile. Might be fun, having you at my beck and call.” She bumped his shoulder lightly with hers as he chuckled, both of them settling down to eat their soup.

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 29]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

I’m giving myself the night off schoolwork and going to catch up on some editing and other stuff. So, let’s have fun with the babies!

Over the course of the next three days of Virgil’s captivity, Virgil would come to the conclusion that his captors were idiots.

This thought flickered to life once again as Logan leaned into the closet to point out another constellation on the ceiling, tottering unstably on his knees as his weight shifted forward and distracted by his enthusiasm.

They were alone in the prince’s room. Patton had left only a few minutes before to help his mother in the kitchen (less because she needed help and more to not make her suspicious about why he’d spent so much time away in the last few days).

He wouldn’t be back for a while and Virgil had full mobility in the closet. With Logan leaning over the threshold like that, it would be easy to kill him or even just incapacitate him. One rough yank on his arm would have him completely in the closet. Virgil had no question that he could pin him down so he couldn’t activate the restraints, and even if he managed to do so, he’d have been drawn close enough that Virgil could use his legs. He could either force him to take off the cuffs or, since they automatically went to the second setting when he left the closet, just deal with it until he managed to get away.

It would just be so easy. Yet, he did not. He just watched Logan as he leaned stupidly over an assassin while info dumping about stars.

This was the first day that he hadn’t felt at all tired when he’d drank the provided nutrition and healing potion, though it had never affected him quite as much as it had the first day. Logan said that meant that his injuries must be healed. It was a weird feeling. He didn’t remember when the last time was that he wasn’t damaged in some way. Even before his grueling training, there’d always been bullies at the orphanage and he’d been the youngest and smallest in his age group.

He was also more well rested and fed than he had been in as long as he could remember. He felt better then he knew was possible today, and he suspected that he would only feel better after a bit more time under their care.

He told himself that is why he didn’t lash out now. He was waiting until he was as strong as possible to make sure his escape went as well as it could, even if it was a risk. They’d mentioned that the king would be gone for three weeks. After he returned, Virgil would surely be turned over to people much more capable of actually keeping him well trapped and less likely to feed him well, give him a nice place to sleep, and leave him without injury. It was a gamble to stay, because it was possible that he wouldn’t find another opportunity in time and would get handed over to his fate. Really, if he was being reasonable, he should get out now while he felt good and had a secured opportunity.

Still, he did not. He had not any of the times they’d given him the opportunity in the last few days. Logan finished his sentence and leaned back out of the closet to safety. He still was speaking though in that soft happy tone. Logan liked the stars. He liked to talk about the stars, and Virgil found he liked to listen to him. They tended to end up in this position whenever Patton was away, just talking as Virgil laid in his closet.

Eventually, Logan’s latest story tapered out. There was silence then for a few moments. Virgil stared up at the fake stars on the ceiling. The stars that Logan had made for him when he really did not have to. Virgil had not been expecting lights in the closet, let alone ones so beautiful and thoughtful. Not ones with stories behind them. Just days ago, if someone had told Virgil the prince would be keeping him in his closet for the next few weeks, Virgil wouldn’t have expected a blanket let alone all of this.

He turned his head to look at Logan. “What?” Logan asked.

“Your magic’s very beautiful,” Virgil said.

Logan seemed pleased by the complement, lighting up almost as much as the stars he made. “Well, it’s just a basic light spell,” he said, “though I did make some adjustments to them and the dimmer was a bit more difficult. Anyone could do it with practice.”

Virgil shook his head. “They’re special, I think,” he said. “Your magic’s different than most people.”

“How so?” Logan asked curiously.

“It’s gentle,” he said. “Gentle and warm, like eating the warm soup you fed me a couple of days ago.”

“And other people’s magic feels different?” he asked.

Virgil nodded. “I’ve met a lot of magic users, but it always felt bad. Usually it hurts or makes you feel sick or just makes you uncomfortable. Even healing magic always felt like bugs nibbling at my skin, but the potion you’ve been having me drink in the morning feels… safe. It doesn’t hurt or make me want to cry. It’s just good.”

“Magic often has much to do with the caster’s intentions,” Logan said.

“I think you could poison me gently.”

Logan made an odd expression. “That…” he said, nose scrunched. “That is a strange thing to say.”

Virgil cocked his head. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Logan said, shaking his head. “You are far too comfortable with the concept of death for your age.”

“I’m fourteen,” Virgil argued. “That’s old enough to be sent on missions without a blood compulsion!”

“…A what?” Logan asked.

“A blood compulsion,” Virgil said. “You know, with a multrum.” Logan was frowning at him. “One works in your gardens and you’re a prince. You had to at least have seen one or two. They take a bit of blood and multrums process it into a little bead. Then you’ve got to do what your told or it hurts a lot.”

“I know what a blood compulsion is,” Logan said. “I am simply wondering who would put one on a fourteen-year-old.”

“They don’t,” Virgil said. “They stop putting them on people when they turn fourteen.”

“And exactly what is the age range for it?” Logan asked. Virgil was almost startled by the way his tone was quickly hardening. He’d never heard him be that harsh even when he’d first woken up in his custody. It made Virgil tense up.

“They take kids usually when they’re about 8 and it’s a year of training before your sent on a mission so 9-13,” he said.

“That’s horrible,” Logan spat so violently that Virgil flinched. Logan didn’t seem to notice. “They force children to kill under a blood compulsion?”

“Well, no one really wants to do it without one when they’re that little. They get scared, and usually try to chicken out so…”

“So, they torture them unless they kill someone.”

“I mean… it’s not. They have to agree to the deal.”

“And if they don’t agree to it?” Logan asked.

Virgil thought back to the second time they’d made him get a blood compulsion. It had been with the multrum before Janus, a girl by the name of Alina. He’d made the mistake of hesitating on his first kill and faced the consequences before finally giving in and doing the job. When the second mission had come around, Virgil hadn’t wanted to accept the blood compulsion.

That had been the first time they’d made him drink a binding potion. Logan seemed to be able to get an idea about it by the look on his face.

“So, your options were to be tortured, be tortured in a different way, or murder someone.” Logan looked at him. “You said your fourteen. Have you ever even killed of your own volition?”

“I… no,” he admitted, but quickly added, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“That explains a lot about your personality and reactions so far.”

Virgil rankled at that for some reason. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Logan just stared at him for a long moment. “What they did, what they are doing isn’t right you know?” he said.

Virgil blinked at him but said nothing. He became more and more uncomfortable in the silence that ensued.

“Would you like to learn more about magic?” he asked. “There are many uses other then to hurt. I can teach you a few basics if you like.”

Virgil was confused about the topic change but was relieved about it. “Uh,” he thought. “Sure. That would be… interesting.”

Logan smiled at him. “I’ll set up something and we can work with it in the next few days. What would you like to learn?”

“Um, I have no idea. What is there?”

Logan considered it for a moment. “We could do a hair color changing potion. Or perhaps a small protection charm or I can teach you to make fire shapes.”

“Protection charm,” Virgil said without hesitation.

Logan gave him a sad smile. “Of course. I’ll start showing you how to make them tomorrow and we can actually make some the next day.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“Would you like to hear more about the stars?” he asked. Virgil nodded. He once again leaned into the closet to point and Virgil once again did not move to attack. Nor did he attack when that afternoon Patton turned his back on Virgil for far too long when they were alone. Nor did he when they settled him to bed once again in the closet. He told himself it was strategic, but he knew it wasn’t.

Chapter 12

Logan had needed to spend some time performing royal duties today which left Patton and Virgil alone after breakfast. Patton had started out trying to teach Virgil different board games. He’d seemed intrigued at first, but after a few games of checkers seemed to grow bored. Patton had gotten a blank stare when he’d asked if Virgil had any ideas about what to do for fun, so now he was trying to figure out something else they could do. He cast his eyes around at what Logan had in his bedroom.

“How about I read you a book?” he suggested.

Virgil seemed very intrigued by that idea. “Sure,” he said.

“Okay!” Patton said cheerfully. “He popped to his feet and glanced through the small shelf of fiction books Logan kept in his room. He decided to choose one of the lighter ones that Logan and he had liked to read when they were younger. “This one is called The Never-ending Garden,” Patton said. “It’s about a group of four children and their adventures in a garden. It’s full of magic and adventure and friendship! Is that alright with you?”

“It sounds good,” Virgil answered.

Patton happily walked back over to sit next to him. “It is!” he said.

First, he showed Virgil the picture on the cover of a wild looking garden with four kids roaming through it. One of the children was in a little red wagon being pulled by another one wearing a fancy hat. One of the others was walking, looking at a map while the last had a wooden sword. After giving Virgil a couple of moments too look at the picture, Patton cracked it open.

“We start with Lydia’s perspective,” Patton said. “She’s one of my favorites!” He pointed to a picture of a girl in a raincoat at the beginning of the chapter and Virgil leaned slightly closer to see. Then, Patton cleared his voice.

“It had been raining that day,” Patton began, “but Lydia had been so bored that she still begged her father to go out and play when the storm lightened into a sprinkle. He made her change from the yellow dress she had been wearing into the one she often used to help him garden because he knew she was certain to get herself muddy. Her younger brother Marcus asked if he could come too and though part of her wanted to say no because she wanted to explore on her own without her baby brother slowing her down, her father had taught her to be a good big sister, so she agreed to let him come.”

Patton watched Virgil out of the corner of his eye as he read about Lydia meeting up with the neighbor boy, Al, and the three children started to explore the garden in Lydia’s backyard. Virgil leaned in slightly to look at the pictures and listen to the story intently as the three children traveled deeper and deeper into the garden, but never made it to the back fence. They’d just made it to the part where they heard rustling behind the blackberry bush which Patton knew was the last main character, Melly, when Patton felt the need to adjust his posture a bit. Virgil moved in kind and ended up leaning further into Patton.

Without even really thinking about it, Patton brought his arm around to touch the top of his head. Virgil flinched the second Patton made content and Patton drew the hand away immediately. “Sorry,” he said with a wince. Patton was a naturally touching person and he’d been having trouble battling his instincts to cuddle everyone and everything while around Virgil, but he knew most touch was not welcome. The poor thing startled every time Patton went to touch him unannounced and even sometimes when he’d said something before doing it.

“I-it’s okay,” Virgil said.

Patton gave him a tight lipped smiled and turned back to the book.

He stilled a second later when Virgil leaned back in and their shoulders brushed. He blinked over at him. “Oh,” he said softly. “Do… do you want me to touch your hair?”

Virgil curled up into himself a little bit but then nodded.

“Okay,” Patton said. “I’m going to put my arm around you and do that then, okay?” He drew upon his years and years of convincing easily startled cats to allow him to give them pats as he slowly moved his arm back to where it had been before and gently touched the side of his head. He tensed, but didn’t startle this time, and so Patton gently ran his fingers through the hair a couple of times. Eventually, the tension bled out of him and he sort of slumped against Patton’s shoulder. Patton just barely restrained a coo before going back to reading. He continued to stroke the side of Virgil’s hair as he described the gang meeting up with Melly and them being told she was a fairy that lived in the garden.

He'd only gotten to the part about them finding the wagon when Virgil started to shift a bit uncomfortably, his neck craned in an awkward angle. Patton kept reading as he brought the hand in his hair down to his shoulder and pushed lightly. There was the slightest bit of resistance as Virgil didn’t know what he was trying to do, but then he allowed Patton to move him. Patton leaned back a bit and picked the book up off his lap before continuing to push him down. Virgil did not help at all, seeming confused about what was going on.

Patton had to poke him around until he was on his back laying across Patton’s lap. He grinned down at the boy who was looking at him in blatant bewilderment and propped the book up on his chest. He held it there with one of his hands and stretched the other out to resume messing with his hair. Virgil relaxed into the new position after a few minutes of reading, eyes shutting as he enjoyed the attention. His eyes would flicker open every time Patton moved to show him a picture, but other than that, he seemed content to not move.

Eventually, he stopped responding when Patton moved to show him the pictures.

“Are you asleep?” he asked quietly. When he didn’t get a response, he bookmarked the last picture Virgil had responded to, and then continued reading to himself.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door. It was the one he and Logan had decided on to tell the other one that it was just them and not to panic when the door opened. The door opened to Logan a moment later.

He paused, taking in the sight of the assassin sprawled across Patton’s lap like a sleepy kitten. He shook his head fondly and walked over to them on silent feet. He bent and pressed a hand to the top of Virgil’s hand. Virgil stirred just barely, but didn’t open his eyes, pressing into the touch a bit.

Logan smiled. “He wanted to learn how to make protection charms today. I assume you’d like to join us?” Patton perked up and nodded happily, making Logan chuckle softly. “I will go set it up then. Would you like another book for the time being?”

“Just the one I was reading last night would be nice,” Patton said.

“Of course.” Logan stepped away to grab it and handed it to him. Then, he disappeared into his potion’s lab. Patton smiled down at Virgil’s sleeping face and settled the new book onto his chest to replace the children’s book. He didn’t even stir.

Chapter 13

Logan was able to quickly set up the station for making protection charms. Patton had always liked making them, though he often used his more as fun accessories than for protection. The one he was going to show Virgil how to make was a very simple low level one used for little more than to keep bugs off of yourself and, in the event of a well made one, alert one to imminent danger by changing temperature. It was a nice thing to hold in the middle of the night if one was frightened by real or imagined threats. It would be warm to the touch when your environment was safe; he thought Virgil might appreciate it.

He and Patton decided to wait until Virgil woke up naturally which only took about 30 minutes. Then, Logan brought him to his set up supplies. He explained briefly the process for making a protection charm. “I will be the one performing the enchantment for today,” he told Virgil. “I will show you how to make your own later, but I thought seeing how to make them would help with the learning process.”

“Plus, it’s fun!” Patton said.

Logan flashed a smile at him. “And that as well. I’ve prepared a small number of possible pendants for you to choose from. You can choose the shape and color, then we will put on a custom engraving, as well as decorations.”

“Glitter! Glitter! Glitter! Glitter!”

“Yes, Patton, everyone knows you’re going to choose glitter,” Logan said, amused, “but why don’t we let Virgil decide for his own pendant?”

“Fine,” Patton said, “but mine will be glitter.”

Logan grabbed the box of blank pendants and offered it to Virgil. “Choose whichever one feels right,” he suggested. Virgil moved forward and looked over the box. “You can touch them,” Logan said. “In fact, I would suggest it as it is meant to be held when it’s done and you may as well get a feel for it.”

At his prompting, Virgil did. He reached into the box and shifted a few to the side. Eventually, he started picking a few up. “I like the crescent shape for holding the most he said,” holding a blue one up, but I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Patton asked.

“Oh, um,” he mumbled. “I dunno.”

“Well here,” Patton said, reaching for the box. He dug through it and pulled out every single crescent moon shaped pendant and lined them up. “What do you fancy?”

Virgil considered them all for a long moment and then tentatively pointed the purple one out.

“Great!” Patton said. “Then, we’ll use that one.”

Virgil nodded and Patton picked up the pendant to drop it into his hands. His fingers curled over the shape and he seemed satisfied by the choice, so Logan turned to Patton. “Your turn,” he said.

Patton happily grabbed out a heart shaped blue one, but then paused and exchanged it for a purple one. “We match!” he said.

Virgil smiled slightly at his enthusiasm, and Logan dug out a blue crescent moon shape for himself. “Now that you have your base, you get to choose the engraving.” He opened up the instruction book to the correct page and showed it to him.

Virgil looked over the two pages of designs with carful focus. He wavered between the spiral sun and the flames for a moment, but eventually settled on the flames. Patton chose the interlocking hearts design as anticipated; it was his favorite, and Logan chose the spiral sun design for himself.

“Now, I’m going to engrave this design onto yours,” Logan said getting out the thin pen like instrument and dipping it into the slightly glowing bottle of potion he’d set out. “In the meantime, Patton will show you what we have for decorations.”

He was careful to get the symbol as perfect as he could and then started on Patton’s. Patton apparently managed to corrupt the boy because both of them came back with brushes and glitter to add as decoration.

Logan shook his head and handed them their freshly engraved pendants. “Apply the glitter how you like,” Logan said, moving on to his own engraving. Once he was finished, he selected some glow in the dark paint to decorate his own.

Once he’d finished decorating his own pendant, Logan looked up. “Are you finished?” he asked.

“Yep!” Patton said, shoving his pendant at Logan while Virgil nodded. Virgil had been far less enthusiastic than Patton, having carefully brushed glitter into the flame design only whereas Patton had haphazardly covered his own all over with glitter. Logan took both pendants.

“This,” Logan said, bringing over a different potion, “is used to make sure the decorations never fall off. It basically allows the other substances to become a part of the stone. “It isn’t too dangerous, but I’d suggest you stand back for the moment.”

Virgil stepped back farther back than was strictly necessary and gave the potion bottle a wary look. Logan moved all three pendants to the prepared surface (else they ran the risk of also getting stuck to the table) and put on gloves, having learned that magically gluing rocks to ones hands was not fun years ago. Then, he carefully drizzled a bit of the potion onto each rock. The rocks fizzled loudly, and Virgil gave off a startled yelp before toppling over flat on his face with his wrist glued to his sides.

“Oh no, honey,” Patton said immediately crouching next to him. “I’m sorry. We should have warned you about the noise.”

Logan wasn’t sure what type of action he’d tried to take when the sound started up, but whatever it was, it had caused him to move his arms fast enough that he’d activated the binding potion and it snapped his wrists to his side, overbalancing him.

Patton’s hands hovered over the startled boy, but he didn’t touch. After a few moments, it was clear that the magic keeping Virgil’s hands at his side released because his hands slowly crept forward to push himself up, so his face wasn’t planted against the ground. His eyes still looked incredibly startled.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

Logan took his words as permission to move without risking startling him more. Virgil’s eyes bopped back and forth between him and Patton a few times as he crossed to his wall of potions and grabbed one.

He also selected a clean cloth from a basket on his way over to them. “A light healing potion,” Logan explained as he knelt in front of Virgil. He uncorked it. “May I?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said with a frown. “I’m not even bleeding. It’s barely anything.”

“Which is why it’s a light healing potion,” Logan said. “You are sure to bruise with the way you hit. This will prevent it and make it stop hurting.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed after a moment. Logan dribbled a bit out onto the rag. After a moment of thought, he touched the damp part of the cloth with his own finger, just to quash any fears that it would harm him.

“It will tingle slightly,” Logan warned. Virgil tilted his face to let him dab it onto his nose and the light scrape on his face. His nose scrunched up and he moved to rub the sensation away quickly only to have his arms slam back to his sides.

Patton caught him so the sudden involuntary movement didn’t cause him to fall back, and then giggled when Virgil titled his head to what could only be described as pout back at him.

“Aw, poor thing,” Patton cooed, reaching forward to rub a hand across the top of his nose and then his forehead where the potion had been applied for him.

“Better?” Patton asked.

“You’re really bad at this being captors thing,” Virgil commenting, willingly leaning back into Patton. Patton just smiled happily.

Logan took the bottle and got to his feet, before returning it, and then glanced at the pendants as Patton helped Virgil to his feet. The pendants had stopped fizzing, so Logan felt okay reaching in and grabbing them all.

He handed both Patton and Virgil their pendants when they walked closer to the table.

“And now for the actual enchantment,” Logan said. “For today, I already prepared the potion up to the last step as it has to sit for a few hours, but I will show you the last step and eventually teach you everything if you are still interested.”

Virgil nodded, but said. “No more noises?”

Logan smiled. “No more noises,” he confirmed. Then he pushed forward all of the ingredients he was about to put in the pot for Virgil to study one by one before putting them each in it in the correct order. Then he demonstrated how to stir it correctly and told him how many times, though he doubted he’d be able to retain all of the information from this one demonstration. “There,” he said, setting down his spoon. “Now we just all put our pendants into the pot, and they should be ready in 25 minutes.”

Logan showed Virgil around his potion’s lab while they waited, explaining what certain pieces of equipment did and a bit about his organization system. Virgil followed him around, looking at the things he pointed out curiously. He, however, got very distracted when Logan showed him one of the experiments he’d concocted. It was a thick liquid that was super attracted to itself and would form a small ball that could be disturbed by touching it. He seemed to like the sensation of squishing it down onto a table… over and over and over again.

“We should get him a ball of yarn,” Patton said out of the corner of his mouth. He may have been enjoying watching Virgil play with the substance more than Virgil was enjoying playing with it himself. And that was saying something.

21984

Eventually, however, the pendants were finished, and he dragged Virgil away from his new toy to show him the finished product.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Is it supposed to be warm?” Virgil inquired.

“Yes,” Logan replied. “It’s temperature changes based on if the magic on it senses a threat or not. Warmer temperatures mean you are safe.

“Oh,” Virgil said softly, hand squeezing around it. “I like it.”

Logan found himself smiling. “I’m glad. It’s yours.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“If you would like, I’m sure Patton has some suggestions if you’d desire a way to keep it attached to your person. He in particular likes to make them into necklaces or clip them to his clothing.”

Virgil looked over at Patton and nodded shyly. Patton immediately perked up. “I’ll go get some supplies!” he said.

Chapter 14

“So then,” Patton was saying. “We ran to the stables.”

“We went to gazebo first,” Logan cut in.

“Right, we tried to go to the gazebo first,” Patton corrected, “but Mr. Deknis was over there tending to the tomatoes, and we knew he’d tell Mama the second he saw us. So, then we turned around and went to the stables.”

Virgil tilted his head, listening to the story Patton was telling. Patton was not the best storyteller. He tended to get lost in the middle and embellish, though Logan always corrected him. It was still very entertaining to watch though because he got incredibly animated. He’d even toppled himself over in excitement a couple of times.

Virgil squeezed the small pillow he had in his lap. He… wasn’t 100% sure what was going on. Logan and Patton had settled him on the blanket covered ground near Logan’s bed and proceeded to feed him snacks and talk about a lot of different things. It had started with them talking about what they’d done that day, and when Patton had made reference to something Virgil hadn’t understood, the two of them ended up talking about things from their childhood.

Virgil found himself entranced by their stories about playing in and running around the castle. It was all so different from what Virgil had experienced.

“…but, right as we were about to get to the ladder to climb up into the hay loft, Logan tripped!” Patton said, arms whipping around him. “He fell into a container of grain for the horses and it spilled all over the place. He tried to get up but grabbed the edge of the water trough and apparently it wasn’t very secure because it fell over and soaked him. So, then he was wet and covered in grain. He looked hilarious.”

“I did not!” Logan protested, but it did not sound like all of the other times he’d corrected Patton’s stories that night.

Patton looked over at him. “You did! You woke up the cute stable hand and he laughed himself silly at you, and by the time we got you even partially cleaned up, your dad had already found us. That’s how we got caught.”

“I have no recollection of these events,” Logan clearly lied, his cheeks a bit flushed.

“Liar,” Patton claimed. “You complained about picking grain out of your sheets for weeks.”

“No,” Logan growled.

“Yes! It’s okay. It was a good laugh.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed on him, and he looked pissed, but a second later, his expression lightened up. “You know what else was a ‘good laugh’?” he asked.

There was a second of silence before…

“Don’t you dare Logan.”

Logan looked him directly in the eye. “Patton was thirteen,” Logan started, but was interrupted the next moment when Patton lobbed a pillow at his head. Logan grabbed the pillow and leaned forward to smack Patton back with it. “He was thirteen and had just ‘discovered boys’ as his mother and my father called it when they attempted to explain his behavior to me. The focus of said ‘discovering’ at the time was the son of an ambassador from Lamir” who was staying for the summer, a seventeen-year-old boy by the name Bernardo.”

Virgil flinched back as Patton suddenly threw himself across the semicircle they’d made with their bodies to tackle Logan to the ground. He watched as they ineffectually wrestled on the ground for a few seconds before Logan, voice strained continued to speak, while battling Patton’s hands away from his mouth.

“Patton’s only knowledge about flirting… ow… at that point was laughing at everything someone said and touching their arms and shoulders.” Logan managed to flip himself onto his stomach which was a horrible move as far as Virgil was concerned. It put him at a disadvantage to get out of the pin. However, Patton just kept reaching for his mouth and didn’t bare down on his neck to try to cut off his oxygen like Virgil expected. So, perhaps it was a rational move. “Our parents were speaking leaving Patton, Bernardo, and I in the garden,” Logan mumbled into the ground. “Bernardo said something ‘funny’ and Patton went to slap his shoulder while laughing, but shoved too hard… Patton did you just lick my face?!”

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up!” Patton threatened. That was a… weird fighting strategy.

Logan paused to consider his options. “He shoved Bernardo into the fountain and when Bernardo asked him why he did that, he ran away and wouldn’t talk to him the rest of the summer!” Logan rushed out.

Patton reached over and grabbed the nearest pillow, proceeding to whack him viciously in the back of the head. Logan was lucky the nearest object was a pillow and not something any sturdier. “It’s not funny!” Patton yelled, smacking him even more, which was when Virgil realized Logan was laughing despite the pinning and pillow pummeling. “It’s not!” Patton said. “I really liked him!!”

“He was seventeen!” Logan said. “It was never going to happen!”

Patton groaned and rolled off of Logan to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. “But he had so many muscles,” Patton said. “He probably could have thrown me 10 yards.”

“And that is… a benefit?” Logan asked, rolling over onto his side to face him.

“You don’t. Get me.” Patton tilted his head to look at Virgil. “Anyway,” he said. “That is the story of how I died at 13.”

Virgil stared at him, and Patton’s forehead crinkled looking at him.

“Is something wrong, honey?” he asked.

“What was that?” Virgil asked.

“What was what?”

Virgil just blinked at him. Patton seemed to think for a moment.

“Oh, did you think we were fighting?” Patton asked. “Like, really fighting?”

“You weren’t fighting?” Virgil asked.

“No, sweetie,” Patton said. “We were just playing.” He popped up into a sitting position. “Well, play fighting, but emphasis on play!”

Virgil looked over at Logan for confirmation. “No one is harmed nor was there any intention to harm each other,” he assured.

Patton grabbed the pillow he’d been smacking Logan with. “Like this!” he said. “Bap.” Unlike how he’d smacked Logan ruthlessly, he basically just touched Virgil’s shoulder with it.

Virgil squinted at him.

“Bap!” Patton said again, smacking him again, this time with a little bit more force and on the cheek. Virgil’s nose scrunched up. “Pillow fight!”

“Pillow fight?”

“You try,” he said, pointing to the pillow in Virgil’s lap.

Virgil glanced down at the bands around his wrist. “Um…” he said. “I don’t think I can?”

“Oh, right,” Patton said with a frown. He bit his lip and glanced over at Logan. “Maybe…”

“Ill-advisable,” Logan said.

“But…” Patton said. “Pillow fight.”

“We would have to be very cautious and make sure there were no weapons in the area.”

“No weapons but pillows!”

“Fine,” Logan relented to whatever was going on. “Let’s clear the area.” Virgil watched them with mounting confusion as they removed everything within a few meters radius of him except for pillows and blankets.

“There!” Patton said after a minute. “All done!”

“What are you doing?” Virgil said.

“We’re going to have a pillow fight,” Patton said.

“But I…”

“We’ll temporarily allow your restraints to be in the third setting like when you’re in the closet.”

Were they serious? Were they stupid? Virgil could have killed them dozens of times with the second setting and now they were giving him even more range of motion?

“You have to promise not to try to hurt anyone though,” Patton said. Virgil stared at him dumbly, as Patton held out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Patton nodded solemnly. “We lock pinky fingers and make a promise. It’s the most binding promise in the universe.”

Virgil looked at his finger, confused. He’d never heard of that type of deal. “What kind of magic is it?”

“No magic,” Patton said. “Just friendship.” Virgil tilted his head but brought his hand up so Patton could twine their fingers together. “Now, promise you won’t hurt anyone.”

“I promise I won’t hurt anyone,” he said.

“It’s a deal!” said Patton, squeezing Virgil’s finger with his own briefly before drawing away. “I trust you.” Virgil felt a rush of something that was no type of magic he’d ever come into contact before but was definitely far more powerful.

Logan came over to them and waved his hand over the restraints on Virgil. They buzzed slightly and Virgil looked between them. “So, I just hit you with pillows?”

“Try not to hit too hard near the face, and Lo and I should probably take off our glasses before we start, but yeah,” Patton said, taking his glasses off as he said it. It was yet another foolish move on his part. “It’s fun, and it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay…” Virgil said.

“I will demonstrate,” Logan said as he took a pillow and smacked Patton in the stomach.

“Hey! No fair!” Patton giggled. “We haven’t started yet!” This did not deter Logan however, as he continued to smack Patton with a pillow.

“On the contrary,” he said. “It has started, and we’re getting you first.”

“No,” Patton whined, but the way he crumpled to the ground under the onslaught seemed far too staged to make Virgil worry. He didn’t even try to curl up into a ball or to protect his head, just taking the hits and giggling.

Logan looked up at Virgil and motioned with his head. Virgil inched over and looked down at Patton. Logan slowed for a few moments. “Go on,” he urged.

Virgil bit his lip and reached forward to smack Patton lightly with his pillow which seemed to do nothing to him but renew his peels of giggles. From there, it was easy to continue. Logan picked up the pace of his strikes and he and Virgil proceeded to ‘fight’ Patton until he couldn’t breath through his laughter and pushed the pillows away, curling up on his side to recover.

23897

“No what?” Virgil asked when Patton sat up.

“Now I get vengeance!” Patton said, popping to his feet and smacking Logan in the face. “Help me Virgil!” So, Virgil turned on Logan and he and Patton gave the prince the same treatment. Then, because it was only fair, it was Virgil’s turn, though they were a lot more careful with him then they’d been with each other, and really Patton spent more of the time checking in on Virgil then actually hitting him with the pillow. It was nice. Fun. And when Virgil pushed them away, they pulled back. Then, it was Patton’s turn again and they went around teaming up on each other and sometimes just smacking at each other at random.

Eventually, they slowed, and all ended up laying near each other on the floor.

“Well, that made me hungry,” Patton said, sitting up and stretching. “I asked Mama to make us a bunch of mini sandwiches with different flavors. I’ll go get them.”

He hopped to his feet to walk over to where they’d stored the food earlier in those little glowing magical balls Logan had for food preservation.

Logan and Virgil sat up too, and Virgil offered him his wrists.

“Right,” Logan said with a blink. He made a motion and Virgil could feel the magic weighing down his hands once again. He’d almost forgotten, Virgil thought with an internal sigh. They’d given an assassin free range of motion, had a pillow fight with him, and almost forgotten to restrain him again. What was Virgil going to do with these idiots?

Chapter 15

Patton strolled up to the doors to the royal wing, his arms crossed casually around his middle.

Kalani raised an eyebrow as he approached and gave her the most innocent expression he could. “Whatcha got there, Pat?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he asked, as his sweater squirmed. “What do you mean?”

She considered him for a moment. “Well, I see nothing suspicious here,” she said. “Do you Owen?”

“Nothing,” he replied without hesitation.

Patton grinned at them both.

Kalani leaned in like she was going to tell him a secret. “Who is it?”

Patton made a show of glanced around like he was hiding it from anyone passing by. Then he shifted around to pull up just the bottom of his sweater.

A small black paw reached out from the depths of his sweater and swatted at the air.

“Ah, I see,” Kalani said, reaching out to touch the little paw. “Hello, Mittens.”

Patton giggled as Owen poked the cat’s stomach gently through the sweater, making her wiggle a bit and try to bite him.

“Well,” Patton said. “I better be off with my totally normal sweater.”

Kalani nodded and stepped to the side, and Patton was free to head down the hallway to Logan’s room. Patton knocked on the door with their new extra secret knock and Logan all but ripped open the door. “I’m late. I have to go,” he said, darting past Patton.

Patton smiled, happy that his plan to be running a little late to come watch Virgil had worked so well, even though he felt a little bit guilty about it. He hoped Logan wasn’t late to his meeting, but he also knew that if Logan had noticed Mittens, he wouldn’t have let her into the room.

Virgil was already out of the closet, sitting on one of the chairs. Patton came in and smiled at him. Unlike Logan, Virgil’s attention was immediately drawn to the oddly shaped lump in Patton’s sweater.

“You’re not very good at hiding things,” Virgil said.

“It worked on Logan,” Patton defended himself.

“Logan was about to rocket into space if you didn’t show up in 5 seconds,” Virgil pointed out. Patton just shrugged, and Virgil tilted his head. “What do you have?”

Patton grinned wide and carefully pulled Mittens out of his sweater. She did not resist this maneuver at all, simply purring. He held her up for Virgil to see. “Ta da!”

“A cat?” Virgil said.

“This is Mittens,” Patton said. He then turned to Mittens. “Mittens, this is Virgil. I thought I’d introduce the two of you!”

Virgil blinked at the cat. Mittens blinked back. Patton thought maybe he should have let them sniff each other from under a door before doing this.

He didn’t need to worry though, as Mittens started purring after a moment. “You can pet her,” Patton offered. Virgil looked up at him. “Just…” he said.

“She likes chin scratchies!” Patton prompted.

Virgil reached out a hand to scratch under her chin and that was the end of it. Mittens stretched out her chin happy to get the attention and Virgil’s eyes widened at how soft her fur was. It was a work of minutes before Virgil was sitting down on the floor and Mittens was happily kneading his thighs and spinning around in circles to make sure he pet every inch of her.

“I did not understand why people like cats,” Virgil commented. “All I’ve seen of cats is people coming back with bloody scratches from trying to pet them, so I never even tried.”

“Well,” Patton said. “Cats are just like people. If you’re nice to them, they’re more likely to be nice to you.”

Virgil’s hand paused briefly on the cat’s head, but then continued with the petting a moment later. Patton wondered what he was thinking about, but didn’t press.

“She seems to like you,” Patton said.

“Don’t know why.”

“Hey, don’t be mean.” Patton scolded.

Virgil hands jerked away from the cat he’d been petting and then were forced abruptly to his side in reaction. Mittens meowed, seemed very unhappy with the jostling as well as the sudden lack of petting.

“Sorry,” Virgil said, eyes wide. “What did I do wrong. I didn’t mean to be mean to her.”

It took Patton a moment to sus out what he was talking about and felt a pang in his chest when he did. “Oh, no honey. You didn’t do anything wrong. I meant don’t be mean to yourself.”

Virgil gave him a confused look. Mittens bumped her head against his chin and with a blink, he cautiously went back to petting her.

“Of course, she likes you sweetie, you’re a good boy.”

“I came here to kill the king. I’ve killed before.”

Patton smiled sadly. “I don’t think you ever wanted to,” he said. Virgil seemed to grow very interested in mitten’s ears. Patton scooted over so he was sitting beside him and carefully brought a hand up to touch the top of his head. Virgil sort of curled into him, pressing his face against Patton’s shoulder, but continuing to pet the cat.

“It’s fine. You’re going to be okay now,” Patton said softly.

Virgil shook his head against Patton’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Patton insisted. “You’ll be okay. You won’t have to go back.”

Virgil didn’t respond for a long moment. “You can’t keep me in Logan’s closet forever,” he said softly. “When his dad comes back, you’re going to have to turn me in.”

Well, that was true, but… “It’ll be okay. No one will hurt you.”

“The kings would be assassin?” Virgil asked skeptically.

“Thomas is nice. He’ll understand.”

“He’s nice to you. He’s nice to Logan. Maybe he’s even nice to the people he rules over, but what am I? An enemy assassin who would have slit his throat if I hadn’t gotten the wrong room.”

It…it did sound bad when he put it like that, but, but… “Thomas will understand,” he promised, hugging him tight. “He will, and we’ll keep you safe and I’ll introduce you to every single cat in the castle. In fact, we’ll get you a cat to keep as a pet if you want and he or she can snuggle you as much as you want. I’ll show you all around the gardens and introduce you to Mama and help you figure out what your favorite type of cookie is. You’ll never have to hurt anyone again and no one will ever hurt you again.”

Virgil drew away a bit and shot him a half smile. He clearly didn’t believe him, and it made Patton’s stomach twist a bit. Patton knew. He knew Thomas would be nice. There was no way he’d hurt Virgil. Virgil was just a kid and with Logan and Patton on his side, there was no way anything bad would happen to him. He could see it from Virgil’s perspective though.

“I like her feet,” Virgil said, touching Mittens’ little black paw that contrasted her otherwise white coat. Mittens purred and began kneading his legs again with those paws. “I’m guessing that’s why she’s named Mittens?”

“Yeah,” said Patton softly. “‘Cause she looks like she’s wearing mittens.” Virgil leaned forward to kiss her little head and that little action made Patton’s heart ache for him. He deserved so many kitten kisses. So many.

Patton was determined to make sure he got them.

[29-pieces]

Whumptober Day 11 - Good Omens

Day 11: Defiance Fandom/setting: Good Omens, immediately after #9 (Take Me Instead) Read on AO3 Read on FF.net @witchingwhovian ;)  Also, vague hints to my usual head canon that the Bentley is totally sentient (but Crowley doesn't know it). For more fun adventures with sentient Bentley and Bookshop, check out my fic Soul of Vellum, Heart of Chrome!! ^_^

~*~

Part 2/3 [part 1] [part 3]

It took five minutes for Crowley to realize when Aziraphale had been dragged out of the circle, he'd deliberately scuffed his feet through the marks that bound Crowley's demonic power, freeing him to turn into his snake form.

It took another five for him to carefully wind through seemingly endless puddles of holy water and collapse in agony on the ground outside.

It took an hour for Crowley to summon the energy to miracle himself a cab and spell the driver so he wouldn't notice what a mess Crowley was. He headed straight for the bookshop, determined to be there when Aziraphale escaped from the puny humans and got back home, fully intending to spew every bit of fury he had at the angel for putting himself in danger like that.

It took a day for him to realize Aziraphale wasn't coming home.

It took a week longer for Crowley to fully heal from his injuries from the holy water, and in the same amount of time, to learn everything he could about who and where this cult was.

It took less than a moment for him to travel back to his flat to collect the Bentley and turn it directly for the compound out in the country where the cult resided.

Crowley pushed the Bentley as fast as he dared, and he dared quite a lot. The Bentley wouldn't mind. Aziraphale's life was on the line. If in fact he was still alive at all, and that thought was enough to leave Crowley a haunted, trembling mess. They'd survived the apocalypse for crying out loud... the angel couldn't be killed now, not by a group of bloody humans.

"Alright," the demon muttered as he pulled to a stop outside the borders of the compound and turned off the car. "Now listen, Bentley, because this is important."

Speaking the plan out loud helped solidify it in his mind, even if it was just him and the empty car. Crowley kept his palm flat on the dashboard while he spoke, willing some of his own demonic power into the chrome-hearted engine. He had no idea if this was going to work, had never tried cursing inanimate objects into doing his bidding before, but it was a sure bet the people inside would be grossly over-prepared for a demonic presence. This was the only plan he had and Aziraphale might not have time for him to come up with a better one.

Without a backwards glance, Crowley prowled up to the front gate, raised a hand, and clenched his fist. Metal shrieked and squealed as it curled like party streamers. He dropped his hands to his sides, storming in with face growing darker and darker as fire dripped from his fingertips to burn in an aisle of malice that followed him straight to the door. Alarms blared, humans shouted, a cacophony of chaos and panic, music to the demon's ears. A human raced across the yard, shooting a net his way. A flick of Crowley's fingers brushed it aside; another flick snapped the human's spine in two. One less soul to be party to whatever had been done to Aziraphale.

The front door opened and more people poured out into the yard as Crowley started to grin, wider and madder and full of demonic rage. His teeth had already shifted to fangs and now he pulled his sunglasses away and let them fall behind him in the burning grass. Wild snake eyes watched the humans cringe back but he never broke stride.

Two of them tried to rush him; Crowley cracked their skulls like eggs and continued on, but now the people were scrambling to get back inside, away from him. He grabbed one by the nape and dragged her back towards him.

"Who- who are you?" she bleated.

Crowley lifted her off her feet so they were eye level. "You sssummoned a demon," he hissed. "Sssso here I am. Where. Issss. The. Angel."

The cultist blabbered out some explanation of an outbuilding behind the main compound, which was all he needed. Crowley regarded the compound shrewdly, lips pursed, then snapped his fingers again. The human flinched in expectation of violence, but nothing immediately seemed to have happened, so she relaxed slightly in his hold—until he turned his attention back towards her. Crowley snarled and squeezed his hand on her neck tighter until it buckled. Dropping her lifeless body, the demon headed straight around the perimeter of the main building towards the back.

Scarlet lights flashed from the alarms, mixing with the fire he still trailed until the sky and his vision were filled with red. If they had killed Aziraphale... if they had taken his friend away forever... if they had a way to do worse than discorporation... Crowley stormed faster as behind him and inside him everything burned.

The few humans guarding the outbuilding scattered at the sight of him so Crowley quickened his pace and ran inside. The second he crossed the threshold he felt his power snuff out, but this was nothing compared to the sight of Aziraphale.

He was alive, praise someone, but an awful sight. Chains wrapped the angel's arms, legs, torso, and throat, lashing him to an enormous upright pentacle in the center of the room. Worse than that was the thing over his face, more of a muzzle than a gag that covered everything from his nose to his chin, preventing his jaw from opening. Worse than that was the glazed, half dead look in his eyes and the way his head simply drooped. Crowley couldn't tell what exactly had been done to the angel; he was half naked by Aziraphale's standards, shirt hanging open but no obvious marks to explain his condition.

Crowley couldn't move, could barely breathe. He'd come to rescue his friend but now he was in so much shock and rage that it paralyzed him, just long enough for the remaining swarm of cultists to rush in the door. Crowley turned, but with his powers bound by the room, his human shaped corporation was no match for the dozens of hands grabbing him and forcing him to his knees.

He struggled, baring his teeth and growling as the leader who'd taken Aziraphale strolled into the room.

"You," Cult Man said with clear surprise. "How did you get away?"

"Oh I'm just full of sssurprissesss," Crowley hissed.

"Hmm. Well, I must say, had I any idea that angels were real and could hold so much power, I would have been going after them from the start. You found this one... how would I find more? I've tried everything I can think of, but there's nothing in any book I've ever read on how to summon an angel."

Crowley scoffed at the man. "You think I'm going to help you get more angels?" Not that he particularly cared about the others, but if any of this became common knowledge, Aziraphale would always be in danger.

A fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side.

Crowley laughed.

"Tell me how you summoned the angel at the warehouse!" Cult Man demanded.

It was on the tip of Crowley's forked tongue to tell the truth—he'd used a frigging cell phone, that was how—but even that much cooperation rankled, so he defiantly spat blood in the man's face instead.

The cultist's expression darkened as he wiped spit and blood from his cheek, then he gestured to the imprisoned angel. "Did you come here to rescue him?" he asked with clear incredulity. "I'd hate to see your trip wasted. Tell me how to summon an angel, or he dies."

"And then you have no angel at all, idiot," Crowley snickered, fangs extending down past his lip now with every bit of growing fury. "No. I'll not be helping you. Not by a long ssshot. Every ssssingle one of you isss going to die, and that'sss a promissssse."

Cult Man regarded him, hesitant for only a second, before shrugging. "Thomas, Adelaide, fetch the holy water."

"You mean the fancy water gunsss?" Crowley asked, unperturbed. "Good luck with finding thosssse. Odd how no one brought one in with them, issssn't it?"

The cultist bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Funny thing, holy water." Crowley's fanged grin stretched wider. "I can't do much about the water itssself, no power over it. The actual gunsss, though, that's nothing." A snap of the fingers was all it had taken. His eyes darkened further. "I turned them invisssible. Sure they'll work on me... if you can find them. Ssssad there won't be time. My backup'sss going to be here any sssecond."

"You're bluffing."

Somewhere outside the building, the sound of an engine was getting closer. Crowley smiled.

"Not this time."

The building shuddered along with the crash, dust raining down on their heads as a car grille appeared through the avalanche of brick. The Bentley plowed straight through, heedless of the humans scrambling to get out of the way. With the crumbling of the wall, the symbols locking down supernatural power were obliterated and Crowley ripped himself away from the restraining hands with feral rage. Humans scattered, some to evade him and some simply in pieces. He saw the leader shoving others out of the way to get out the door himself, but for the moment, Crowley let him go. He had something more important to worry about.

As soon as the room was clear, Crowley raced for Aziraphale and tore the chains away from his slack body, catching the angel in his waiting arms. Aziraphale didn't even wake, moaning softly in unconsciousness as Crowley prised the muzzle off his face.

"Angel," he whispered, the red haze evaporating from his vision to be replaced by worry. "Satan- God- someone, what did they do to you?"

No reply. He had to get his friend back to safety. Crowley lifted his head, smiling a watery smile at the Bentley's idling engine and gave the car a fond pat. "Well done, you," he murmured. "Can't believe that worked. Alright, Bentley... get us home."

With tenderness as powerful as his rage, Crowley lifted the angel and tucked him into the passenger seat. Then he climbed in himself and backed the car out of the building with another small avalanche of brick. Crowley gazed around the compound and pretended he was Hastur. One wave of his hand, just one; fire rose, crackling havoc, and he let it all burn.

Indifferent to the screams behind him, Crowley pointed the Bentley back out to the road.

...TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~ 

part 3 will be posted on the 13th, they’re not home yet.

[ineffably-good]

Prompt: Home

This is part of the Good Omens 30th Anniversary celebration prompts! Click here to go read all of the ones I’ve completed on AO3. 

Summary: Aziraphale realizes something important about the concept of home on the night before they switch bodies. My imagining of a missing conversation. 

_________________________

The Garden was home, first. Not for long, of course – he barely had a week in it, then another little while closing it up. But the right place has a way of seeping into your soul no matter how long you are in it. He had seen it over the years, Aziraphale thought – that certain feeling you get walking into a set of rooms or a library or a small shop where some ineffable combination of elements just curled up inside you immediately and took residence. Was it the light, the warmth, the combination of colors, a particular pleasant smell or inviting hearth? Whatever it was, the heart happily murmurs the word ‘home’ in its presence, and it is never mistaken.

It was years after the Garden before he felt it again. He had many places he sheltered, and some of them he cared for very much, but the true homes were fewer – one in Ninevah, a simple hut but one which suited him very dearly. One in Thebes with its warm breezes and love of learning. A fresco-painted monastic cell in Rome, before he was forbidden re-entry to the Vatican ever again. (And believe him, that still rankled.) A gamekeeper’s cottage in the North of what was now England. A hut in the Bavarian woods. A very small handful of others throughout the ages. He could still recall each of them in fond detail, despite the long or short length of time he had stayed in each.

But honestly, he’d never been in one as long as he had been in the bookshop. Over two hundred years in one place? It was a luxury he’d never dreamed of. Empires rose and fell in that kind of timespan. Wars were fought and won, kings and queens came and went, neighbors lived, neighbors died, and somehow Aziraphale was still there. Inside the same four walls, under the same glass rotunda, living his life. He’d never grown so attached to a place.

Which meant, of course, that it made him vulnerable; he had something to lose, something very valuable, and if his enemies were clever (which fortunately, they rarely were), they had a place to hit him where it would hurt very badly.

It didn’t happen until the almost apocalypse, and then he wasn’t even around to see it. It was up to Crowley to break the news to him, twice. It hardly penetrated the first time. “It burned down,” the demon said to him.

“All of it?” he said, brought up short -- but then there was the discovery that the book had survived, and the need to find a body and stop the end of the world, and that was the end of that. He didn’t think about it again for what felt like days but was truly only hours, until they were sitting on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for a ride back to London.

“It burned down, remember?” Crowley said again, peering at him gently.

This time there was nothing to cushion the blow. He’d relinquished his sword yet again, he’d lost and regained his body, the devil was gone to who knows where, and reality was returning to normal – but his shop, his home, his haven of two hundred and nineteen years, was no more. He kept his face as blank as he could while he reeled inside from the pain.

“How – how did it burn?” he asked later, as they sat on the white leather couch in Crowley’s living room. It wasn’t a pleasant couch; it didn’t invite lounging and reading the way the Chesterfield in his office had. But with Crowley there and a few glasses of wine and a throw or two, it somehow became much more hospitable.

“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted. “Didn’t smell like hellfire, although I couldn’t tell that at first. Thought it had been Hastur or someone, for a while.” He paused to take a deep breath and stuff that feeling down deep. “It wasn’t.”

“Accident, then?” the angel suggested. “I was speaking to the Metatron when I got discorporated. So, there were candles about.”

“The Metatron discorporated you?” Crowley shouted. “That son of a bitch! I’ll fucking murder him!”

“No, no,” Aziraphale said, laying a hand on Crowley’s arm.  “It wasn’t him. It was a human. Caught me in the act with the Metatron, so to speak, and assumed I was conjuring demons. I was trying to prevent him from stepping into the circle himself and being harmed when I accidentally crossed the boundary and was sent back to Above.”

“Who?” Crowley growled.

“Never you mind,” Aziraphale said gently. “It was my fault and not theirs, and I won’t have you administering demonic justice on anyone on my behalf.”

Crowley scowled into his wine for a few minutes. “So probably the force of you ascending bodily into heaven knocked over a candle or two and that was that.”

“Most likely,” Aziraphale nodded.

They drank quietly for a few minutes after that, both lost in thought. Aziraphale knew Crowley was thinking about the retribution that was likely coming to them, and he ought to focus on that too – they desperately needed a plan. But his mind was distracted, pinging off random thoughts about the bookstore being gone and particularly about something he did not understand – why was he not feeling as bad as he ought to?

He should be devastated. It was gone, all of it. The culmination of centuries of book collecting, the best nest he’d ever formed, all of it evaporated in the blink of an eye. And it did hurt, like a punch to the chest, but he wasn’t as levelled by it as he would have expected. Instead, he felt – well he felt surprisingly safe. Warm. Cared for. He was with Crowley.

A thought came to him with a sudden shock, and he gasped in spite of himself.

“What?” Crowley said, startling upright. “Do you have an idea for what we should do?”

“Yes, yes, possibly, or the start of one,” the angel said, “but this is something else. Something just occurred to me.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”

“You visited me in Ninevah, didn’t you? At the small hut I kept there?”

Crowley frowned. “Multiple times. Our time there overlapped by about two years. Introduced you to date wine and all kinds of depravity.”

“And Thebes?”

Crowley thought for a moment. “That tent you kept outside of the temples? I think I spent about a month there with you, off and on, recovering from that near-discorporation when the camel spit on me and I fell off right next to the cliff and ended up – oh you know, right?”

Aziraphale remembered that. Crowley had never truly forgiven camels after that. Not that he blamed them. Horrible creatures, camels. If he weren’t commanded to love all of Her creatures, he would have made an exception for that one.

“But were you in any of my homes between the two?” he asked, deep in thought.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Aziraphale waved a hand. “Just humor me. I know you have a prodigious memory.”

Crowley thought back. “I don’t think so. We saw each other a handful of times, but it was always in transit – while we were travelling, or at an oasis, or during a battle. I can’t remember seeing any of your homes in between those two periods.”

“And in Rome, remember that one time when I smuggled you inside the monastery to see the frescoes? Fra Mitti was doing such astonishing work, and there was the one fresco that included a painting of the serpent of Eden, and you insisted on seeing it?”

“Didn’t even burn my feet,” Crowley said, laughing. “Living quarters weren’t consecrated enough. Liked that serpent though.”

“Oh my good Heavens,” Aziraphale said. “It’s you. It’s not the places themselves, it’s the places that you’ve been in.”

Crowley blinked, utterly lost. “What is it you’re trying to say, angel?”

Aziraphale blushed, aware he had revealed more than he had intended to. “Oh, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about the places that I’ve lived and what differentiates them. You’ve lived in a number of tents and huts and houses and manses over the years – you certainly know how some of them are just places to sleep to you and some of them have a different feel to them, like something makes them feel like a true home? Almost something alchemical, the way they morph into something with meaning?”

Crowley nodded. Most of his hadn’t, to be honest. He’d tried not to put down too many roots. Hell frowned upon it, and there was always some rogue demon showing up to visit with him and destroy his belongings for fun anyways, and the few places he had cared for and protected early on had ended up sacked or destroyed in wars and fires, and after a while he had given up on trying to embue his surroundings with a sense of safety. What was the point? The only safety for him was and had always been the angel, anyway. It didn’t matter where he slept.

After the events of the day, finding themselves on their own side, Aziraphale just couldn’t be bothered to hide his true feelings anymore. In for a penny, as they say, in for a pound.

“I just realized that all of the places that have truly become a home to me are places that you have visited,” he blurted out. “It’s not the places themselves, it’s you.”

Crowley looked deeply embarrassed, and also slightly flattered. It was, in a word, adorable, the angel thought.

“Nahhhh,” the demon drawled. “Not me. I mean, maybe I played a part in it. Added some wine and the occasional tchotchke I picked up on my travels. Kicked up the décor a notch or two. But maybe you just only shared the places with me that already felt that way – didja ever think of that?”

Aziraphale smiled fondly. “So, you think I just didn’t invite you into the more horrible places I lived?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Like you only brought me over to the good ones. Because you’re – you know, what did they use to call it? House proud.” He grinned. “Fussy.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes mildly. “If I were truly fussy, I’d have gotten a demon friend with better manners, my dear.”

Equilibrium restored by that slight insult, they both relaxed back onto the seat cushions and sipped their wine. Aziraphale smiled into his cup, though; he knew he was correct in this realization, and he knew why he didn’t feel completely devastated at the moment. Sad, yes, hurting, yes, worried about the future and what they would make of it. But the bookshop, while a blow, wasn’t an immeasurable loss. The things he had loved and gathered were gone, but he was still at home in the world, as long as Crowley was here. As long as they were safe and together.

That jarred a thought in his head, and he reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket to pull out the singed piece of paper that they had been puzzling over earlier in the evening. It was all related, he thought – home and safety and ensuring that each other was present, and feeling as at home in each other as they did in their own skins.

A light clicked on in his brain and he was suddenly, utterly sure that they were going to survive this, whatever retribution Above and Below had planned for them.

“Crowley,” he said, “I’ve had the most brilliant, wicked idea…”

[scarluxia]

Let's talk about some Adventures I had in Phoenix, AZ in 2015. It came up in my FB Memories and even though I determined to let everything from last decade go, this one still rankles. I got "in trouble" with these people for being open about my experiences on my Facebook because, even though I hadn't mentioned names, they didn't like me "putting their business out there".

CW for ableism, depression, rejection sensitive dysphoria, and I'll try to put all that in the tags.

My partner, Loki (yes real name), and I had been urban camping in Portland, OR for about a month. It had gotten cold and rainy to the point where we couldn't safely stay living outdoors, and Loki's father (who didn't approve of me) had demanded he come back to California and live with Loki's uncle. He made it quite clear I was not welcome, so I ended up going to Arizona because I had a friend who was willing to put me up. She and I had known each other since 2008 and I figured I would be safe with her. At the time, Loki was much more easily influenced by what his family wanted, and we ended up having kind of a nasty set of conversations over whether he was abandoning me.

While in Portland, my wallet had been stolen so I had no ID or SS card. I had reported it stolen of course, but had received no response until I was leaving Arizona.

My friend in Arizona had two young sons, a husband, and a boyfriend. Now, I have some sensory issues that make it so I have a hard time being around children. High pitched noises hurt me to my bones, like, even now I have to leave the room if my son gets overly excited and starts shrieking.

I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, which was where the kids would go when they woke up and where the TVs and entertainment consoles were.

Anyway, they wanted me to contribute to the household and whatnot but I was severely depressed and I think I've provided all the context I can remember? If the rest of this doesn't make sense, please know that there was a part 1 but it came up in my Memories on a different day and i didn't think I would be rehashing it.

So I couldn't do work, couldn't do anything anyone had asked me to do to satisfaction because various things that did not, in fact, depend on me. Maybe I wasn't being enough of a ~team player~, I don't know. But anyway, I did my best with what I had. Sometimes, because of THE EXTREME FUCKING SENSORY ISSUES THAT COME WITH AUTISM, I would get overwhelmed by the kids screaming. Two little boys, barely school age, and their parents sat them in front of a TV and gave them controllers. That's it. They had toys in their room, sure, but they weren't getting outside. I suggested taking them out a couple times, but firstly, I didn't know the area and wasn't about to go out alone, and secondly, I can't split in half and I'm not in good shape, so even if I had known the area, I wouldn't have taken TWO small children outside to run around where they could run out of the designated area. I'm kind of anal that way, I guess. But Woman A (mum) and Man B ("uncle") never got off their arses to help me take them outside, and Man A was at work.

Oh, yes, parental interaction with the kids. Woman A loved her sons very much. But at their age (3 and 5), they both should have been toilet trained. They should have gotten at least two hours outside every day. They threw fits when they weren't allowed to play video games because, instead of games being a special treat that was earned with good behavior, they were toys carelessly tossed at the kids to keep them out of everyone's hair. Conversely, and bizarrely, reading to them WAS a special treat. The father woke up, played games, basically brushed off his kids, and went to work. Same when he got home for lunch, and he *ordered* us to have them in bed by the time he got home for good. The mum did somewhat interact with them, but mostly just wanted them out of her hair. I wasn't so nice because I'm not good with kids in general and also loud screeching HURTS, IT HURTS IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP. (Same with snoring, or any noise made when I want to sleep.) This isn't me being a ~diva~, it is an actual manifestation of a mental disability.

Woman A was of the opinion that "everyone who lives in a house with kids automatically becomes a coparent", maybe because she wasn't willing to actually parent her kids herself.

Note from the future: I still disagree with the idea that "anyone who lives in a house with kids is automatically a co-parent". Parent your own kids. I don't expect my dad to parent my son when we go visit him and he made it quite clear when I was pregnant that he would not take on a co-parenting role (because his wives 30-50 years ago had handled the babies and he doesn't really know how to calm them down beyond entertaining them)

She got a really bitchy look on her face whenever I (who have been around children, especially TROUBLED children, all my life) made any sort of suggestion. Well sorry, lady, but it's not like you're doing such a great job with them. Y'all act like you barely want anything to do with them. Like they're cute and little and fun to snuggle, but actually teaching them anything? Forget about it, just toss em a controller and hope they don't kill each other in the game or real life. Meanwhile, they have no outlet for their natural physical energy, no real outlet for their curiosity. They're going to grow up stupid and sedentary, with "no one paid attention to me during childhood except when it was convenient for THEM" to deal with. The older kid recently got on meds for a condition that, from what I observed, was likely much more nurture than nature. And what everyone ate, my God, those kids were the only non-overweight people in the house, and it's little wonder! I bought ACTUAL NUTRITIONAL food for everyone, and the adults look at me like I'm from some demon dimension. I made a light comment about how I'd never eaten anything like what they had growing up. You know, boxed potatoes, veggies out of a can, white bread, sugary peanut butter. And Woman A was like, "well YOU don't have kids."

Um, no, but my father did.

I have a kid now, am working part time at min. wage because my boss sees my performance as so-so (plus she's been forced to give me a raise every time the County of Where I Live raises the minimum), in a single-income household, on as much Family With Kids welfare as My County will allow, and I still wouldn't feed my kid that crap LOL

Spoiler alert: they made me use all my food stamps on their household and then kicked me out later that month so... When I bought food I bought HEALTHY food, like, I've been on food stamps my entire life... Also, WIC specifically pays for WHEAT bread, fruits & veggies, and they do let you get peanut butter without sugar so idk what was going on there with them.

My father was a SINGLE PARENT raising a daughter in America after 20 years of living in Europe and raising kids with his previous wives. Well, up until the divorces, anyway. I was the only kid he ever got to keep. He told me things about how the others had been raised compared to how I was raised, and I saw the outcomes of different parenting styles in my peers as well. My father was a very poor man whose trade had been outsourced and who struggled to support us for years. And yet, we never went hungry, and he never fed me boxed potatoes. Never fed me sugary peanut butter, white bread, or veggies out of a can.

Ok I understand canned veggies are better than no veggies, and not everyone can get fresh, but you CAN get frozen in AZ. I always had fresh or frozen growing up.

It wasn't because we were living in the lap of luxury. It's because...

HE FUCKING VALUED OUR HEALTH OVER CONVENIENT, CRAPPY, NUTRIENT-FREE FOOD!!!! This is not a difficult concept. He ALSO read to me every night, despite having what I now realise was a very grueling day at work just to put said healthy food on the table. I didn't get to watch TV or play computer games (edu-tainment, the only kind I was allowed) until after all my homework was done. I can't remember if I was a particularly active child, but I'm sure I had the OPTION!!!! TO GO OUT.

Meanwhile, when I was at various stages of my life, I met kids whose parents shunted them from guardian to guardian because they didn't want to deal with them, kids whose parents were kind and supportive but rubbish at enforcing discipline, kids whose parents were abusive in every kind of way, and kids whose parents did their best.

You know, I wasn't raised perfectly. My upbringing lacked social grace and included some toxic ideas about womanhood that I've only been learning to overcome recently in my adulthood. But DON'T FUCKING ACT LIKE I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT RAISING KIDS JUST BECAUSE I DON'T CURRENTLY HAVE ANY. I have my own life, the lives of my peers, and a wonderful online community of new parents raising children in kind and socially aware ways, to draw inspiration from. I can go to any one of them, and to my own parents, and ask "hey does X seem weird to you?" And they'll give me their honest opinion, which *is valuable*. I have even mapped out a general idea of how to get through some parts of my children's lives, and I'm not even planning to have kids for at least another few years. I mean, honestly, it used to be "I don't want kids ever", but dear gosh, if I can have any part of raising someone in a manner that defies procrastination culture, entitlement culture, and everything wrong with the way my husband and I were raised, maybe it wouldn't be a complete horror. If I can ensure that not all hope for the next generation is lost, hey.

Anyway, I've gone off topic...

I also had some issues with the men. Man B just didn't seem to like anything ever. I had no idea what Woman A saw in him. I remember one time he tried to tell me, a Christian, that I can't tell people what a "real Christian" is because it ~invalidates their identity~. Excuse me, no. It doesn't work that way. There are things that Christ taught, and anyone who blatantly goes against them IN THE NAME OF CHRISTIANITY, IS NOT A REAL CHRISTIAN. And yes, I realise this entire rant has been very judgey and technically I'm not supposed to do that either, but it's not like I'm saying they're going to Hell. Just that their kids are going to be sluggish and stupid, and I can't understand how these people have the gumption to try to lecture anyone else about life when they're not even TRYING to get their own lives together.

Yeah so they tried to lecture me about how I was "letting" Loki mistreat me and how I cared more about "socializing" with my estranged husband (I have separation anxiety) than helping around the house e_e They also implied I used depression as an excuse to be lazy.

Man B was supposedly "super employable." Well, okay, even though his "job hunt" seemed to consist more of sitting around playing video games, he was larger than my father (who is 6 ft tall with a protruding gut and weighs 240 lbs at last count) (My father and I are both 60 lbs above our ideal weights. But we're working on it!), and never seemed to get past the phone-screening process.

Now, Woman A told me that Man B was looking for work and that her family and some friends looked down on him for being a freeloader. Probably because she was anxious about me thinking the same. But here's the thing: I wouldn't have cared. Honestly. If you want to sit around playing games all day in your married girlfriend's apartment with her and her husband playing video games all day, go right ahead. If you want to bake three potatoes at a time and take them back to your room for a snack, hey, more power to you. But don't piss out the window and call it rain.

I don't care how employable you are, where you live, who you're living with, or what your lifestyle is like. It doesn't affect me in any way. But don't act like you're doing something you're not just to appease someone's judgmental family. That doesn't ever end well.

Now, see, I clearly have a problem with people who do that. I don't hide many aspects of myself, though I will refuse to answer a question if I feel it's none of someone's business or if they're just asking it to be a judgmental asshole. I refuse to compromise myself or my safe space to accommodate someone who can't make peace with who they are. Hell, you know me! You know my show!

Wait, this is Tumblr, so you might not know my show. It's a YouTube storyboard dedicated to processing and mocking some spiritual and psychological abuse I've undergone in my life. On Facebook, it was one of the things I was known for at the time because I was constantly posting clips and art, and trying to recruit voice actors.

I sell anyone out who I catch lying to me about anything! That's nothing new! And these people knew that about me. For SEVEN. FUCKING. YEARS.

So anyway. Woman A has a lot of great short term goals but no actual follow through because "I'm just not in the mood right now." No judgment there. I've totally been there. The only problem is when it gets ME in trouble.

"Let's walk the dog." "I'm not in the mood." Okay, then the dog doesn't get walked because I can't figure out my way around the place alone.

"Let's do the dishes." Woman A doesn't let me know when the washer stopped. Okay. Then the rest of the dishes don't get washed.

"Let's take the kids outside." "No I'm too tired." Okay, then they're going to be RUNNING AROUND THE APARTMENT SCREAMING WHICH MY EARS CANNOT FUCKING HANDLE so bye I'm just gonna borrow your room and isolate myself for a bit.

"Let's go to the gym!" "Maybe later." But later never comes.

Do you see where I'm going here? As for the men, they BOTH complain that they're "doing too much" around the house. Okay, probably fair for Man A, who works full time and deserves to come home to a clean house. But Man B. Wtf. You literally do nothing, except when you do, and when you do, we're meant to throw you a parade? That's not how adulthood works, or so I've heard.

Note: All three of these people are older than me. I was 24? at the time, fresh out of trade school, on my own for the first time in my life. (Maybe 2nd? I ran away when I was 17 but ended up with my grandparents so idk if that counts.) Woman A was 26 at the time and had been married since 2008, had experience with office work and parenthood, etc. Both men were older than her. I was a chronological adult with the life experience of a teenager, so I felt comfortable saying that.

So did I mention that I'm sleeping in the living room during this stay? And the adults don't go to bed until like 2 AM, which means, because of my disability, wherein I cannot sleep if there's any sort of non-ambient noise, *I* don't get to sleep until AFTER 2 AM. And the kids? They come in the living room screaming at 6 AM. Yep. Okay. Living on 4 hours of sleep, for the mathematically challenged. That and dealing with the emotional turmoil of being separated from my husband when I've got high separation anxiety in the first place. All my pain, everything, it's up to 11. and I'm supposed to contribute but there's not really anything that allows me to contribute.

So what do they do? They ambush me. Call a "family meeting" to tell me absolutely everything that's wrong with me, after WEEKS of telling me what a big help I am and how grateful they are to have me around. Tell me I'm letting my "social life" get in the way of me helping around the house. Hmm. Social life. You mean, VENTING IN MY SAFE SPACE (Facebook, no names named) AND TRYING TO MEND THINGS WITH MY HUSBAND??????????????? Okay. Well since you guys treat your woman like shit, you clearly don't understand or appreciate devotion to one's spouse. Seriously. Woman A told me she used to have extreme separation anxiety with Man A, and that he would brush off her emotions as irrelevant. Her solution was to make it a poly relationship and take a lover WHO TREATS HER THE EXACT SAME WAY. I'm serious. She got no emotional support from either of them. They basically just threw pills at her and trained her to lie down until her feelings went away.

And she had the gall to lecture me (24 at the time) about how Loki (19 at the time & from a pretty horrific family) treated me. LOL ok. Log. Splinter.

As she knew, I'm monogamous. I do have some opinions on polyamoury based on individuals I've gotten to know who are in those types of relationships, but those opinions are irrelevant to this series of rants. Except one, which is pertinent: if you're going to take another lover, they should provide something that your existing lover(s) don't. If you're suffering from low emotional support and you just find someone else who doesn't emotionally support you and who treats you like a child who can't be trusted??? What are you even DOING? Like, she told me NEITHER of her men trust her judgment. What the fuck is a relationship without trust? And don't even try "dick too bomb" as an excuse when you tell me you haven't gotten laid in months and your husband is using your condoms on Woman B.

They don't support you. They don't trust you. And yet YOU'RE telling ME that things with my husband won't get better unless I follow your lead and take another lover? HELL TO THE NO. My husband has his faults, but if I tell him Person X can be trusted, he believes me.

Except for his ex-girlfriend whom he tried to add to our relationship when he tried to be poly, months later. That went Badly.

Or maybe he just knows I'll deal with them myself, with my hot, hot temper, if they turn out not to be trustworthy. He also doesn't treat me LIKE A CHILD. And while I sometimes point at things and make small motions when I can't physically talk, or sometimes even use baby talk when I'm feeling cutesy, I DON'T POINT AT A PIECE OF PAPER AND GO "THE CARRRRRR!!!!" IN AN INCREASINGLY HIGHER PITCH BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SAY, "Honey, I think we missed the car payment this month. Can you double check while the agent has you on hold, please?"

Okay, being a dick about losing words due to stress was not my finest moment, but at the time, I was just so appalled by how they treated her and how she allowed them to treat me.

So basically these adults who are nowhere near having their lives together, and aren't even really trying, put me on blast for not having everything running perfectly when THEY expected it to.

Let's reiterate. I couldn't get a job because I had no ID or social security card. I was waiting for them to be returned to me. I couldn't walk the kids or the dog, go to the gym, or complete all the household chores because no one would guide me. I need that guidance because of various components of my disability, which I really hate admitting to because I'm super fucking prideful, but I figured hey, she's not neurotypical either. These people will understand.

Their response when I brought this up? "You're an adult. You should know better." Sure, okay. But you should know that a child ought to be potty trained before he turns 5, or even 3; that kids need to run around, are entitled to their parents' attention and consistent discipline, and need!!! healthy!!!! food!!!!

Oh, discipline! So, she would send Older Boy to his room over misbehaving. But rather than enforce time-out, she'd go, "oh, I think I'm being too haaaard on him," and just... Relinquish. He's not about to learn anything that way, ma'am.

They called me trying to reconnect with the person I love more than almost anyone on this earth "obsessing over your social life". Well again, you treat your woman like shit, so MAYBE my undying devotion to the person I love goes a LITTLE bit over your head.

They told me that the household should be my first priority. Except no, because I am an autonomous person and my FIRST PRIORITY is, was, and ever has been the love of my life, whomever that may be at the time. That is 70% of my personality. I'm pretty sure anyone who had ever met me can vouch for my extreme devotion, and this woman had known me for SEVEN. YEARS. I'm not going to throw away 70% of myself to do an impossible task that no one will help me with.

They told me a lot of things I wasn't doing right, and for those of you who also struggle with anxiety and depression, you know that being told for weeks that everything is okay and you're so great and so helpful, and then being told that you're rubbish at everything... You know that that is hurtful. Devastating, even. I wanted to kill myself. I said that. I said that and expressed my feelings about some other things, in my safe space, without naming any names.

And even though I was posting in my safe space, I was polite about it. I was as gentle and rational as possible. I wasn't calling anyone out. Not like I am now. I wasn't trying to lead a witch hunt. I was just overwhelmed and trying to express my feelings. Trying to get myself not to kill myself. I had to tell myself over and over again that it's not what Loki would want for me.

In the morning, they woke me up and kicked me out. Said it was rude for me to say I don't care about their household. I never, NEVER said that. I said "Loki is my first priority." Something along the lines of "that's just how I am and I shouldn't be vilified for it." That doesn't mean I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE. IT JUST MEANS THAT MY PRIORITIES WILL *NEVER* BE WHAT SOMEONE ELSE WANTS THEM TO BE. I AM A PERSON. I HAVE THE RIGHT TO DECIDE WHAT TO PRIORITISE, AND I HAVE THE RIGHT TO LOVE MY HUSBAND!!!

I MEAN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. MY NAME IS *SIGYN*. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU IGNORANT ASSHOLES EXPECT?! WHY THE HELL SHOULD YOU HAVE FELT THREATENED BY ME SAYING ANYTHING IF I DIDN'T NAME NAMES AND WAS ACTUALLY RATIONAL? IF YOU SAW THIS, *MAYBE* YOU WOULD HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE PISSY, BUT NOT THEN!

They kicked me out after having asked me to buy them all food. I had used up all my food stamps. Because I hadn't anticipated this at all. I hadn't known they would take such offence to my existence, to my ways. To the fact that I value the man I married more than I value... Whatever they wanted me to value, I guess.

Fun fact: I ended up in a women's shelter after this, and one woman told me to actually kill myself because she was tired of hearing me cry at night.

They said I hadn't made any effort to get my life on track. Because I can just snap my fingers and make my ID appear. Because I can just manifest the money for a replacement. They said all these things that left me almost unable to breathe, in retaliation for me posting that I was suicidal.

Later, Woman A told me that this had been a long time coming and that they were trying to make room for Woman B and Woman C, both of whom were willing to have sex with the men, which is something that I would not. I feel the first woman I met at the shelter was accurate when she said they basically kicked me out because I wouldn't sleep with them.

I also later found out that my ID and SS card had been returned to sender. The Portland PD called me and told me. So my father came to the conclusion that the people I had been staying with sabotaged me from the start. For a while, I didn't feel it, but last night I dreamed about it, and the dream made me angry. I didn't deserve to be treated that way. And I really had to get all this off my chest, so for those of you who didn't immediately whip out your tiny violins, thank you.

[dawnaress]

  MVP of Horror: Rachel True reflects on her experience as the only Black star of 'The Craft'

Rachel True is the first to tell you that she wasn’t supposed to be in The Craft. When the script for the 1996 Goth horror favorite first made the rounds in Hollywood, there were several obstacles that stood in the way of her joining a cast that included rising stars Fairuza Balk, Neve Campbell and Robin Tunney. “I had to fight to read for it,” True tells Yahoo Entertainment now. “My agents at the time were like, ‘You’re probably too old.’” (Watch our video interview above.)

Not only that, but the role that True auditioned for — Rochelle Zimmerman, one of four teen girls at a Catholic high school who form a Manon-worshipping witch’s coven — was written for a white actress. Undaunted, she relied on “smoke and mirrors” to get into the room and ultimately won the part, setting a new precedent for teen movies in the process. “It’s a big movie in terms of my career, but it’s also a big movie for Black people out there,” she says. “It’s one of the first teen movies that wasn’t a Black teen movie or a white teen movie.”

The obstacles didn’t end after True landed the role. If anything, they intensified during and after production as the actress felt herself being marginalized in favor of her co-stars. True makes it clear that she didn’t experience any overt hostility from the rest of the cast; instead, it was the studio and people behind the camera who seemed intent on holding her back. “When we were shooting the movie, I had literally been told by my team to stay away from Fairuza,” she remembers. “[They said] she can get away with stuff, and you will get fired for it. I was literally told, ‘You’re Black, so don’t say, ‘F*** you, mommy,’ like the white girls.’”

She also had to fight for equal attention during the film’s publicity tour. “They put up a poster of the four of us, mentioned the three girls and then skipped down the call sheet, I think, ‘This is how Black actors get underpaid, this is how they get forgotten, and it’s part of why I mouthed off about the publicity back in the day that I was excluded from. At the time, I don’t think my castmates understood; they were like, ‘You’re not as famous as us.’ What they didn’t get is that in the early to mid-1990s, [the studios] excluded the Black person, which meant they were never going to be as famous as you because they didn’t get the press.”

True experienced that exclusion as recently as last year, when she took to Twitter to reveal how a fan convention declined to invite her to a planned Craft reunion featuring Balk, Campbell and Tunney. (The actress credits Balk, now a close friend, with tipping her off about being left out.) “I had my guy call them up and say, ‘You could have the first reunion since 1996 with all the ladies, and they were like, ‘No thanks,’” she says. “My thing is that everything in life comes down to money, and if you don’t want the money [from a cast reunion] then as a Black person, what else am I supposed to think?”

After her tweets went viral, the convention reversed course and the full Craft coven reunited in March 2019. “I’m glad I spoke up,” True says. “Hopefully it opens the door for other people, so that when I go to the conventions it's not just me and maybe one other Black person.”

Racism is a subject within The Craft as well. As originally written, Rochelle struggled with bulimia, but the film’s co-writer/director, Andrew Fleming, revamped that storyline after True was cast. In the finished film, the character’s antagonist is Christine Taylor’s Laura Lizzie, a high school mean girl with a special hate-on for Rochelle. “First of all, Christine Taylor is so nice,” True says, laughing. “People come up to me and say, ‘Was she really racist?’ And I’m like, ‘She’s the sweetest woman in the world!’ I had gone to an all-white public school, so it was a great way to exorcise those demons if you will. It wasn't the first time someone called my hair pubic hair — that's the truth. So to have that in the movie was fitting, I think, as far as how people think.”

During filming, True remembers being uncomfortable with the way Fleming used her skin color as a plot point. “I remember thinking, ‘Do they see Blackness as a problem?’ All the characters have issues, and to me being Black wasn’t an issue; the way other people treat me for being Black is the issue. But once I really thought about when I got older, I realized it’s a good thing they have that in there. We’d come out of a time where we had things like The Cosby Show where nobody ever mentioned racism, and here was a movie that tackled it head on. I do think it’s interesting, though, that the other three characters never say anything about it! Not one of them is ever like, ‘That’s too bad that she’s racist towards you.’ I don’t think they would do that today.”

One other story choice that still rankles her a quarter century later is that Rochelle loses her supernatural powers at the end of the movie, while Tunney’s Sarah keeps hers. “Even in the mid-‘90s they knew they couldn’t kill off the Black chick,” she jokes. “But I was like, ‘Rochelle is more powerful than this! She’s an astral bridge, why is she cowering?’ That’s actually how I felt about that scene.”

Those memories are balanced out by the fun that True had making The Craft, whether it was flying around on harnesses or having a plaster mold made of her face for certain special effects sequences. “I loved all that stuff — I love movie magic. It's why I love being an actor because you put on this character and you get to experience life! I knew there was a lot for me to learn; Fairuza gave me a really good tip, because she was more experienced than I was. For the scene where we licked blood off our fingers, I kind of deep-throated my finger and she told me, ‘Rachel, it’s film and it’s a close-up. Just a small lick will do.’ So she might not have been the friendliest when we were shooting, but she was there to make a great movie. And she makes the movie, right? She’s so intense and fabulous in it.”

True shares other stories about the making of The Craft, as well as tales from her eventful life and career, in True Heart Intuitive Tarot, a boxed set that includes a tarot deck and a guidebook that’s part memoir and part tutorial. “It’s helped me with my career in Hollywood, a town full of smoke and mirrors,” True says of her lifelong interest in tarot. “I use tarot as a therapist — like a shrink in a box I like to say — so that I understand what I’m upset about or what’s going on.”

And with the True Heart book and deck, she’s hoping to instruct other people on mastering the art of reading tarot cards. “People hit me up on my DMs, saying, ‘Can I get a reading from you?’ And I’m like, ‘No, you can’t afford me!’” she laughs, adding that she’s mostly retired from doing public and private readings. “The idea with the book is that you can learn it for yourself... and you can heal yourself.”

The Craft is available to stream on Hulu or rent or our purchase on Amazon, iTunes and FandangoNOW. True Heart Intuitive Tarot is available on Amazon.

— Video produced by Jen Kucsak and edited by John Santo

Read more from Yahoo Entertainment:

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #214: Three Angels Fallen!

December, 1981

Mission: Capture the GHOST RIDER!

Ha ha good luck with that

Tony he’s steaming you inside your own armor like a lobster you fool

Also I may be easy to impress but I do like the flame effects over the Avengers logo.

Also: hot dang Spider-Man AND some amazing friends? Those lucky NBC viewers!

So last time on Avengers time: Hank Pym Yellowjacket came back onto the Avengers and he was a jerk! He attempted to be the hero guy by shooting Elf-Queen in the back when Captain America had charisma’d her into not attacking.

Then the Avengers put him under court martial!

Given three days to prepare his defense, he instead built a killer robot to murder his friends and was shocked when the robot tried to murder his friends! He sadly walked away from the team before they could tell him to leave!

This time: that stuff all made the news.

How awkward for Hank Pym. And how awkward for the Avengers. And just how very, very awkward.

Wow, if you zoom into the news article, it’s actually a better recap than my last time thing.

Anyway. Aside from stuff that we know happened, the takeaway is that after Hank Pym left in a daze, he’s gone missing for two days. And the whole world knows what Hank did, at least in regards to the Elf-Queen and Sal incidents.

And Captain America is dealing with his turmoil by engaging in basement gymnasium work out.

Its fun how the Avengers’ workout room just migrates around the mansion.

So Cap is punching a robot training dummy to shards with his bare gloved fists and its not actually making him feel better.

Tigra is revealed to be just casually chilling up in the rafters because she likes being high.

Speaking of, I’m pretty sure she just neatly slotted into Beast’s role on the team. She’s furry and she’s sort of the clown of the team.

Tigra tells Cap to lighten up but when he keeps punching a robot she figures he wants to be alone and swings out the door.

She not-literally runs into Jarvis and they have a brief disagreement on etiquette.

Tigra: “Jarvis! Hiya!”

Jarvis: “Good day, madame!”

Tigra: “C’mon, Jarv! Call me Tigra willya? I’m not a ‘madame’! Just a cat!”

Jarvis: “In any case, madame...”

With that not dealt with, Tigra questions why Cap is so messed up over this Yellowjacket thing. Because as far as Tigra can tell, Yellowjacket is a creep who got what he deserved!

She’s really only seen Yellowjacket Hank Pym at his exact worst. And who knows how much attention she paid to the minutiae of the Avengers roster before joining. And per Jim Shooter’s argument anyway, Hank was never the standout Avenger so imagine joining the Avengers and learning that the guy that was Also There would do stuff like yell at his wife until she cried, hit his wife, accuse Captain America of slandering him and build a robot in case his court martial went against him.

She has zero positive social interactions with this guy!

Tigra: “Good riddance, I say! I mean, you only had to see the way he treated the Wasp to know he was a first class rat.”

Jarvis: “You are mistaken, madame! I have known Dr. Pym for years! He is a fine man... a good man! I have never seen him flinch from any danger or duty no matter how fearsome or grim! Truly, he is a hero!”

“Men are fallible -- even heroes -- and Dr. Pym, like any man must bear the consequences of his actions! Judge him not too harshly, madame -- until you have proven yourself as he has!”

Tigra: “He’s proven he’s a rat to me! Anyway, I hope Cap gets over this!”

Jarvis: “As do I, madame!”

Meanwhile, at the Windows of the World Bar, a bar that was in the twin towers back in the heady year of 1981.

A waiter named Mario startles in amazement as he sees Thor fly by the window of Windows of the World. Wow, maybe he’s coming here. Mario thinks how cool it would be if Thor was coming to the bar and he could wait on a real live Avenger. As he serves a Dr. Pepper to Tony Stark.

Tony can’t help but reflect on the irony because this guy is going to be waiting on two Avengers because Thor, as Completely Normal Expert Surgeon Dr. Donald Blake, is coming to meet with him.

The reason why Tony asked to meet specifically with Dr. Donald Blake is because he wants his medical opinion on the strange case of Hank Pym.

Blake immediately points out that he’s not a psychiatrist but then gladly gives his opinion anyway.

Donald Blake: “Well, I’m not a psychiatrist, Tony, but obviously he’s had a breakdown! Most likely it was caused by stress! Since he recently rejoined the Avengers, I suspected he was demanding too much of himself -- but then I think he always has! I often considered trying to talk to him about it, but... you know, even before we confided in each other about our civilian identities we were close friends as Thor and Iron Man... but neither of us were close to Hank!”

I guess that’s true. Interesting to think though that these guys were the founding Avengers but while Iron Man and Thor became close friends in and out of costume, Hank Pym whose identity has been open for a while didn’t really have close friends on the Avengers.

Yeah, sure, they’d go to bat for him. But there’s this distance. But Jan became good friends with everyone. Naturally gregarious, her. So its not just a case where she and Hank were off in their own social unit and separate from the Avengers or the commuting distance.

But like I said, they’ll go to bat for Hank. Blake thinks that his breakdown can be treated but that the treatment will be expensive.

Tony “Money is no problem!” Stark says money won’t be a problem. He’ll pay for Hank’s treatment.

Blake points out that Hank might be too proud to accept charity so Tony decides he’ll give him the money “and a job at Stark International! I’ll work his tail off ‘til it’s paid back, if that’s the way he wants it!”

That’s our Tony!

I wonder what the end plan there is. After his treatment is Tony thinking Hank will just come back to the Avengers? I wonder if he’s talked to Wasp about this hypothetical plan.

Because that’d be a thorny situation.

Speaking of, over at the house of Wasp:

“She is Janet Van Dyne Pym -- an Avenger,  in her guise as the Wasp. She is heiress to a large fortune. This house is hers. As is anything else that she desires, if money can buy it. Most women would envy her -- and yet in recent times she has been unhappy. The contentment she feels now has grown only during the last two days -- since the disappearance of her husband.”

And she is at work sketching fashion designs. She is a fashion designer.

Jenkins the probably butler comes in to tell Janet a thing.

Jenkins: “Mrs. Pym -- ?”

Jan: “Jenkins, I asked you not to call me that! Ms. Van Dyne, if you please, or ‘hey you,’ but --”

Jenkins: “Yes, madame, but, um you have a visitor -- Mr. Pym! Do you wish to see him, madame?”

Jan: “Not really... but I suppose it’s necessary. All right, Jenkins, my shades are discreetly in place! Lead me to him!”

Jenkins: “Does your eye still hurt a great deal, madame?”

Jan: “Yes... and it’s still swollen shut -- but you know, Jenkins. I’m seeing more clearly than ever, now!”

So Jan goes to see Hank.

Apparently he’s been wandering around in a fugue state for two days since the court martial.

Hank says that Jan probably hates him but she corrects him. She pities him. But not enough to put up with him anymore.

And she demands a divorce.

Hank: “Jan, I know it’s too late to talk, but I want to anyway! How’s your eye? I guess I gave you quite a shiner, huh?”

Jan: “‘Shiner’ is a cute word for something that’s painful and humiliating! It makes me sick... and so do you!”

Hank: “I -- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you! I was upset!”

Jan: “You were more than upset, Hank! You’re a deeply troubled man! You need help!”

Hank stammers, and seems to be wishing that Jan could help him. Or wishing that Jan could understand him. Or that Jan could do something.

Jan: “Sorry, Hank! For years, I lived for you, clinging to you and worshiping you to support your fragile ego! I submerged myself completely to prop you up! No more! Never again! Now, please leave!”

Wow.

This is the very thing I was complaining about last issue with Jan’s sexy talk at Hank. Shooter played me for that exact reaction.

Anyway, she really wants him gone. Now. And two days was enough time that she’s had all his stuff packed up in one of her cars so he can gtfo. She even offers to give him a bunch of money to live on if it’ll get rid of him.

But Hank refuses to take her money. He doesn’t want anything more from her. He seemingly recognizes that he’s hurt her enough. And when she asks how he’ll live, he says he can live off his income from his books and patents.

He’ll be fine.

He won’t be fine.

There’s a scene transition to a seedy motel and a melancholic Hank sitting on the bed as the narration lets us know that actually Hank is deeply in debt and had to sell his patents years ago. All his books are out of print.

I know that he rankled at being supported by Jan but still, how did he end up in debt? Geez, Hank, you’re bad at finance.

“Though he has known gnawing doubt and discontent for months, his expulsion from the Avengers plunged him into agonizing despair beyond his darkest imaginings. He believed that day to be the absolute nadir of his life -- until an hour ago, when he ultimately, irrevocably lost his wife.”

Well.

I actually sort of imagine that if he hadn’t ghosted for two days, Jan wouldn’t have come to the decision to divorce him and cut him out of her life as soon as possible.

She was still in his corner despite what he did. He kept mum on the murder robot, hoping that the court martial would go well, that he had prepared some sort of defense that wasn’t. The thing that he actually said.

I actually suspect that it was disappearing for two days is what made up her mind. The last rocky bit of their relationship was paved in Hank’s emotional unavailability. He wouldn’t let her in. I think spending three days locked up in a murder robot lab instead of talking to her kind of says it all. And disappearing for two days after puts an exclamation on the sentence.

Anyway, I’m glad that he did disappear those two days. All that stuff Jan said about submerging herself for him rings true. I’d much rather she hadn’t been hurt at all but I’ve heard that this post Hank period of her life is a kind of renaissance for her.

She’s really going to spread her wings, if you’ll forgive the pun.

And to borrow a phrase. She’s more interesting without him.

So back at Avengers Mansion, Cap is still. Just. Beating the shit out of the exercise equipment. Geez, Cap.

If you haven’t worked out your frustrations at this point then I don’t know that breaking more equipment is going to!

Jarvis comes in with a lemonade for Cap. A lemonade and a heaping scoop of tell him to get his shit together.

Through. Geez. Through some reverse psychology spiel about the nanny state? Geez, Jarvis. C’mon.

Jarvis: “Years ago, people spoke with reverence about something called ‘the American Dream’! They believed that any man was free to go as far and high as his wits, courage and determination might carry him... They knew that, as with any dream, there was a risk! A man might fail! These days many people want to eliminate the risk! They think some ‘big brother’ should ensure that everyone succeeds!”

Cap: “I know! That’s foolish!”

Jarvis: “But, you see, they claim that things aren’t fair -- that one may be a good man and try very hard and still not achieve his goal!”

Cap: “That’s true! It’s not always fair! No one ever said it would be! Whatever the goal, there will always be some good men who fall short for some reason -- but the best of them will pick themselves up and go at it again, until -- Hmm... All right, Jarvis, I get the message! I’m going to stop being a ‘big brother’ -- stop blaming myself for Hank’s failure... and trust in the fact that, deep down, he’s one of the best!”

Don’t love the ideological argument that got him there but glad to see Cap buck up.

So we scene transition again and time transition to a different person in a different mood.

Johnny Blaze is sitting on an outcropping over a mountain road watching the traffic go by.

He’s in a dour mood because he lost his title as world champion motorcycle stunt rider. And apparently the last dregs of his self-respect.

I have no idea what’s going on in the Ghost Rider book but apparently his life has imploded.

So as he sees some “rich, carefree son of a gun” driving around in his sixty grand custom Ferrari while he himself doesn’t even know when he’ll be able to afford a meal again, why it makes him mad.

Valid.

And he decides hey the world has wronged him so why not lash out a little, as a treat. Starting with the dick in the Ferrari.

And the dick in the Ferrari just happens to be Warren Worthington III, the former X-Man known as Angel.

Also, Ghost Rider’s former teammate on the very short-lived Champions team.

So Ghost Rider pulls alongside Warren’s car in his motorcycle and pops a 200 MPH wheelie to get ahead of the car so he can stand right in the middle of the road.

Warren is apparently a nice guy so instead of going ‘fuck that skeleton bastard’ and running him over, knowing he’ll be fine, Warren swerves.

But he swerves going 190 MPH. And crashes his expensive car into a rock busting it up.

And then dick ‘the middle of the road is a fine place for a stand’ Ghost Rider yanks Warren out of his busted up car and rips his shirt off.

Because he wasn’t actually sure it was really Warren? Maybe Ghost Rider has trouble with facial recognition.

Anyway, Ghost Rider is like ‘race me, nerd!’ and when Warren doesn’t want to Ghost Rider goes “You will do as I say... or perhaps I shall give this woman of yours a kiss, eh?”

Not great, Ghost Rider. This is a bad look for you.

Warren agrees to the race.

So to prepare, Ghost Rider creates a motorcycle out of flame. Hm? What happened to the other motorcycle? Disintegrated off-panel. Ghost Rider mentions that its a big drain to create the motorcycle and that this might give Warren an advantage.

Its all a bit clunky so I think the artist drew Ghost Rider making the motorcycle and forgot that the motorcycle was already out. So then the dialogue had to cover the lapse.

You see that some of the times.

Anyway, the race starts and Ghost Rider immediately starts winning. Even having to deal with the rough terrain, his flaming cycle just go nyoom.

This race doesn’t have any explicit stakes though. And figuring he has nothing to gain nor to loooooooose now that his girlfriend Candy is out of reach, Warren decides he’s just going to beat up Ghost Rider.

So he pours on the speed in a power dive to catch up and hammer punches him off the motorcycle.

Warren decides that might as well have a conversation with the guy.

Warren: “Threatening Candy was a bad idea, Blaze! You used to be on the good guys’ side! What’s wrong with you -- ? What’s gotten into you?”

Ghost Rider: “It’s not what’s gotten into me, cretin! It’s what’s gotten out! I am the living spirit of vengeance! Once Johnny Blaze tempered my wrath with his mercy and compassion, but, no more! To Hades with his heroic altruism and polite fairness! My way is swift and sure! When there is injustice the Ghost Rider craves vengeance -- ! And it shall be mine!”

And then he sets Warren on fire.

Geez, Ghost Rider.

And he used hellfire too, which burns the soul instead of the flesh.

“And an angel falls screaming to the Earth.”

One-third of a title drop!

Ghost Rider takes off on his motorcycle, cackling into the night.

Nine hours later, Warren is in a coma in the hospital. Candy has tried calling the Avengers, hoping to get Beast since he was a friend of Warren’s.

But whoops! Beast left the team recently! But unwhoops! Cap decided that this looks like a job for the Avengers anyway!

Not like he had anything better to do.

Look at him. He was playing a World War II video game.

That scamp.

But after promising that the Avengers would come to Alkalai Flats, Cap realizes that the Avengers are short-handed. Yellowjacket was booted from the team, obviously. But Wasp has taken herself off the active list.

So they’re down to four people (and after they made such a big deal trying to pare down the team, womp womp! Bet you wish Jocasta were still around!) but Cap figures eh what the heck, I bet Thor, Iron Man, Tigra, and Captain America is enough to handle a character called ‘Ghost Rider’!

Which makes me think he has no idea what they’re getting into and that makes me laugh.

Anyway, the next day in Alkalai Flats, New Mexico.

Johnny Blaze working as the pump guy at the local gas station. Remember when pumps were manned? Me neither. Apparently it was a thing in the wild 80s.

Johnny is thinking wow he really should have skipped town after he forced Ghost Rider down and took control back. He feels really sore about lashing out at the world. But he feels so guilty about what he did that he can’t leave until he knows Warren’s going to be okay.

So he got a job pumping gas so he can afford to eat. And he visits the hospital everyday to check on Warren.

And then the Avengers arrive, touching down at the local airfield.

The Avengers, being Avengers, take some time to sign some autographs. Well, Cap, Tigra, and Thor do. Iron Man goes to talk to Mayor Obadiah, the sheriff, the postmaster, and the chamber of commerce.

Its all the same guy.

That sure is a collection of power in one pair of hands! And can one person really be a chamber? Aside from Jonothon Starsmore, I don’t mean him.

Anyway, the airfield is a distance from the town so Iron Man asks where he can rent a car (from the mayor) who takes them to the motel (owned by the mayor).

There’s some fun dialogue here as the mayor calls Iron Man “Mr. Man” and when Iron Man says “uh... that’s Iron Man” the mayor switches to “Mr. Iron.”

And there’s another fun moment as the mayor/sheriff/postmaster/etc drive them to town in the back of his pickup with Tigra snarking at Thor who is standing arms akimbo that even he can’t look classy in the back of a pickup.

Before calling herself a liar in her thoughts.

This whole sequence is just a little bit goofy and I love it.

I wonder if Iron Man more deeply regrets this than the time he had to commandeer a bus.

(Aww, look at Thor waving to the crowd)

But this goofy little sequence is great especially considering what we got last time. And even at the beginning of this issue. Its nice to deescalate the tone a bit.

Iron Man and Thor fly off in separate directions to look for Ghost Rider, unaware that Johnny Blaze saw them arrive at the hotel and went ‘welp! Time to lie low!’

And Tigra decides: “If I’m going to go prowling around the West I think I ought to be dressed appropriately!” and walks into a clothing store.

The ladies running it don’t quite know what to make of any of this. Especially when Tigra keeps talking.

Tigra: “Ah’d like to buy some fancy duds fer huntin’ down a certain varmint owlhoot who’s been terrorizin’ these here parts, ma’am.”

Evalyn: “Beg your pardon -- ? Say, miss, aren’t you one of those Revengers?”

Tigra: “A-vengers! Yes, ma’am!  And yes, my entire body is covered with fur! And, yep, I’m a bona fide cat lady! Yes, I adore fish! No, I don’t eat little friskies, and I don’t take baths by licking myself! Any other questions?”

Evalyn: “What size are you dear?”

With that settled, Tigra decides to try on everything and tells them to bill the Avengers.

I thiiink I know why Tigra wanted so badly to join the Avengers now.

And, hey, understandable! Spending Tony Stark’s money in between doing superhero stuff is a great lifestyle if you can get it.

Its funny because she just got a check for a thousand dollars two days ago.

Tigra has been a very fun character so far if you very purposefully subtract the uncomfortable harassment of Jarvis.

But its nice that someone on the team is having a good time.

I do wonder if she’s absorbing traits from the absent Jan? Huge shopping spree in the middle of a mission is something I can imagine being written for the Wasp. Although the end result is decidedly more Tigra.

Anyway, having purchased a sexy cowgirl outfit to her liking, she goes to find Cap.

And Cap is talking to a mechanic. Cap wants a motorcycle. Adamson the mechanic has a motorcycle. He wants to lend Cap the motorcycle for free in thanks for his service to the country. Cap, being Cap, insists on paying $50 a day.

And that’s how Cap gets a motorcycle that he is inevitably going to break.

Cap: “Well... hello, podner!”

Tigra: “Hiya, Cap! Got room for a catty cowperson?”

Cap: “Hop on!”

Of all the things, I didn’t expect Cap and Tigra to be on the same bad faux western talk train together.

Tigra: “Whee! This is fun! Great idea, Cap!”

Cap: “It’ll help us cover more ground!”

Okay so they’re not entirely on the same page.

This has been a very fun two pages.

So the Avengers spend the whole day fruitlessly searching. Its a good thing that its a slow day in New York. But honestly, Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four can probably handle holding down the fort.

The next day, they’re still looking!

I wonder how much time they were willing to put into this if nothing came up? But then something comes up!

Local child Kim decided that he’d tie a blanket around his neck and play Thor up on a water tower.

I cannot believe that Thor is a bad example by proximity. Geez, Thor. Try to consider who you are adjacent to.

Kim’s mother runs and finds Johnny Blaze who is just about to skip town, having realized that if Angel wakes up, he is S O L.

But Johnny Blaze can’t let a child fall to his death and against his better judgement decides to change into Ghost Rider.

Johnny Blaze/Ghost Rider: “He’ll fall any minute! I can’t reach him in  time! No one could... except... the Ghost Rider! He could! But, do I dare change? If I do -- will he save the boy? I’ve got to chance it! Got to remember I’m doing this to save the kid! Must save the child! The child... Bah! Forget the child! If he should die by his own hand, what does the Ghost Rider care? What is there to avenge? But the Avengers dare to hunt me! There is an affront that the Spirit of Vengeance cannot ignore!”

And then Ghost Rider just ghost rides away from the water tower.

But never to fear! Iron Man swoops in out of nowhere.

Iron Man: “Pardon me, young man, but I couldn’t help but noticing your unusual radar blip!”

Kim: “I-Iron Man?”

Iron Man: “That’s me! It’s all right now, soon -- but don’t ever do this again!”

See, Thor? You should constantly tell children not to try cool things, just in case.

Miles away, Ghost Rider vrooms past Cap and Tigra on their rented motorcycle and then zooms off telling them to give chase, IF THEY DARE.

Zooms off right along the median divider.

Tigra is like uh I don’t think chasing the guy with the flaming head is a good idea, uh Cap we’re driving on the wrong side of the highway, uh I think he’s leading us into a trap but Cap says “Don’t distract me! I think we’re gaining on him!” like he’s a suburban dad on a road trip vacation, about to inevitably take the wrong exit.

Anyway, Ghost Rider leads them into a box canyon.

While he drives straight up the wall, Cap can’t do that no matter how cool he is. So he just crashes into the wall while yelling at Tigra to brace herself.

To her credit, Tigra is flung off the bike and lands on her feet because cat powers. But Cap takes a rough tumble. Plus, he wrecked the bike and that was a loaner! Geez, Cap!

Oh, and Ghost Rider pops up behind them and sets them both on fire. And by that I mean sets their souls on fire because thats PG for some reason while having all your skin burned off is decidedly not.

“Streams of hellfire spurt from the demon’s outstretched hands -- washing over Tigra and Captain America, seizing them in its crackling embrace. The flames bite deep into their souls, and in a searing instant, they know what it is to be dragged eternally thruogh the pits of Hades. Their screams echo through the canyons -- and do not go unnoticed.”

Geez.

Kind of an overreaction honestly, Ghost Rider.

But like the block quote said, their screams didn’t go unnoticed and Iron Man flies in their direction to find Ghost Rider surfing on his motorcycle.

This is a weirdly, morbidly jolly Ghost Rider, isn’t he?

Anyway, Iron Man tackles him off his motorcyle, boasting that his armor can withstand any fire that Ghost Rider can generate.

Hey, kids in the audience!

Er, uh, hey, anyone at all in the audience?

Can you guess the logical flaw in Iron Man’s statement?

Is it...

That he has eye holes and a mouth hole cut out of his helmet and his face is now on fire?

If you guessed that ahead of looking at the panels, congratulations! You are now the proud owner of 10 Fun Time Avengers Reward Points. These can hypothetically be exchanged for fun prizes.

Also: I’m being reminded of Transformers trauma and I don’t like it.

So then Thor swoops down to take his swing at things.

Ghost Rider shoots FIRE EYE BEAMS at the thunder god but Thor just walks out of the flames like a cool guy.

This Thor, what a cool guy.

And then he throws his mighty mallet Mjolnir with a boast:

Thor: “It serves you well to claim kinship with the devil men name in their religions! Liar! You are but a creature of dark magic, a demon from some hellish mystic realm! I, too am a being from a mystic realm! I know what you are -- and I fear thee not! The hammer of the thunder god shall smite thee down, false one!”

Ghost Rider jumps on his motorcycle and... okay this is too good. I have to show you this in its entirety.

So Ghost Rider outraces Mjolnir and then grabs the hammer as its looping back to Thor and lets it carry him at great speed right at Thor so he can bowl Thor over with his motorcycle.

All while laughing like this is just the most fun he’s ever had.

I like that he also manages to spend nearly this entire sequence dunking on Thor. That’s efficiency of screentime.

So the Avengers regroup. Well, they try.

Tigra freaks out at the thought of, y’know, having her soul set on fire again. Which. Valid.

But being an Avenger means having to do stupid stuff.

Tigra: “What?! F-face that again?! You can’t be serious! I -- I couldn’t take any more of that! Cap! You went through it too! You know what it was like! Why aren’t you afraid?”

Cap: “I -- I am! I’ve never known anything so horrifying! But we’ve got to put it behind us!”

Tigra: “I can’t! What if he burns me again! I’d go mad! Please Cap, don’t make me go!”

Cap: “Pull yourself together, girl! We may need you! Think about it -- we can’t let him hurt other people that way! We’ve got to go after him!”

Tigra: “I -- I’ll try, Cap! I’ll try!”

Mm. Tigra is the logical one for this character beat since she’s new to the team. But I dunno. It doesn’t sit entirely well that the only woman on the team is being used for this beat. I’d be more annoyed if Wasp was getting it so there’s that, I guess.

It also helps that Tony is in the background thinking

Iron Man: “I... know how you feel, Tigra! Believe me! I don’t know how you do it, Cap... no armor, no weapons, no superhuman abilities -- but you put us all to shame! What a man!”

I read that in the Ace Rimmer “What a guy!” tone.

Anyway, my misgivings are also somewhat lessened by Cap admitting he’s afraid too and later saying its not wrong to be frightened but you can’t let your fear dictate your actions.

Because “being an Avenger means having to do stupid stuff.” A very wise me once said that. I did.

So Ghost Rider is headed back to Alkalai Flats to find Warren Worthington and kick his ass.

Which is usually warranted, hah, but since Warren is still in the hospital from the previous asskicking, just feels gratuitous.

The Avengers manage to head Ghost Rider off on his way back to town and Iron Man blasts him off his bike.

Ghost Rider behaves in the classy way you’d expect of the man who once posed for this saucy picture.

Ghost Rider: “Idiots! Have you not learned to fear my wrath yet? The girl does! I see it in her eyes! Very well, let her burn first!”

And he shoots some hellfire at Tigra.

Thankfully, Captain “One Step Ahead” America was one step ahead and suspected that Ghost Rider would go after her.

Ghost Rider then turns his fire on Thor and Iron Man but they no sell it (because Iron Man remembered to seal up his armor this time).

So he tries to go after Tigra again and this time gets blocked by Thor.

Thor then pins down Ghost Rider by spinning his hammer just really super fast to create a vortex and Cap says they need to press their advantage and get Ghost Rider to surrender.

Ghost Rider: “Stupid mortals! A hell-spawned spirit cannot surrender! I fight until the vengeance I crave is mine -- or I am destroyed!”

And then Warren T. Worthington III just shows up out of nowhere and spills the beans all over Ghost Rider that this whole tantrum has been a kind of just a tantrum. Because he figured Ghost Rider needed a friend.

Ghost Rider is like “I have no friends!” defiantly and maybe doesn’t realize its a bit sad.

Warren “Angel” T. Worthington III: “I have a theory about you! I think that the more bitter and unhappy you are as Johnny Blaze, the more ruthless and savage the Ghost Rider is when he emerges! You haven’t been too happy as Johnny Blaze lately, I take it! I heard you lost your title! So you took it out on me! That was dumb enough -- but then you made it worse! You almost made it a lot worse! What if the Avengers hadn’t stopped you? Were you out to kill me? Burn the town? Where would it have ended?”

Ghost Rider insists that he seeks vengeance and Angel is like ‘ok fine then vengeance on me. Kill me, dingus.’

But he can’t do it. Or more likely Johnny can’t do it. And his head extinguishes and Johnny takes back over.

To sit on the ground with his hands over his face asking everyone to leave him alone.

The Avengers who were just kind of sitting in the background for this entire encounter, not really sure how to feel about any of this, don’t know how to feel about any of this.

Thor even wonders what to do. But Angel tells him ‘Well Technically Johnny Blaze committed no crimes and I don’t see a Ghost Rider around!’

Cap decides, yeah, this is a good ending! This is a good moment to walk away on! Not our problem anymore! Reminds him of a thing, in fact! Something from his life and maybe a conversation he had the other day?

Cap: “This reminds me of Hank in a way! He lets things get to him... made one mistake... and then made it worse!”

Tigra: “What will become of him?”

Cap: “He has help available if he wants it -- but it’s like he said -- he has a choice! No ‘big brother’ can make it for him! In the end, it’s all up to him!”

Kinda clever to make the story about the Hank Pym overarching plot without belaboring Hank Pym. The Avengers just get involved in a situation that Cap analogizes to the one that the Avengers are experiencing while Hank Pym himself only appears on a few pages. Just enough so we remember that the story is ongoing.

It also lets the story get some lighter toned stuff in the middle of the heavy stuff. Tigra is a delight in this. Even Ghost Rider with his maniacal glee at punking the Avengers is worth a chuckle.

And we get the three fallen angels of the title.

Warren T. Worthington III in a literal sense. He’s a superhero called Angel and he fell because Ghost Rider kicked his ass.

Ghost Rider because demonic related abilities and demons are said to be fallen angels.

Hank Pym because he was one of the heroes, ‘on the side of angels’ but has fallen from grace because of mistakes.

And both Ghost Rider and Hank Pym have people that are willing to go to bat for them despite the mistakes they’ve made. If they’re only willing to accept that help.

I guess Angel too had people willing to go to bat for him since the Avengers flew all the way out here to help him despite barely knowing him.

So what next for the Avengers? And what next for the fall of Yellowjacket?

Next: “Enter the Silver Surfer! Also: the End of the World!”

Dammit, the world can’t end, we’re in the middle of a character journey here!

Follow @essential-avengers because you want to know what happens next but you also want to watch me reblog older posts. Wow, I’m bad at selling this! Please like and reblog also!

[atravellerstale-meg]

For prompts: freewood – mad king ryan and renowned assassin gavin ;0.

Apologies for the delay! Also this turned out to be more pre-Freewood than actual Freewood, but I hope you still enjoy it! I know I had a lot of fun writing it.

Gavin liked to think he was good at his job. Part of the reason he was so good was that he’d learned to keep a low profile over the years. He wasn’t stupid, and knew not to take on high profile targets such as a King. They had too much protection, and there was always so much chaos after the fact. And the Mad King was even worse, considering his access to dark magics, not to mention the unspeakable things he’d done to every single assassin that had gone after him.

So, high chance of failure and terrible consequences. The smart thing to do would have been to turn this job down.

But he always did like a challenge, and so he found himself before the King’s throne in mismatched clothing, introducing himself as a travelling entertainer. The court paid no attention to him, too busy watching the King with barely concealed fear.

The King himself was staring at Gavin with sharp blue eyes, not seeming to blink, or even to breathe. The question crossed Gavin’s mind of if the King could read his thoughts, but he pushed it aside. If he could, Gavin was already dead. It would just be a matter of waiting for his body to catch up.

There was a glint of light and he reacted on instinct, hand whipping up to grab the knife being flung at him as he took a step back. His stomach flipped as he realised what he held and who must have thrown it. He met the King’s gaze with bated breath. Was this meant to kill him?

But the King just smiled and asked, “Are you any good at juggling, fool?”

He forced a cocky grin into place, twirling the knife. “Fairly good, your Majesty.”

“Then let us test your skill.” There was another flash.

Gavin caught the second knife and started tossing them both through the air, exaggerating his movements to appear almost clumsy, but always making sure to just catch the knives before they hit the ground. With just two knives it wasn’t much of a proper juggle, but the fear of injury was usually enough to keep people’s attention. Not this crowd, though, who were still more busy watching the King than him. Which suited him just fine for the moment, and he kept an eye on the King himself, this time able to see as the King pulled another knife from his sleeve. He started making room for the new knife before it was even thrown, managing to catch it and integrate it without faltering, and allowed himself a brief moment of pride before resuming his watch.

After two more knives thrown in quick succession, bringing the total up to five, the King clapped his hands together. Gavin stumbled for a moment, wheeling about on one leg as he tried to catch each knife out of the air. It was a rehearsed movement, of course, but he was still pleased when he managed to grab all the knives by the hilt, meaning he didn’t draw any blood this time. He brought his leg down with a snap, turning the motion into a deep bow, and made sure he had a bright grin on his face as he stood tall again.

The King was watching him closely, amusement in his gaze, and though that was Gavin’s intent he couldn’t help but feel a flutter of fear. The King’s amusement seemed more directed at him than his antics, and Gavin knew enough of tyrants to get an idea of where this was going.

“You have quite a talent, fool,” the King eventually said. “While you are in town, we would like to invite you to grace us with your talents each night. It would please us to have entertainment while we eat.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

“And you will stay within our walls during this time, too, so we can be sure you are staying in a safe environment.” The King’s eyes scanned him, top to bottom, and Gavin’s stomach twisted. “We hate to think of what trouble might befall you otherwise.”

“Thank you for the kind offer.” Gavin knew he couldn’t refuse without good reason, and he also knew that this would help him in completing his job, but it was still with some reluctance that he bowed his head and said, “I would be honoured to accept.”

The King gave a thin smile before instructing one of his servants to take Gavin to his new rooms. As Gavin followed them from the hall he felt a familiar tingle on the back of his neck, indicating the King was watching him closely. He suppressed a shudder.

For a few days, all was well. He performed for the court, watched the King closely to see when an opportunity might present itself, and acquainted himself with the palace’s ins and outs. But as the days passed he felt his nerves getting stretched tighter and tighter as he tried to figure out when the Mad King would confront him, for he knew that a confrontation was coming.

A fortnight into his stay, it finally came. He was on his way back to his rooms when the corridor grew dark around him. It was an unnatural dark, one that his eyes could not pierce at all. He pressed his back against the nearest wall, reaching for one of his knives, and caught a glimpse of blue eyes.

His muscles, honed over years of work, reacted before his mind did, throwing a knife with deadly accuracy. But that accuracy was useless against a sorcerer, and he felt that same knife against his throat only a heartbeat later.

“Ah! Careful!” came the familiar voice of the Mad King, light and amused. “One wrong move and all that lovely green will turn to red.”

He froze, holding his hands out to the side as his heart raced. Trying to calm himself, he met the King’s eyes and asked, “What do you want?”

“I want to know who sent you.”

“I was sent by no one, I’m but a travelling jester-”

“Don’t lie to me.” The eyes narrowed, drawing closer, and the knife pressed harder against his skin. “If you won’t talk, I’ll drag the answers from your mind.”

Gavin felt his heart leap into his throat, then a force rushed through his veins. In an instant the darkness tore itself apart and he saw the Mad King fly back, hitting the other wall with an undignified thump. Ignoring the lightning still racing over his skin, he reached for another knife and flung it.

But the King recovered quickly, and the knife was deflected into the ground. Before Gavin could throw another or try to run he found himself frozen in place. The King drew close, but not as close as he had been, and stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You have magic.”

Gavin grimaced. “Not much.”

The King laughed, far more genuine than his chuckles at Gavin’s performances, and that rankled more than it should have. “Don’t sell yourself short. You managed to best me, however briefly. I’m sure with the right training, you’d be quite the menace.” He tilted his head, still smiling. “Would you like that?”

“What are you saying?”

“Think of this as an offer. Once we get past the little issue of you being hired to kill me, we could do amazing things together. I would give you training, a place to stay, all that you could ever want, and you help me out with a few issues from time to time.” The King took a step closer. “Interested?”

Since the alternative was probably torture and death, Gavin named the duke who’d hired him without hesitation. The King watched him closely for a few seconds, and he started growing worried that he might just get tortured and killed regardless.

Only a moment later, the King’s smile returned and Gavin found himself able to move again. He brushed himself off as the King spoke, “Very well. We’ll discuss your first errand over dinner. If you’ll come with me?”

The King offered his arm and Gavin paused for a moment before taking it. He wasn’t quite sure he’d made the right choice, but at least he was alive. He could figure everything else out as it came.

[fallingin-like]

november 16

l’amour parle en fleus by @scribbleb-red [requested by @fuzzballsheltiepants]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post! 

this is a wonderful and heartbreaking fic that deals with grief and the beauty of life. it is soft and sweet, while dealing with hard topics and loss. this fic is incomplete.

disclaimer: i reviewed this fic when it had 7 chapters, so no comments on chapter 8. sorry!

this fic was stunning and i was blown away by your amazing descriptions and imagery. everything is so vivid and feels real. i was so interested in the little pieces of andrew and neil’s stories and how they pieced together to bring them to this story.

parts that stood out to me:

”he had cut himself free of the roots of his past and planted new ones, blooming in a country that should never have belonged to him, yet matched the varying shades of his soul” wow, this is such a beautiful beginning to the story, the wording you used makes it read like poetry, especially the last part of the sentence

”not on that sun-drenched afternoon” oh this is wonderful

”bruises had stiffened his face into a mask” i love the way that you wrote this

it breaks my heart to see how affected andrew is by aaron’s death. although he tries his best to show it outwardly, andrew gave up so much of himself to protect aaron

ooh the house/property you’ve described sounds so nice. do you have something specific (like an existing house) that you’re referencing?

”maybe he’d make it a challenge to sleep in all of them” whatamood andrew

”the air was clean and full of grass, as if it had only ever been breathed by wild things” oh, this is so nice

cats! sounds like a dream, to be in a bnb and find out they have cats

it sounds like fun to read a book that someone has annotated. so much that you can learn about them through how they react to the events in the novel in comparison to what you feel or think

”liked how steady and quiet king was, how sir vocalised every time they wanted something” love that you had andrew highlight these characteristics, it seems very in character

”the sound of footsteps approaching an unlockable door” EXCUSE ME DID YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST SLIDE THIS IN AFTER “a number plate, a smile, a mist rising over a river” AND THINK I WOULD NOT NOTICE. LIKE IT’S NOT A DEVASTATING SENTENCE.

”his was a skull full of a thousand momento mori. aaron was just the latest” woah what a powerful two sentences

how cute that andrew keeps all of neil’s notes! sounds like something i would do haha

ohmygoodness neil singing is bringing me back to my french classes from a long long time ago (i can remember enough to kind of work out the english translations loool)

”because worst of all, nathaniel never seemed to notice him back. it rankled… didn’t the idiot care that he was killing the world over with that voice?” yeah okay andrew, you keep thinking that’s the reason you hate that neil doesn’t notice you.

woah you descriptions of the outside is absolutely gorgeous. the colours, descriptions, and imagery are so wonderful and overwhelming and beautiful. i get so lost in the sheer volume of it all, i forget about andrew’s anger (as i’m sure he also does, a little)

andrew picking up his cigarette butt is so lovely and fitting for this section of the story

AH IT’S NEIL

”and, as the folds of material were plucked at by the wind’s childish fingers, andrew followed the sharp lines of his collarbones, the smattering of freckles, strangely warped and wefted flesh” I LOVE THIS. the wording you used is absolutely amazing

NEIL HAS PIERCINGS AND HE KEEPS LAVENDER IN THEM THIS IS THE BEST

oh, the story of aaron giving andrew his hat is so soft, such a wonderful thing shared between the two of them. it’s so small, but for us who know how much of a struggle everything is with them, a constant push and pull, it’s everything.

neil’s loft sounds so nice, how did you come up with this idea?

also prickly neil is great, i love that you have this shortly after andrew goes to touch a plant and gets pricked because of it

”a stab of hatred lanced through andrew’s stomach, white-hot, easy. sweat rolled down the centre of his back, a sour coating filled the back of his throat” ahh your descriptions are so so good

”andrew replied, popping the ‘p’ like an eyeball under a thumb.” exCUSE ME LIKE WHAT??

also i am very much a fan of neil being super strong

uhhHHHH neil has a tongue piercing?? i think andrew actually vapourized in that moment

orange! tractor! adorable!

”apathy, his brain supplied, the opposite of anger, the inverse of hate” oh this is interesting. i guess i always automatically thought of love, but when i think of this, it seems so right. hate, anger are such strong emotions, overtaking everything, making it hard to think, feeling so so much, but the absence of that feeling? oh

”and neil was leaning forward, plucking the cigarette from andrew’s fingers and taking a drag, smoke spilling between his teeth when he grinned a grin like a knife blade. andrew felt it in his gut” !!! this!!!

”addiction left people brittle. left them dry as kindling and just as easy to burn” woah

i really cannot handle these boys

NEIL IS MISSING PART OF HIS FINGER, OH MY GOODNESS I AM LOSING IT HERE. 

amazing bit about the garden, never thought about it that way. it’s so true

honestly, there is just so so much to unpack. love your description of the buzzing andrew is feeling, i really like hearing andrew’s thought process, how everything turns back to aaron, love the way that, even now, he can read neil so well

THE TWINYARD EMBRACE. THE WAY THEY HOLD EACH OTHER. “‘you killed him,’ andrew said. ‘you killed her,’ replied aaron.” THIS ACKNOWLEDGEMENT THAT THEY HAVE PROTECTED EACH OTHER. THE BEGINNING OF JOINT THERAPY. THEY WAY THAT THEY SLOWLY LEARN TO LOVE EACH OTHER IN A WAY THAT’S MORE HEALTHY.

ahhhhh andrew talking to neil? this is so so good to see his progress, to see how he’s working through his grieving

oh boy, loving the little rivalry that eduard brings, the kind of tension heh

this town/market sounds amazing, so beautiful

IN THE GAME. OH DANG EDUARD YOU ARE NOT THE FARMER BOY WHO HAS THE HOTS FOR NEIL THAT I THOUGHT YOU WERE

”’well… like an american,’ said neil, like it explained everything. and it did, like a fire hissing out in the rain, andrew felt his shoulders relax, his ire cool” ahh so nice.

”because neil was so much give, when andrew needed to take” oh this is so interesting!

”neil shouldn’t be allowed to just vanish” AHH

”andrew shouldn’t have lashed out, sneered at neil’s story and spot on his honesty” NOOO ANDREW WHY

”his scars were the noughts to andrew’s crosses” oh this is so nice (like, not nice, but you know)

woah it’s really interesting hearing neil’s story while also having andrew’s commentary available with his knowledge from school. to see the personal side of it and also what was portrayed to the public

as much as i love neil with long curly hair, him with a buzzed look has me interested. paired with his cheekbones and his eyes, woahhhhh

”it looked like he’d been bled of life, colours fading until he became a negative of himself or an older version of the hollow-eyed teenager from the newspapers all those years ago.” i think this is my favourite sentence of this fic so far. makes me hurt.

AARON USED TO CALL ANDREW A TURNIP THAT IS SO ADORABLE I WANT PEOPLE TO CALL ME TURNIP (wait i just looked up what it means and although it is true i have no brains i was thinking in an affectionate way. turnips look really cute and are tiny lol)

ahhh neil in his bed in the barn during the storm ;-;

i love how you incorporated consent into andrew anchoring neil from his panic with the hand on his neck

ohmygoodness i cannot believe that neil has a PALMETTO HOODIE WITH A NAME AND NUMBER ON IT AH

”they took long walks through the fields and along the mountain paths, navigating the rocky terrain of andrew’s grief and neil’s jagged history that came so painfully close to intertwining with andrew’s own” oh this is such a beautiful sentence

NEIL HAS WATCHED ANDREW’S INTERVIEWS EXCUSE ME WHAT THAT IS SO CUTE

”he caught his reflection in the mirror and saw only himself” THIS IS AMAZING. what a transition that we get to see andrew experience

”for months andrew’s mind was a jagged thing, not knowing what he wanted or what he needed” !!

ooh love the acknowledgement that younger andrew would have denied his feelings but he’s more mature now and is more in tune with his emotions and wants!! amazing

”dinner with neil was an abundant thing. odd choice of word, but it was the only way andrew could describe it” it is an odd choice, but at the same time i think i understand it?

oh. andrew’s dream of aaron in the field. it’s so sad and soft and makes me feel blurry around the edges. what a contrast to the evening with neil. i like it though. you don’t just get over grieving. it gets better and it gets worse. it comes back again and again, even when you think it will not return. “wait for me. wait for me” i love what this adds, it feels so right

”andrew pressed every lane and shady square between the pages of his memory” so wonderful

PARLE EN FLEURS. EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE NOW.

woah aaron’s story was intense and well-told. things make a lot more sense now.

love that andrew sends nicky pictures to show everything, to share without words. they have such a unique relationship, they both care so much but are so different in the way that they show it sometimes it clashes

”it’s not the kind of pain that can be quantified. and it will still hurt in a year, in five, in ten”

i mostly skimmed the last chapter because i know that i easily internalize the thoughts and feelings that come when people write depression. 

i love the way that you structured this fic. the chapter titles are perfect because throughout the fic we see andrew’s healing and grieving. it’s subtle, but he clearly shifts through the different stages that you include and i’m really impressed by how seamlessly you incorporated that into the fic. the fic’s focus slowly transfers from aaron to neil so naturally that you almost don’t notice it until you take a step away for a moment.

you do such a marvelous job with the descriptions of this fic, i liked so so many sentences that i could not possibly mention them all. the town and the fields and the surroundings sound so beautiful and stunning, you made everything so vibrant and alive. all the colours and textures and words that you used really established an amazing backdrop to the story you wrote.

and the story, i loved your approach to this, it’s very realistic. the interactions between andrew and neil are pure and natural and don’t seem forced. you created complicated, intricate relationships between all the characters, brought up the difficulty of expressing emotions and feelings with people, and trust that was built. i liked the way that you wrote the characters, and i adore neil with his flower piercings. thank you so much for writing this fic! i can’t wait to see what comes next!

[lalainajanes]

I just read poisonously pretty and it was the cutest thing and of course Caroline would incapacitate anyone who could stop her on her quest and then threaten klaus with the consequences lol all for the sake of fighting a dragon. Is there any chance for a part 2?

Writer’s Month Day Four - Trope Prompt: Road Trip. A follow up to Poisonously Pretty in which Caroline is a rebellious princess and Klaus is her conflicted guard and there’s a quest.

Poisonously Pretty - Two

“What are you wearing?”

Carolinetosses a scornful look over her shoulder and returns to securing hersaddlebags. She does not offer a response to Klaus’ asinine question. He hadeyes, and a lifetime of putting on his own breeches, surely he could deduce thename of the garment Rebekah had sewn for her in preparation for her journey.

She’d hadKlaus’ horse brought from the stables because, as soon as she’d learned he’d beguarding her door she’d known her chances of giving him the slip were nil.Caroline had adjusted her plan accordingly. When he makes no further movement,no attempt to begin checking his saddle or loading his own belongings, shepauses and turns to him.

He’sstaring at her, expectantly, with a fair measure of disbelief. It makes herwant to fidget, or adjust her loose fitting tunic. Caroline refuses to giveinto the urge. “I can hardly travel incognito in my gowns, can I?”

“You have adozen split skirts meant for riding.”

Again, he’spointing out the obvious and, with her plan coming together so nicely, Carolinehas little patience for it.

“Ten,actually. All in fine fabrics, embroidered in expensive thread and intricatepatterns. Do you want us to be setupon by highwaymen?”

“You can’tmean to pass for a man.” His tone rankles, the incredulousness he’s displayingmaking Caroline think that he’s convinced that she’s an imbecile. It hurts abit. They might not be friends, as they were as children, but she’d thoughtKlaus at least respected her.

She givesthe bag a final tug, ensuring it won’t be jostled loose. She lifts her chin,crosses her arms as she turns to face Klaus. “A man, no. Bonnie offered apotion that would grow whiskers on my face but I declined. I see no reason why,from a distance, it would not be assumed I’m a youth of fourteen or so if Idress the part.”

Klaus isn’tconvinced, his eyes dipping towards her chest. If it were any other man she’dbe offended but Klaus’ gaze isn’t lecherous and, if Caroline’s being entirelyhonest – something she always tries to be with herself – she’s been wishingKlaus would recognize that she’s a woman now. That he’d perhaps find herdesirable. Touchable.

“They’rebound,” she informs him briskly.

He appearshorrified, “I beg your pardon?”

Carolinethrows up her hands in frustration, “Oh please, don’t act like you’re ablushing maid. I’m speaking of my breasts, Klaus. I’ve overheard both Genevieveand Aurora whispering rather flattering things about your prowess as a lover soI assume you’re familiar with the weight and shape of the average pair.”

His mouthopens. Closes. Caroline’s never seen him so discomfited, without a ready quip,and it’s immensely satisfying. “Perhaps you shouldn’t pick your bed partnersfrom among my ladies in waiting if you’re so concerned with discretion.”

Caroline’salways chosen the most gossipy courtiers for her inner circle. It’s onlyprudent, keeps her well appraised of the goings on in her kingdom. Her father’sadvisors aren’t keen on Caroline’s interest in politics. They tend to hide informationthey think her too delicate to know. Caroline’s ensured she has other sources.

“Besides,between the tunic and the cloak I’ll wear, my breasts will be entirelyunnoticeable.”

She’dchecked of course. Had modeled her new clothing for her closest friends andgotten their assurances. Well, Bonnie andElena had assured, Katerina had teased Caroline about how the tightlyfitted leather of her breeches clung to areas of her body that were usuallywell covered. Kat had pronounced the pants alluring, had commissioned Rebekahto make her a pair of her own.

Unfortunately,Klaus doesn’t seem allured. He’s irritated, even further away from her than heusually is, regarding her like he’s not sure she’s in her right mind.

She’d liketo tell him that she’s more herself than she has been in years. Free andexcited about her quest and in control of her own life. She feels exactly howshe’s longed to.

It doesn’t look as though Klaus is going torecover himself anytime soon so Caroline sighs, fits her foot into her stirrup.That jolts him into awareness and he takes several jerky steps, instinctively reachingfor her waist to assist her.

Caroline’sfaster, has ridden astride her whole life – slightly scandalous but her motherhad always refused to be tucked away in a carriage or trail behind the men at asedate pace and Caroline has happily followed her lead  - and she’s sitting comfortably in the saddleby the time Klaus is close enough to reach her.

“Besthurry,” she tells him sweetly, tipping her head in the direction of his horse.

He guessesher intent immediately, “Princess,” he says, voice low and thick with a censure.

OneCaroline doesn’t heed, digging in the heels of her boots so her horse takesoff. She laughs when she hers Klaus curse, the sound ringing through the emptystable yard.

Who knewquests could be such fun?

* * * * *

If anyonehad told Caroline that silence was a form of torture, she never would havebelieved them. She and Klaus had departed The Salvatore castle a few hoursbefore dawn and he hadn’t spoken a word to her since he’d thundered up the roadbehind her. It’s now passed midday and he’s only glowered. Her early attemptsat conversation had been answered with nothing but the barest grunts. Carolinehad been forced to give up. She’s tempted to sing but that would give her awayshould another traveler happen to hear.

She’s alsostarving, her back and thighs beginning to ache because if Klaus refused to converseshe’d decided to refuse to suggest a rest or a meal. It’s childish, she knowsbut if he’s intent on making her suffer in silence she’ll ensure he’s asuncomfortable as she can make him.

She sneaksa peek at him, finds him just as stone faced as he’d been the last time she’dchecked on him. Caroline huffs out an annoyed breath, only realizing hermistake when Klaus’ head turns towards her. “Tired, Princess?” he drawls.

“Caroline,”she corrects. Klaus opens his mouth, surely to refuse, but Caroline talks overhim. “What if someone should hear you addressing me so formally? Why, the newsthat I was travelling these lands with such meagre guard would spread likewildfire and we’d be forced to fend of bandits left and right.”

“Meagreguard?” Klaus repeats, highly offended.

She turnsaway, reaching for her flask of water to hide her smile. Perhaps she’s juststumbled onto a solution for her problem. She doesn’t necessarily want Klaus tobe angry with her but if she pokes at his temper, his healthy ego, he’sunlikely to be able to maintain his silence.

A burningdesire to be right, a willingness to fight to prove it, had been the source ofmany of their childhood clashes.

She shrugs,“I rarely see you in the practice yards anymore. It stands to reason that you’reno longer as skilled as you once were.”

“Justbecause you don’t see me, doesn’t mean I’m not there.”

Caroline groans,her head rolling back on her shoulders until she’s staring at the sky, “Mustyou only speak in meaningless nonsense?”

She can seehim in her peripheral vision, just barely, and he’s smirking, the lout. “You’re there every morning. Making aspectacle with Katerina. Surely your skill with your blades can save us shouldwe be ambushed?”

He’sobviously mocking her but Caroline’s stuck on his first words. They hadn’t beena question. “How do you know I practice every morning?”

“I am thecaptain of your personal guard.”

“Oh yes,how could I forget? So nice to know that I only matter because I am your job.” She winces at the nakedbitterness, the hurt that had spilled out with her snide words, urging herhorse to trot a little faster so he won’t be able to see the sheen of tearsthat has clouded her vision.

He allowsher the distance, a modicum of privacy. Somehow, that hurts even more.

* * * * *

They find avillage, a few hours after sunset. Klaus looks around, studying the buildings,the few people who remain outside. Caroline does the same, knows theassessments that he’s making. The street is swept, dotted with buildings ingood repair. The villagers are clean and seemingly pleasant, no drunkards orbeggars in sight.

Klaus mustfind the place pleasing enough, calls to a passerby, asking if there’s an inn.The man approaches and Caroline tips her head down, hoping the dimness and theshadow of her hat will hide her features. Luckily, he pays her no notice,converses briefly with Klaus.

There’s noinn, Klaus is informed and Caroline despairs for a moment. She’d been hopingfor a blanket, a bed, even one less plush than the feather stuffed mattressesshe’s accustomed too. There is a farmer, with a wife and several young sons, who’llprovide travelers a safe campsite, a hot dinner and a place to wash, for asmall price just a short ways down a lane.

Caroline’sstomach rumbles at the mention of hot food. She’d stocked her saddlebags withdry fruit and jerky, has been grazing all day, a home cooked meal sounds rapturous. Klaus thanks the villager forhis assistance, steers his horse in the indicated direction and Caroline isquick to follow.

“Have youthought of a name to go with your disguise,” Klaus murmurs, once they’re aloneagain.

Carolinecannot believe that she hadn’t. She’s been planning this for ages. “Stefan,”she decides. “After the young prince.”

Klaus isn’tpleased with her answer, “You’d name yourself after a boy so easilymanipulated?”

She laughs,more loudly than she should because the trill of it would easily mark her sex, “Whynot? Had he been shrewder I’d never have managed to steal away. I owe theprince a favor.”

“You mostcertainly do not,” Klaus clips out.

Hisexpression has turned thunderous, his jaw tight and brows drawn. If Carolinewere more familiar with caution she’d seek to soothe.

Instead,she inflames.

She’s got adragon to face. She might as well practice with another ornery beast.

Carolinebrings a fingertip to her chin, tapping as if she muses aloud, “Whatever sortof favor would he like, do you think? Katerina’s not a fan of kisses but I’dlike to investigate the matter myself. I can do at least that without risking ruination.”  

Klaus makes a noise, low and sharp andinfuriated.

Carolineignores the warning in the sound. “Perhaps a little more, hmm? I’ve been toldthat there are a number of pleasant things a woman can do with a partnerwithout surrendering her virginity. And Stefan is quite nice to look at.”

Klausthrows her a lethal glare, reaches over to slap her horse sharply on the rumpbefore urging his own into a gallop. Caroline’s mare gives chase and she has tolean down, grip tightly with her knees, in order to avoid being thrown.

Well. Seemsshe’d hit a nerve.

Carolinecouldn’t be more pleased.

[pass-the-bechdel]

Marvel Cinematic Universe: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, twice.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Eight (34.78% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Fifteen.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Film Quality:

Neither characters nor plot are engaging enough to hold strong interest, making the film feel longer than it is, plus there’s one character in particular whose behaviour seriously rankles. It’s not a terrible movie, but it is thoroughly uninspiring.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Liz manages a brief pass with her mother before the dance. Liz says goodbye to Betty.

Female characters:

Betty Brant.

Liz Toomes.

Michelle.

Marjory.

May Parker.

Karen.

Mrs Toomes.

Pepper Potts.

Male characters:

Adrian Toomes.

Mason.

Peter Parker.

Happy Hogan.

Tony Stark.

Jason Ionelli.

Ned.

Flash.

Abraham.

Mr Delmar.

Gary.

Steve Rogers.

Coach Wilson.

Shocker.

Aaron Davis.

OTHER NOTES:

Ah, here’s Peter’s video log from Civil War, where he has no idea why he’s even there and it’s completely irresponsible and inappropriate for Tony to have brought him in on something catastrophically dangerous with no preparation and none of the knowledge necessary to make an informed decision! I hate it. This makes me extremely hate Tony. I know I mentioned it already when I reviewed Civil War, but it’s super-true and not going to change any time soon. 

See, this thing where Peter is sacrificing academic and social experiences to hang out for Tony’s promised phone call? That’s on Tony. You can’t just rope a kid into your bullshit and then kick him back out into the world with a vague false promise and no follow-up of any kind. That’s not how kids work. It’s not fair to people in general, but it is especially not how kids work.

Peter having to run because he’s in the suburbs and there are no tall buildings is probably the best gag in this movie.

The inclusion of that little detail about the Washington Monument being built by slaves. Mmmhmm.

I find the plotting of this film very dull and predictable, like ‘oh, and now we’ll have another action set piece, now some cutesy highschool stuff’, etc, and as such I feel it drags excessively and I’m just sitting here waiting for each bit to be done with so that we can get to the next, so that it can be over too, because I’m not attached enough to any one or thing that’s happening for the predictable beats to hold internal interest. That said, the Washington Monument piece is pretty good.

The ludicrous ferry accident, not so much.

Tony shows up, lot of shit-talking, blaming Peter for not magically intuiting information which Tony didn’t give him. Urgh. I deeply, deeply hate this version of Tony. 

Toomes reveal is the most inspired choice of the film. Keaton kills it on Toomes’ own revelation of Peter’s identity.

This movie sure does go on.

This ‘screwed the pooch’ joke makes me want to bleach my ears. Also, this whole Avenger/press conference business is still Tony completely failing to appreciate how he’s upended this kid’s life; the right thing to do in this situation is not to lean into it and go ‘ok, but what if I upended it...more?’, just like the right way to deal with it was emphatically not to just kick the kid to the curb to figure things out for himself after that initial upending. I imagine I would have enjoyed this film sooo much more if I were not raging at Tony throughout.

Ok, let me just purge on the Tony thing before I go any further, otherwise I’m never gonna be able to focus properly on the rest of the movie. I hate what they’ve done with Tony. That’s obvious. I really, deeply disagree with it. Tony was a hard character to get to like, but the Iron Man films did really solid, intelligent work at achieving it despite the many and sundry hurdles, and the key to that was the fact that they had Tony, consistently, recognising the ways that his actions hurt others and then making the effort to fix that and fix himself, not just blowing it off, making some flashy gesture or throwing some money at the problem and then breezing on out like everything’s fine and none of it’s on him. The Avengers films - particularly Ultron - did significant work at tarnishing the character development of the Iron Man films, and then Civil War came in and - amidst the many, many sins Tony committed in that movie - handed the introduction of Spider-Man over to Tony in an act of incredibly irresponsible and reckless child endangerment, which this film proceeded to double-down on by having Tony completely fail to be a reasonable, thinking adult at any point. Frankly, I don’t feel that Tony’s initial decision to involve Peter in Civil War is forgivable, there’s no walking that back, but the least he could have done is to recognise that fact and make appropriate amends, which - as above - does not mean ignoring the kid any more than it means pandering to his hero complex. It makes me feel really, really old to be saying it, but Peter is a minor, he doesn’t have a strong perspective on the world yet, but he’s also old enough and wise enough that he can’t just have people throwing rules at him and expecting obedience; he needs to be treated with the respect of having things explained, but he also needs oversight because he isn’t mature enough to make choices without it. He needs guidance. That’s the position which Tony actively puts himself in and then fails to follow through on, and it leaves Peter feeling that he has to prove himself, that he has to further endanger himself in order to win the mentorship that Tony promised. As a character response and an emotional position for Peter, that’s great story fodder and logical follow-on from his introduction, and I can’t fault that. For Tony Stark though, who manages to both start and end this movie without actually learning anything, it makes me infuriated beyond belief.

THAT SAID, let’s segue to the natural place: to Peter. The good news is, if this film gets only one thing right, it’s that very precise balance of Peter’s age, with all its accompanying tumult; Peter is mature enough to feel like he’s in control of his life and choices and capable of taking on new, big, adult things, but not mature enough to realise the limitations that come with his age in terms of experience and worldview. He has that ‘teenagers think they know everything’ factor, but without it being conveyed as either too arrogant or too whiny to be palatable. It’s a tough ask for teen characters, generally, as the creative forces behind them are almost invariably adults (and usually have been for quite some time), and it’s hard to recapture the mentality of a teen once you’ve grown beyond that mentality yourself. When Peter declares that school doesn’t matter anymore because he’s ‘probably never coming back’, he’s gonna become an Avenger and that’s his whole life plan right now, no real details, no clarity in what exactly that means for his day-to-day life or where he gets his income or how things might go in the long term, that’s a classic teen moment for him: his future is a concept, all of its parts internally encompassed, and it’s not just that he dismisses the questions, logistics, and concerns that an adult would know to raise, it’s that these things don’t even occur to him in the first place. Peter is in this middle-position, the transition from child to adult, and he’s not as far through that transition as he thinks he is (teenagers never are). Altogether, I may not be enamoured by this film, nor am I especially compelled by Tom Holland’s take on this character (he’s not bad, he’s just...not that enthralling, either), but the particular pitch of Peter’s mentality is spot-on without being, in itself, just another tromp through dull and overwrought teen-angst cliches.

The rest of the movie, on the other hand...I feel kinda bad about spending that over-long first paragraph railing against a certain billionaire who could have done us all a favour and not been in this film (or at least, not as prominently), giving Peter more of a chance to explore his spider-self and what it means to his life on his own terms, instead of being so heavily influenced by how he fits into the wider universe, and then maybe we could have fleshed out more of Peter’s normal life in order to make all the extraneous pieces of this story more meaningful, and less, y’know, extraneous. As-is, I don’t feel like I’ve got a lot to say about it, it’s fairly generic and unremarkable, and while there are some good set-up pieces - Toomes’ whole descent-to-criminal-enterprise-due-to-economic-pressures thing has great narrative potential and scope for reflection upon capitalism in the real world - the story never explores any of those pieces enough to even half-ass a real analysis of the idea. Toomes is rendered a mostly stock villain, the same as Liz gets little to make her more than a bland Love Interest, May is an interchangeable maternal figure, and Ned - while fun and easily a highlight in a cast that’s hardly vying for the title - is also a bit of a heavy-handed stereotype sitting in the comic relief/sidekick chair (the fact that he essentially references this in-story, fourth-wall-denting style, does not make it less uninspired). And I’m not sure how we’re supposed to see Zendaya’s MJ as anything other than a gimmick at this point, kinda seems like she was literally only there so that her preferred name could be used as a weightless ‘reveal’ at the end. Like I said up in the notes, I found the movie to be excessively predictable in a bad way, bringing me out of the viewing experience to count off the minutes and story beats, and as such, even though this is not the worst film Marvel has churned out to date, it is one of my least favourites. I know there are a lot of people who loved it, who love Tom Holland’s version of Peter Parker and found this movie light and fun, and it’s not that I can’t see where they’re coming from with that...I guess it’s just that whatever parts of the story are self-contained are so recycled from so many other films of this ilk, I can’t find anything to attach to, and then the rest of the story which could have been spent making something a little more interesting from those basic, predictable bones, instead is wasted on an over-emphasis on placing this movie into the MCU’s larger framework (an ironic waste of resources since you can easily skip this film without getting confused watching the next MCU movies with Spider-Man in them, Infinity War and Endgame). Anyway. I fear I’m just gonna start repeating myself for lack of anything else to say; I don’t care for this movie, it had at least a good little piece of heart in it but it wasted too much time on things which did not enhance this story or the wider universe anyway, I hate Tony Stark now. The end.