#and the way he turned that grief into obsession like damn dude

[grinchwrapsupreme]

i'm not gonna recover from chas tenenbaum telling his father "i've had a rough year, dad" while on the verge of tears and then immediately hiding that pain again to go show his sons the new dog like nothing happened

[a-pretty-nerd]

Your Favorite Bastard Men As Parents

Shigaraki, Aizawa, Shinsou, and Amajiki x pregnant reader headcannons!

ALL CHARACTERS ARE OF 👏 LEGAL 👏 AGE 👏 18+

A/N: This was bound to happen. If you follow me, you know I have a breeding kink, and YOU KNOW I'm a slut for some good x pregnant!reader content! So here's a few hcs for my favorite boys!

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

1. Shouta Aizawa

Initial Reaction:

"That can't be right."

Denial.

It wasn't planned. He never even planned on settling down with anyone, much less having his own kids!

It's a wonder how you even ended up with him in the first place!

He's not super upset, he's not angry or afraid. He's just in disbelief.

Truly he doesn't even believe its real till he sees a sonogram and you're starting to show.

Pregnancy:

Aizawas an all or nothing dude. Once he feels how real things are getting, he's all in.

He stays up late doing research, books, parenting blogs, birthing videos. You name it, he's looked into it.

He worries about you constantly. He calls you from work every chance he gets a break.

He makes you eat uber healthy, gross green smoothies, stinky teas, anything and everything good for you and the baby.

It becomes a habit for him to reach over and run his hands over your belly. It's soothing for him.

Fatherhood:

A+ Dad.

Turns out being used to not getting enough sleep is perfect for parenthood.

He feels bad he doesn't spend more time home, even if he's plenty home.

He doesn't always understand his kid, but he'll always support them.

Very patient.

Catch this man asleep in the rocking chair with the baby passed out on his bare chest.

Ugh, so sweet. ❤

2. Hitoshi Shinsou

Initial Reaction:

"You can't be serious."

He scares you at first. Not because he's mad but because he looks void of emotion at first.

He's not mad. Actually, he doesn't know how to feel at first.

I imagine you wouldn't be activley trying, but you weren't against the idea.

He holds you close when he realizes he's frightened you. He smiles and rubs your back.

"This is incredible. I love you so much."

Pregnancy:

He's 100% lost.

Suddenly, he knows nothing and he's trying his hardest to help you.

Really, he'll do almost anything you ask.

He'll even try your strange cravings with you. Turns out peanut butter pickle sandwhiches aren't all that bad!

Shinsou is a body worship kind of guy and when you get pregnant...omg be prepared.

He LOVES the way you grow. When your belly gets big, he can't keep his hands off you. Not that he could before, how do you think you got pregnant in the first place? Damn.

Fatherhood:

Again, he's very lost.

But he's so determined to be a good dad.

He's amazing once he gets the hang of it. Really, he's great.

He loves, loves, LOVES his baby. He comes home every day so excited to see them.

Annoys his coworkers with baby pictures.

Imagine Shinsou doing baby talk. ❤

3. Tamaki Amajiki

Initial Reaction:

"What? Really!? Are you sure!? You're sure you're sure!?"

Nervous wreck.

Even if you were trying, he'd be nervous. Overjoyed, but nervous.

What if something went wrong? What if something happened to him at work? What of he couldn't be there for you?

He's excited, but so scared.

What if he's not a good enough dad?

He starts to become a little overbearing.

Pregnancy:

He worries about you constantly.

If anything, I mean ANYTHING goes wrong, he starts to doomsday prep.

He's always so quick to get you to the dr, the hospital, the midwife, whatever.

He's obsessed with your body though. The way you look all round and plump and so perfect. He's in love all over again.

He cried when he first heard the baby's heartbeat. Like, "it's just so fast and l-little."

Tries to be there for everything. Every dr appointment, every couples class, all of it.

He becomes a hermit. He doesn't wanna go anywhere or do anything. He just wants you, him, and the baby home and safe.

Fatherhood:

He cried so hard when he first held them.

So nervous but so determined.

He just wants to be a good dad so bad.

He's a bit of a push over. He spoils them rotten.

Cant stand to hear the baby cry. He rushes over even at the sound of fussing.

Gets to the crib faster than you most of the time.

He loves to sit in the rocking chair and feed the baby. Its very calming and it makes him feel like a good dad. ❤

4. Tomura Shigaraki

Initial Reaction:

"...What?"

Fear. Absolute utter terror.

He's petrified the moment the words, "I'm pregnant" leave your lips.

He's very quiet, his movements are slow, he looks calm, but he's shaking.

He doesn't know what to do or what to say.

He loves you, he truly does. You're the first person he truly respects and trusts and cares about. So why is he so afraid?

He doesn't know the first thing about babies, and becoming a father, the very figure he struggles with most, shakes him to his very core.

Pregnancy:

At first, he goes through the stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, but finally, he accepts.

He hides you away when you start to show. If anything were to happen, he needs to know the two of you would be safe. He visits, often, almost everyday. But he doesn't live with you.

There's apart of him that wants this. Wants the normalcy or a family. He wants a chance to redeem himself.

To be good at heart. He takes very good care of you. He's very specific about hiding the pregnancy from others.

At this rate he's the leader of an army, a movement, he can't risk you being involved in that anymore.

He loves being able to care for you. Something in him loves being so sweet and kind just for you. You're the only one he could ever love and trust this much.

Fatherhood:

When he first saw them, something snapped in him. Something so small and precious, he helped make that? Half of that, is him?

But they're so...perfect?

Even though he has full control of his decaying quirk at this point, he's afraid to hold the baby.

So for a while he'll only hold them close to his chest, tucked into his arm. He balls his hands into fists to be sure he doesn't touch them.

He's in shock and disbelief because he can't believe the baby is so perfect. At first he's convinced something is wrong with them. But as time goes on, he's reassured, they're fine.

He's constantly thinking about them. Constantly wanting to make them happy, to ease their crying, to soothe them.

It's heartwarming to watch him read to the baby. He reads to them, every night. ❤

[inlovewiththefictionalcharacters]

SECOND CHANCE

CHAPTER - 1 : GARDNER

Pairing: (Dark) Andy Barber x Reader.

Warning(s): Non-Con; Dub-con; Slow-burn(Maybe); Possible Defending Jacob spoilers; Possessiveness; Grief; Angst; Any other possible warnings will be added in the future chapters.

Summary: Follow Andy’s journey after the horrible accident that turned his whole world upside down.

*****

Series Masterlist

*****

Never in his life did Andy thought he’ll go through what he did. His whole family and himself going through Jacob’s trial is one thing, but Laurie intentionally trying to take their son’s life by crashing the car to the side of the tunnel is another. He can’t even imagine why on earth did she even think that her son is capable of murdering someone. Sure, Jacob did do a lot of weird stuff that are not normally done by other teenagers. But he believed his son was innocent. And while his son was in coma, attached to IV’s, the woman who put his life in danger came out sustaining minimal injuries.

The events following that are even more ridiculous. No matter what Andy did, she always doubted him. He thought that he deserved it. After all, he did hid about his father from her and would have probably never told her about it if it wasn’t for Jacob’s trial. Andy was fine with her maintaining some distance from him after every thing that happened. After all, the distance was there between them and kept increasing during the trial. And then there was a lot of secrecy that confused him. They never maintained any secrets between them, well apart from Andy not telling her about his father. That really confused him. But what he couldn’t stand was the unbelievable hatred she’s got for Jacob and it kept growing each day. First, it was just her avoiding to look at any of Jacob’s pictures or things. He chalked it up to her feeling guilty about the accident. But then there was her literally just removing all the things that had any connection to Jacob and piling it up to one a corner in the room that those things were in. He didn’t understand why she did that. Not until one day he couldn’t find those things in those rooms anywhere and found them in trash, just as he found the baby pictures of Jacob in the trash can right before the car crash happened. And when he brought those things back inside their home and confronted Laurie about it, she just screamed at him, kept yelling at him that she didn’t want to see them anymore. It was during that time when she literally told him that she hates Jacob. Her own son. That she regrets giving birth to him and should have gotten rid of him like her friends told her to when Jacob was conceived. 

He can’t even fathom how a mother could hate her own son. And then she went on blaming Andy for everything that happened in their life. He tried taking her to therapy and even went to couples therapy with her, hoping to reduce the distance between them, but soon realized that nothing can fix things between them. Andy soon found out that one of the main reasons for the growing reasons between him and Laurie was the affair that Laurie’s been having  with some dude that kept visiting Newton frequently. He definitely didn’t peg Laurie for the cheating type, but oh well. 

But the final nail in the coffin was when Laurie tried to kill Jacob, again. He was visiting Jacob that day and Laurie insisted that she’ll tag along with him. Andy wasn’t up for it, but Laurie was persistent. Andy caved in and took her with him to the hospital. While Andy actually spent some time with Jacob in the unit, Laurie just stood outside the room, not even bothering to come. Then Andy went to talk to the doctor in-charge of Jacob’s treatment to check on the progress of Jacob’s health. When he returned, the sight in front of him chilled him to his bones. Jacob has his eyes closed and was struggling to breathe, his chest was moving frantically while Laurie just stared at him holding the oxygen mask he was wearing earlier, away from him.

“What are you doing?!” Andy growled at her, storming inside towards her while Laurie jumped and looked at him with wide eyes.

Hearing him, a nurse and doctor rushed in and helped Jacob breathe again and checked his vitals while Andy grabbed Laurie’s arm and dragged her away from his son. That was the final nail in the coffin. With some help from his previous employer, since he was still in her good books, Andy drew out a restraining order against Laurie for Jacob and also signed the divorce papers, also stating that he wanted to get full custody of Jacob. He had stayed in Newton till the divorce was finalized and also got full custody of Jacob since Laurie wanted to do nothing to do with the kid which made it easier. The house was sold too and he didn’t bother packing anything that Laurie had any input on. He just packed all of his stuff and Jacob’s sold some stuff and then gave some to charity and then moved to a place where all the ruckus and the media circus was far less. He wanted to live in peace and hopefully, Jacob will heal in time. He hoped that Jacob will be all good and healed in no time but the progress on his part is way less.

*****

It was another day spent working in the little bakery that Y/N owned. Y/N was truly lucky to find Gardner of all places to settle down for now. And she was even more lucky to find this gem of a bakery that was on sale. She literally placed almost all of her savings on it and didn’t regret it one bit about it in the past 3 years. The sales were good and the staff of 4 that worked in shifts were also good and understanding, never making a mess about things. They were like her second family and were there for her when things got a bit overwhelming. She hated dumping her stuff on them but they lived in a community and most were practically a few streets down from where she lived. 

It was a few minutes past 3 in the afternoon and Y/N looked at her watch and cussed.

“Damn, I’m getting late today...” she muttered and looked up at the older woman who was one of the staff.

“Agatha, could you mind taking over for today? Charlotte is closing today and I have to go... I made a promise...” Y/N started and the older woman just her off.

“Just go on child. Don’t worry. Char and I will look over the place. You stay safe on your way” she told her.

Y/N smiled gratefully at her, grabbed her purse and dashed outside. 

By the time she reached home, she sighed in relief and jogged towards the threshold, unlocked the door and walked inside, closing the door behind her. Walking into the living room, a smile broke on her face at the sight in front of her.

“MAMA!” a voice yelled enthusiastically upon her entering the living room.

Y/N crouched down as the toddler ran towards her as quickly as her little feet can take her and she wrapped her arms arounds Y/N’s neck.

“Hi baby!” Y/N cooed as she pressed kisses on the hair and forehead of the little toddler.

“Hi mama! I vuv you!” the little being said.

Y/N’s gaze then landed on Elie who was babysitting her little girl and smiled at her which was returned. The teenager has also been a savior babysitting the little girl whenever Y/N asked her too.

Y/N then looked at Ada, her little girl and told her “Baby, why don’t you go and get your things while mommy speaks to Elie?”

Ada nodded her head and quickly dashed towards the huge box of toys that she has. Y/N then looked at Elie and sighed.

“God, Elie. You are literally my savior, have I ever told you that?” she asked.

Elie grinned and replied “I think you might have mentioned it a time or two, but meh. Ada is the sweetest, and the most easiest to deal with. And I love hanging out with her.”

Y/N smiled gratefully. She still couldn’t understand how she got this much lucky with everything. She then pulled out thirty dollars out of her purse and handed them to Elie, who took them and bid goodbye for the day. Just then Ada ran towards her, with a few of her stuffies.

“Mama! Tea pawty!” Ada yelled enthusiastically. 

Y/N chuckled and grabbed a blanket along with a few of Ada’s stuff for the tea party with her stuffies and the two of them walked outside towards the tiny lawn they had. After setting all the things down, she sat down with Ada and was busy playing with her when the movement of a truck got her attention which was following a sleek black Audi that stopped in front of the house beside theirs. It used to be empty, but Y/N heard from Mrs. Williams that the previous owners have finally sold it to someone, but Mrs. Williams didn’t know any details about the new owner. 

Y/N saw the the truck stop behind the car and the packers and movers immediately opened the back of the truck, carefully moving all the stuff out and to the inside of the house while a guy got out of the car and lead them inside. From what she could see, he’s tall and got dark hair. While Y/N was looking at all the movement that was happening, little Ada’s gaze was transfixed at the sleek black Audi. The little girl, according to Y/N has an unhealthy obsession with cars, way more obsession that what a normal toddler has. 

“Look, mama! Carrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!” Ada said, prolonging the R, making Y/N look at her and giggle. 

She could literally see Ada’s eyes glowing while staring at the car and Y/N shook her head in amusement. Unbeknownst to them, the owner of the said car suddenly turned his attention towards his new neighbors and caught the cute little girl’s gaze on his car and a small smile grazed his lips.

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic  

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.” 

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze. 

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.”  Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile. 

It’s been a real headache of a night. 

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm. 

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right. 

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County). 

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes. 

“Like-- like-- with a combine?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.” 

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big. 

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold. 

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks. 

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow. 

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole. 

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering. 

“What?” Dean demands. 

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive. 

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?” 

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.” 

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It’s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on. 

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks. 

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!” 

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out. 

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth. 

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground. 

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming. 

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

[once-upon-a-scenario]

The Pillars with Pets; Part 2 of the Modern AU

:D __ Mitsuri -so Mitsuri actually wanted a dog of her own so bad and took the first opportunity to get one -she adopted her bab from a shelter -originally, she was thinking more along the lines of a small, floofy dog -like a Pomeranian, maybe, or a poodle -but -b u t -look. The huge, ambiguously mixed dog was. Right there. And she had such big, sweet eyes. -‘twas love at first sight -Aki-chan is an older dog and has a limp, but she shares her owner’s zest for life -together, they’re so full of energy that it’s downright terrifying -but in the best possible way! -Aki-chan gives the best slobbery kisses. Aki-chan is always there to wake Mitsuri up with happy barking in the morning. They cuddle together at night. -Aki-chan is an absolute sweetheart but considering her sheer size, she acts as a very effective deterrent for folks who are just plain Not Nice to Mitsuri -it’s like…the dog has a sixth sense for when her owner is uncomfortable or sad -Mitsuri likes to knit sweaters for Aki in the wintertime -they don’t always fit quite right but it’s fun! -also bakes Aki dog treats at home -tends to want to share food with her; has to remind herself that feeding dogs human stuff isn’t generally that good of an idea -(however, Aki will inevitably end up getting a few tidbits when Mitsuri’s cooking/baking) -(only the stuff that’s ok for her to eat, though!) -also also Aki is exactly That Kind of dog, the type that you’d think only appears in animated movies -the type that matchmakes -she does that 101 Dalmatian thing to Mitsuri and this cute brunette dude they met at the park -(y’know, the whole “lol hoomans I am apparently the only one smart enough to notice the chemistry between you so I shall tie you together with my leash until one of you breaks”) Obanai: -I mean he canonically has a snek -Kaburamaru is a pure boy -Iguro first got his snake as a teenager, when he was still living with his family -it was the only true gift he was ever allowed from them -his home life…was not the best -he hated his parents and siblings and used to dream of the day he’d be able to leave -moved out as soon as he could afford it with Kaburamaru in tow -he loves his noodle all the more because snakes live long lives; Kaburamaru’s been with him through thick and thin, through all the bad times in his life -and Iguro moved out, he really was Iguro’s only friend -at this point, Iguro treats him more like a person than anything -he’ll sit next to Kaburamaru’s enclosure with a book in hand and chat to him about how ridiculous the plot is -will sometimes just let the snek boi out and let him wiggle around his neck while he does other stuff -hates social media but will post pics of the noodle -it’s all his Instagram has: -Aesthetic pics or cute videos of Kaburamaru just chilling -hates his neighbors and will answer the door with Kaburamaru on his shoulders + talking to the snake just to freak them out -kids in the neighborhood spread rumors that he’s a ~witch~ -he literally doesn’t give a damn as long as they leave him alone lmao -the reptilian equivalent of “Crazy Old Cat Lady” -funny thing is that he isn’t particularly fond of animals in general -Kaburamaru is, he’s decided, his first and last snake/pet -has heart attacks on the daily once he starts dating this really wonderful woman who owns a heckin dog, and a huge one at that. Iguro is not used to animals that shed. -also dog-proofed his house at first out of paranoia that Aki would eat his snek -(though he later warmed up to her and decided to trust that she probably wouldn’t lol) Uzui: -has two ferrets -one is cinnamon, the other is white -white bab is named Momo -cinnamon bab is named…Chanel -(can you guess who got naming rights on Chanel) -(hint: it was not one of Tengen’s wives) -the ferrets were bought because everybody in the household wanted a pet but nobody could agree on what animal they were going to get -(Tengen wanted a bird, Makio wanted a dog, Suma wanted a bunny and Hinatsuru wanted them all to shut up and actually do some research) -eventually, they somehow came up with a combination of the desired pet traits and decided that ferrets were the best fit -anyway Momo & Chanel are spoilt rotten -they live the most Expensive, most flamboyant lives a pair of ferrets could possibly live -Suma thinks they’re adorable and babies them -Makio loves how energetic and spunky they are -Hinatsuru is just quietly affectionate. It’s so cute to watch the rest of the family coo over them -Tengen considers them his children -he is the pet owner who dresses up for Halloween with them -(once he and the other three went as pirates with the ferrets as their parrots ack I hate that that rhymes lol) -and makes them Instagram famous -is probably considering dedicating a Youtube channel to them as well -it’s like -bruh -how obsessed could you possibly be with a pair of small furry slinkies -(very obsessed, apparently)  -Chanel & Momo: *exist*  -Tengen: fucking superb, you flamboyant little goblins :D  -shows them off constantly to his friends  -it was especially bad for the first couple of months after he got them  -not that the showing off has died down over the years, the others have just…gotten used to his dramatics by now  -tbh usually somebody (probably Hinatsuru) would stop him, but the other three are also too obsessed with their babies to be Mature about it  Sanemi:  -“Maybe I’ll get a dog,” Sanemi said to himself  -“Other animals are kinda stupid and not my thing”  -“Hi,” said Fate, dumping a betta fish in a plastic cup on his doorstep. “Will it work if I try to appeal to your soft side?”  -Sanemi is  r a g e  -what kind of bastard just dumps a living fISH on a stranger’s doorstep  -bro  -wtf  -he’s so angry  -hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh  -well, he keeps it in that plastic cup on his kitchen table, because he has *no clue* what to do with it  -tries to call a few people and make them take it  -fails  -he stares furiously at the fish a little more before starting to feel uneasy because…can it…really survive in such a tiny cup  -buys a cheap secondhand fish tank and some fish food that’s apparently for bettas  -(Genya: no, see, this one’s specially for betta fish  Sanemi: wtf is the difference)  -posts stuff on social media “is there any sad shithead out there willing to take a stupid blue fish”  -some people answer, Sanemi makes it clear that they have to chat with him first before coming to pick up the fish because he’s not a *monster,* he’s not gonna send the creature to a neglectful owner  -turns out, he hates every single candidate. Or maybe he’s just…getting really knowledgeable about betta fish. Maybe he’s joined a group for first-time betta owners. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe he bought a new tank and new food and the betta is actually starting to look kinda perky and flashy  -(Siamese fighting fish. It’s a fighting fish. It’s Fierce. Sanemi…does not dislike it. It’s kinda rad.)  -Come to think of it. He did own stag beetles as a kid. Maybe dogs aren’t the only pets worth owning…?  -the betta is eventually named Dragon, he gets a big tank, balanced diet, and a Marimo mossball friend, and Sanemi becomes a fish expert despite the fact that he swears this is “temporary”  -(Shinobu, dropping by for lunch/to antagonize him: lmao right a ‘’’temporary’’’ tank that you decorated yourself and ‘’’temporary’’’ bloodworms in your freezer and ‘’’temporary’’’ smiling when you come home and your fish swims out to greet you)  Himejima (warning: a little sad compared to the others. Some brief mentions of death/loss and grief) -has a seeing eye dog  -she’s a black Labrador named Nana, and has been living with him for a few years now  -they’re honestly a perfect match  -Nana’s a sweet, steady dog and is good company for her owner  -when she isn’t working, she’s pretty content to amble around the house and/or snuggle up to Gyoumei  -having her has had a huge positive influence on him  -he wasn’t exactly in the best state, emotionally, after losing his kids all those years ago  -it took him a while to heal  -and Nana’s presence grounded him throughout  -she kept him from kind of shrinking into himself  -at his darkest moments, Gyoumei might have preferred to reject help, even when his friends came to call  -but Nana always barked happily and ran up to the door to welcome visitors  -she’d whine and wake him up in the mornings  -offer a ton of slobbery doggy kisses  -it helped him open up again, little by little  -Gyoumei is of the opinion that Nana was his main teacher in relearning how to trust people  -he occasionally organizes playdates for her with Aki and Mitsuri  -Mitsuri also knits matching sweaters for Aki and Nana  -she sometimes throws in a sweater for Gyoumei, too  -Nana is often bamboozled by Gyoumei when he prays or works out  -hooman  -hooman what are these strange and repetitive movements that you do  -hooman why do you sit still with your hands together and ignore me  -it’s kinda funny how she gets confused and starts sniffing Gyoumei or nudging him with her nose  -though Gyoumei no longer truly requires encouragement to get out of bed in the mornings, Nana still makes a point of waking him up with kisses -and nuzzles -and doing this weird thing where she puts her paws on his cheeks like she’s trying to cup his face in her ‘‘‘hands’‘‘ lol -it coaxes a rare smile out of Gyoumei -Nana’s existence in general makes him smile

[originalcontent]

Oooookay. Welcome back. Posting about pathologic part 4 I think? Part 4. We just reached Act 4 too, so everything’s going according to schedule. This gaming session had some ups and downs. Ups: That good good lore, and a lot of quality time spent with my good pals Daniil  and Changeling and also Clara apparently, although she might not be my good pal after all, but w/e. Downs: FUuuuUUUUCKkkk we are so bad at video games, and also the kin folk have become A Lot, holy shit. Where to start.

Okay so this time the game wasn’t actually super stressful for me personally bc this time I kind of just handed off the controls to my sister every time shit got dangerous. She’s a lot better at video games than me. Shoutout @akpaley​ for keeping me from dying from stress in real life.

The drawback of this is that since she’s a lot better at video games she’s also a lot more willing to actually take risks rather than just running away from literally everything. Which I won’t deny, has gotten us a lot of much-needed money and resources but also.

WELCOME TO THE FUCKING DEATH SPIRAL PART OF THE GAME. I guess it had to happen eventually, right? Fuuuuuuuck us, do you have any fucking idea how much shit you have to redo when you’re randomly shanked by some dude every fifteen minutes? And they’re harder to fight every time we come back, apparently, and also our health is like permanently half gone? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck why are there not more clocks.

Victor Kain, you were the one who made the clocks?? I could fucking kiss you. I owe you my life. Or like, six hundred of my lives. Hhh.

Okay, seriously though, the clock lore is actually kind of sick. Victor told us that they’re smaller versions of the cathedral, and we were like “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THaT’S WHerE wE RESET THE GaME IN THe PROLOGUE!!!!!!! METAPHYSICS!!!!!!!!!” The Kains are so cool.

(Maria Kaina got infected tho. Sorry, you. :( Although technically that happens later.)

Um, we gave the rest of our shmowder to Khan. We’re out now. We’ve been looking for more but haven’t found anything.

Also we made a random potion, and the plague showed up and was like “fuck you,” and I was like “damn, calm the hell down, you’re the one fucking killing people.”

Met with the Saburovs more. They were like “we have another suspect!” and I was like “yeah they probably don’t but w/e” and my sister was like “they’re in an infected land and we should probably save their lives” and I was like “why do we care about helping the Saburovs again, literally all they do is accuse random people of killing my dad, the Kains are obviously the best family, we should just be throwing in with them” and she was like “that’s not all they do, they also run the guards, you know those guys who patrol plague districts?” and I was like “okay fuck you’re right let’s visit them” and it turns out that that there was actually some super cool lore pertaining to the town’s mistresses. Also, god if they don’t have some cool reflections. I love everything about this town’s history.

Afterwards we randomly decided to visit Yulia for literally no reason, and she was like “I’m glad you’re here, I have a lot of super heavy important shit to discuss with you about the Inquisition that will be here tomorrow, it sure is convenient that you’re in my neighborhood for some reason even though I live in an incredibly inconvenient location?” Also she knows something about the nature of Artemy, Daniil, and Clara-or maybe the Changeling but she called her Clara? Oh yeah, Daniil was there too for some reason. Poor guy, I don’t think he’s okay. He cried on my shoulder a lot, he was endearingly open and earnest and for once I felt bad about the dialogue options wherein Artemy throws shade.

And then Clara happened to be standing outside literally right then? I wonder if that was going to be a big quest location and we just happened to arrive right before the game told us to go there anyway. I think that’s it actually. We’re so good, damn. Clara keeps pulling shit and then immediately trying to reconcile and asking for help. I really like her, but we really shouldn’t be trusting her right?

Oh Murky was also there and she set up a meeting between us and her “friend” and that night we went and Clara and Changeling were both there and I’m so confused???? What is her deal? But!! Changeling facilitated a deal between me and the plague! And Murky is now off the hit list!!!!!!!!!! Does this mean she’ll live? Anyway the plague started talking to us, and our infection rose a bit in an unhealable way, and, dumbasses that we were, said “wow this is probably all just the natural consequence of the bargain we made. Guess there’s literally nothing we can do to address this.” (Spoiler: That is not the case, the cost of the pact was literally just that we became infected and would have to cure it with fire before it killed us. We figured that out eventually, I promise.)

Fast forward to the next day after we finish the day’s entire fucking plotline, when we have done literally nothing so our infection’s increased a shit ton and it starts actually killing us. And since we only have like half our potential health bar from getting killed so much, we literally can’t survive long enough to treat it. We run around trying to cure ourselves and die like ten more times before we finally accept that we just have to go back in time to before the infection was this bad, try to get cured immediately, and redo the whole day. There’s a whole fucking skeleton out by the theatre by now btw. Fucking death spirals. This play session took a long fucking time okay?

Alright, flash backward again. After talking with Changeling, we visit Stakh because after rescuing him twice in a row he promised we could talk. We go to his house and he’s sleeping, or maybe just pretending to sleep, but either way Artemy has the absolute sweetest little monologue, just talking to him, and so much has happened but I can tell there’s still a lot of tenderness there between them even if it’s buried deep, and it’s just such a soft scene against such a harsh story.

Guess who’s dead by morning.

The next day Aglaya showed up and was like “see me immediately,” so obviously we visit Capella and then town hall first off. Daniil’s there, he bitches to me about Aglaya for a bit. So cute, we really are friends. I promise to help him with corpse duty bc Capella wanted me to visit Grace anyway. We talk to the official people at the official desks, one is collecting babies, one is giving me some lunch money as a very good reward for being a very good little surgeon, and one is telling me that actually money is illegal now but here are some free coupons that actually are too cheap to buy anything with.

Aglaya is the woman from the prologue! Hhhh things are really building to a point, aren’t they. I wonder how Yulia knows her. But damn, the whole village was out there waiting to meet with her weren’t they.

I made a deal with the rat prophet to clear some space in the graveyard so Grace would be okay. Dunno what will come of that. I’ve been seeing him everywhere lately though.

I met with Oyun and gave him my dad’s house. I met with Aspity and was like “did you kill Stakh” and she gave me some vague shit, and in general I am very upset at the kinfolk right now but I tried to save them anyway. Went to the termitary and did the whole termitary thing. Wow that sure is a place, right? God, have I ever mentioned how much I love all the screaming soundtracks  in this game.

Damn, Taya’s whole child queen vibe is unsettling.

The whole termitary is horrible, and what the kin folk have been put through is horrible, but their obsession with blood and strength legit terrifies me. I’ve spent all my time until now trying to convince everyone that they aren’t bad, and that they aren’t to blame for the disease, but now they want to kill? And they really really really want me to be a killer too. And the whole thing with Taya is creepy as fuck too, she’s just a kid. Anyway, we’re sending Vlad the older to them, I don’t know whether he or his son deserves to be torn apart more, but Changeling was really upset at the idea of Vlad the younger going there, so I guess we’re backing her. We run all around town making sure the right Olgimsky is going, and then we realize we actually have a few hours left so we take a hospital shift too! And then we die of disease like six times.

Okay, flash forward again, we’ve gone back, gotten some guy to molotov cocktail us, redone the entire termitary thing, saved the game on Vlad’s clock after sending him to his doom (sorry dude). That’s where we’re at currently.

(Only it’s not actually, we went back and spent like an hour going back and forth between the termitary and Oyun again trying to deal with their shit, and everyone was like “murder all dissenters :D” and I was like “what the fuck” and the day was almost over but then a dude stabbed us and we randomly died, and none of these places had clocks, so at that point we were basically like “yeah it’s after midnight, let’s just call it quits.”)

Anything else......oh, the warehouses are at risk again. Notkin and Sticky, what would I do if anything happened to them. I hope my medicines are good enough, I gave some to Bad Grief too but now all there really is to do is wait. :(

Oh, I once again have thoughts on how fucking theatrical is it that everything in the game is simultaneously literal and metaphorical, it’s gorgeous, and have I mentioned the costuming choices for the Orderlies and the Plague, hhhhhhhh, not to say anything nice about Mark fucking Immortell, but he knows what he’s doing with this thing. Listen if this post weren’t already way too long I would just gush about the theatrical elements again, but sadly it is too long.

Okay, that was our latest session! We’ll be back either very soon or in like three weeks.

[justmickeyfornow]

How do you sit down and write? Like do you write at tea/coffee shop to increase that anesthetics writer creativity? Or hole up under your blanket? I’ve been trying to write something for 2 months now without much progress. Any words of wisdom?

Boy, do I got a few tips for you!! 

These tips are mostly if you’re writing a story (but some work both ways), so if you’re writing a paper or a dissertation or something with no progress, I’ll gladly do another post for that!

Step right up and welcome to Mickey’s....

Sit Yo Ass Down And Write Crash Course

1. Tip number uno:

Never sit your ass down and write. 

Hear me out, hear me out. If you’re anything like me, then you’re probably a serial procrastinator who’s always in desperate need to just not do what needs to be done. It’s quite simple. All you gotta do is trick that damn beautiful but procrastinating brain of yours. 

How? Well, I’m glad you asked!

I actually do my best writing standing in lines! Yup! Standing in lines has written some of the most intense scenes in PI. Hospital and airport waiting areas? Yup. Lotsa writing done there! Basically, if you find yourself waiting for something, pull up your phone and start writing. Half of PI was written on the subway, on buses, or in cars. I don’t know what it is, but my brain becomes hyperactive at that point. Like I have to finish writing this scene before reaching the front of the line or else I’ll make a fool of myself in front of the pretty barista lady.

For us procrastinators, we like to find any and every excuse not to work. But when you’re not actually working and your doing something else instead, our procrastinating brain doesn’t really identify the action as writing.

Believe it or not I never actually ‘sit down and write’. I only do so when I’m editing. During the editing process, I force myself to sit down on an actual chair, in front of an actual laptop/computer screen, use an actual keyboard, and edit! It’s brutal! Makes my procrastinating brain go antsy!

2. Tip number two:

If you get an idea, stop, drop, and type!

Don’t think about it. Don’t overthink the idea. Just jot it down on your phone. I don’t care if you were talking to someone and it would be rude to do so. Because as soon as you let go of that idea and say, “I’ll write it down later” then poof! it’s gone! 

Repeat after me: STOP. DROP. AND TYPE.

3. Tip number trzy (Polish):

never write perfectly from the start. 

Write in bullet form if you have to. Or just type the idea you have in your head. The more you pressure yourself to writing something perfectly, the more you’ll forget your idea. And this works with both story writing and academic writing as well.

Writing is a lot like drawing. You start with pencil, draw the basics - dialogue, single action,  main thing that happens - then using your pencil, draw some of the details - the he said she said parts, turn the actions into full sentences with adjectives and description - then lastly add in the color - the punctuation, the indentations, and the splitting of paragraphs - and finally you have a picture.

Let me give you an example. This is a simple scene that I’m gonna write on the spot from the random phrase “There’s no space for my ice cream”. (I initially screen recorded a video for you, but then when I came to upload it, I unfortunately realized that Tumblr doesn’t allow videos on asks....)

So here you see just random dialogue. No actions even.

Then I added dialogue above it. So what you write first doesn’t necessarily mean what’s gonna come first.

More dialogue and some action.

Here I started fixing it up. Added indentations. Set a scene with Lena being in the other room and all.

And then Tada!

So, As you can see, I start with basic dialogue, just what I think they might say (it changes a lot btw). Then I add some actions. Then I go back up and write more dialogue before the dialogue I started with. Then I go ahead and indent a few lines here and there. I write the saids (Kara called. Lena answered. She said. Kara exclaimed. Kara whined). And then add in some scenery as well.

And like I said, this works for story writing as well as academic. I used to do the same thing when I needed to write a paper. I would start simple. No big words. Just somewhat of an idea of what I want to write and build up from there.

4. Tip number quatre (French):

Watch to learn. 

This means that when you’re watching something, whether it’s a movie or a tv show, learn how the characters react. Their quirks, their nervous habits, everything and anything that makes them them. I can’t count how many times I had to rewind a movie because I was too busy noticing how the main character’s eyes would linger on the coffee table in front of her before she would say something painful. Or how if a character is shoved to the ground, which body part hits the ground first. Go through scenes of movies and tv shows and learn how people behave.

Movies and Tv-shows could also help you with how a character can cope a certain way or react in a certain way. For example, I was watching this show on Netflix called “Dead To Me” and the main character, her husband was killed in a hit-and-run by a speeding car. And part of her grief was that she would jot down the licence plate number of every car that was speeding and every car that had a bump at its front. That’s a detail of a specific form of grief. You could have your own character be obsessed with finding a cure to heart attacks if their SO died that way.

5. Tip number cinque (Italian):

Use real people as reference. 

Sit in a coffee shop and creepily watch a woman sitting in the corner table. You gotta act all stalkerish here for it to work! Now pretend that it’s your character that’s sitting there. Write down the little things that the woman might do that you’ll probably never even think of if you would have written the scene at home. Like how the woman’s head jerks up when a car passes by and she watches it through the glass window. How her foot taps on the floor to the rhythm of her music. How she frowns when she spills some coffee on her sketch book. Everything. The silly faces she does to the toddler sitting in the other table.

Use real people. If you’re writing a girl who’s somewhat tomboyish, maybe go to a skateboard park or something. Go to a fancy restaurant if you’re writing a rich old lady. A library if you’re writing a college student. 

6. Tip number lix (Somali):

Don’t write in order.

I cannot stress this enough. Write bottom to top. Middle to top. Middle to bottom. Write middle to bottom to middle again to top. Just don’t do it in order. Most of the time I write a paragraph thinking this is how I’m going to start my scene and it ends up being somewhere in the middle of all the chaos! Writing in order doesn’t make sense not even in essay writing. You never write an introduction first because you need a thesis. In order to have a thesis you need to know what the hell your body paragraphs are talking about. So, you start with your body. Not necessarily the first body paragraph either.

Write whatever comes to mind and figure out the order later. Chances are, it’ll change a billion times over before you commit to one. Writing in order gives your brain stress and in turn you’ll probably get a mental block. You’re too pressured to write the opening scene of the chapter that you forget what the hell happens in the end. And you lose that excitement, that flare you have to write the scenes that you had figured out in your head. Which sucks. Because it’s nearly impossible to get that back!

Also don’t worry about how you’ll combine everything in the end. That’s for the editing process, you’re not there yet. And from my experience, things tend to come together in the end on their own so you shouldn't worry too much.

7. Tip number seitsemän (Finnish):

Details, dude! They are everything!

(This one has nothing to do with being unable to write.... I realized this only AFTER I wrote it.....)

sometimes the details have nothing to do with the main characters, but writing them helps the reader feel like there’s a world there being lived beyond the characters he or she is reading about.

It paints a picture. And in writing, it’s very hard painting a picture with a white paper and some black ink. And that’s when details come in hand.

What I like to do is I like to zoom in on the scene I’m writing. Picture the scene in your head. Let’s take for example both characters are sitting on a bench in the park. Now pretend you have a pair of binoculars and zoom in on the scene. You’ll probably see a small ladybug that is sitting on the bench between them that one of the characters noticed but didn’t say anything because they know the other person is afraid of bugs. So they carefully pick it up without letting the other person know and they place it on the other side beside them. Or maybe you’ll realize there’s some carvings on the edge of the bench. A heart with an arrow and two letters on each end. Your character will probably wonder who the letters belong to, what were their names, and whether or not she and the other person would ever carve their own letters on a bench somewhere.

Details make a simple scene of two people sitting beside one another, into a whole picture of everything around them. 

8. Tip number osm (Czech):

Do research!

Top weird things I had to do a ton of research about for my stories:

How to build a gas bomb that you could release through the ventilation system of a buildingWhat kind of metal are the batarangs made of?How to bring someone back from the dead?How much space do you need to build a rocket and is a football field enough?How high should a person’s IQ be for them to be considered ‘genius’ level of smartQuantum Mechanics and matter reconfiguration devicesintracortical microstimulation (whatever that is) and how to use it to create the sense of touch in amputee limbs

The list goes on, trust me!

But research gives you an idea of where to begin. Sometimes, you don’t even know what it is you’re writing and you get ideas from your research. Research gives your readers a realistic sense to your world. Even if it’s not real. Even if all you’ve written is fake. They don’t know that! But what they do know is that your character is hella smart and can create a device using intracortical microstimulation to help create the sense of touch in amputee limbs!

Fun fact: Watch "True Memoirs of an International Assasin”. It’s on Netflix. And it’s every writer’s nightmare. It explains just how much we writers would go for that small detail. It shows you the depths we will take to ensure we know every detail of what it is we’re writing about! Highly recommended for every writer out there!

9. Tip number dokuz (Turkish):

If you’re stuck, act it out!

Yup, you heard me! Get yo ass off that chair and start practicing for your next Oscar because you’r gonna act out the scene you wanna write. Say your character just entered her house and called out to their spouse without a response. Go inside your own house and start jotting down the details of what you see. Your character will probably notice the lack of shoes. How the kitchen light isn’t turned on. Or the hum of the dishwasher not present. No keys in the bowl. All small things that they slowly realize before actually realizing that no one was home.

Acting also gives you ideas on how someone would react. Walk into your own house and imagine finding out you’ve been robbed. All your stuff is everywhere. Now, realistically - and I mean really really realistically - you wouldn’t freak out. At least not physically on the outside. You wouldn’t start jumping and shouting and go looking in your room if your cash is gone.

Because your brain needs time to process. You would have questions. Lots of them. Is the thief still here? Should I call the police? No, what if this is a prank. Is this a prank? Who would prank me like this? Your eyes would go around the room, noting down all the details there. The broken glass, the opened drawers, the thrown pillows. Use your own surroundings to imagine what a robbed place would look like.

10. Tip number umi (Hawaiian):

Always remember, each character is different.

(Realized this one also has nothing to do with being stuck and not being able to write and more to do with character writing... I think I went off topic....)

I always find stories where all the characters are practically written the same way. The dialogue is really generic. Because the writer isn’t really imagining as each character being a separate entity. They’re all characters of a story to them. The way one character talks is often if not always never the same way another character talks. AND a certain character will talk differently depending on who they’re talking with.

Give each of your characters certain attributes or quirks that they add to their dialogue. Like how the more sophisticated one chooses to say ‘darling’ instead of ‘babe’ or how one of them speaks in short and concise sentences having served time in the army and taught that each word counts. I know this tip isn’t that important, but I’ve seen a lot of writers do this mistake where all the dialogue is the same. And that’s because they’re trying so hard to move the story along that they forget that they need time for the characters to react and process differently.

Similarly, make sure that you know that each character reacts differently. I’ve fallen into this mistake several times actually to be honest. This one time I wrote a whole scene where I had Lena be super happy about something (can’t remember what it was) with someone she wasn’t too close with and then I remembered that she’s more reserved than Kara. She less trusting so she rarely shows her genuine side to others unless she knows them to be worthy or good. She’s not too open so she wouldn’t show her happiness by jumping around and screaming with joy. Whereas Kara! Oh, Kara! She would hug the mailman when she would be happy! And she’s probably best friends with her pizza delivery guy! Had to do multiple rewrites whenever I would do that mistake.

11. Tip number vienuolika (Lithuanian):

Drink Green Tea.

Repeat after me: Drink. Green. Tea.

No explanation necessary. Tea is life.

[pllandcompany]

You GUYS. Sanders Sides Ice Skating AU? Sanders Sides Ice Skating AU.

Do I know anything about ice skating? Nope. Am I gonna write about it anyway? Absolutely. Google is a thing, right?

(please don’t ask me what possessed me to come up with this, the answer i don’t know, just let me be great)

Warnings: talk of injuries, performance anxiety, mention of illegal/dangerous performance enhancing practices, disordered eating/body image issues, past minor character death. illness mention, deceit is included in this

Also, just to be clear, the boys all train together on the same team. Under a cut because this 100% ran away from me.

Logan:

at 24, he’s considered to be what the team lovingly calls a lifer, meaning that skating is all he knows and all he’s ever done since he was born

truth be told, his former NBA cheerleader mother and NFL coach father forced him into several sports when he was small and this was the only one he showed any potential in

spoiler alert: they’re not thrilled that this was the only one he was good at

but they wanted their son to be an athlete so skating it is

fairly well known but doesn’t even acknowledge his own fame

known around the arena for being sort of intense and standoffish leading to him not always being well-liked

also weirdly brilliant? he frequently goes on rants about the physics behind skating that never fail to shock his teammates

despite being a frequent silver/gold medalist, Logan always felt like his parents were constantly disappointed in him so he vowed to train so hard that he would make his first Olympics by age 18

he missed his goal by one tenth of a point and had to wait until 22 to qualify again

also his parents didn’t even attend the competition where he qualified

it doesn’t bother him one bit (just kidding, he is Bothered)

very rigid with his diet and training regimen, sometimes to an unhealthy level depending on how well he believes he’s performing (roman and patton are Very Worried sometimes)

struggles with his height and wingspan, at 6′0 he’s tall for a skater and somewhat lanky which makes certain technical elements difficult for him 

only at first though, when he meets a challenge, it becomes his ultimate goal to master it

ever the perfectionist, he will practice until he nearly collapses and often has to be dragged off the ice and forced to stop obsessing

(the occasional lack of adequate nutrition and/or hydration doesn’t have anything to do with him collapsing. nope. he’s fine.)

his technique is mostly impeccable but he’s a cerebral skater; often criticized for visibly “thinking” while skating and not emoting much

Roman:

23, total prodigy skater, also a lifer

both parents were Olympic skaters; they were actually part of two separate pairs when they met and quickly became both life and work partners

now Roman’s father coaches their team and his mother acts as his manager

very charismatic and magnetic, quickly became a public figure after his second Olympic gold medal

his mother takes every advantage of her son’s charm, constantly signing him up for guest roles and talk shows and commercials without consulting him first

he loves the attention though

sometimes

sometimes he just wants to skate

Roman’s father isn’t as impressed with his antics; he’s constantly on him to stay focused 

the other teammates either genuinely love him or they love him in person and gossip about him in secret

he knows some of their adoration is fake but it’s fine, he doesn’t care what they think (he cares a great deal)

5′8 but very muscular, especially in his legs and shoulders 

has been criticized for his broader body type but he doesn’t care; he loves that he’s Thicc

judges still love him though, he’s a very powerful skater, his jumps are explosive and very accurate and he’s always very connected to the music

he’s always looking for the next challenge, the next risky move or flashy element

at times he can be hard on himself to always outdo his last performance which has cost him his physical health at times; he spent the year leading up to his second Olympics battling a knee injury that almost sidelined him

he and Logan have a friendly/unfriendly competition going on as they tend to consistently trade places with each other for 1st and 2nd place on the podium

Virgil:

21, a newer addition to the team

wicked talented, possibly even more so than Roman

ask him though and he’d tell you he’s the worst one in the rink (which infuriates Logan considering Virgil achieved the very goal he couldn’t)

has severe performance anxiety and will often panic so much before competition that he’s physically sick

5′6 with a slight build; can jump wicked high and very clean lines

his teammates call him the Shrimp because of how short he is

(roman used to call him that too until he found out how much Virgil hated the nickname)

raised by a single parent, his mother worked three jobs so she could afford skating lessons and new boots as he grew

qualified for his first Olympics at just 18, won bronze and a sponsorship that finally took the pressure off his mother

now he wants gold but not for himself

his mother was diagnosed with cancer and the treatments are very expensive on top of the financial demands of his career

he knows if he makes more money, he can provide for her the way she provided for him

when he skates, it’s either damn near flawless or a shaky, inconsistent mess, there is no in-between

fortunately there are people around him to help his anxiety and keep him focused

like

Patton:

25; came to the arena shortly after Logan but unlike Lo was very quickly accepted

he loves everybody

everybody loves him

the other teammates call him Old Man, Dad, or Papa Patton because he’s always looking out for everyone

whether it’s making sure they stay hydrated or nourished or telling them to rest when they need to, he’s always looking out for his skate family

5′9 and somewhat muscular but still lean

not the most technically consistent skater but always receives high praise for his performance and artistry

one of the few skaters who actually loves the dance classes they attend and really gets into them (this confuses Logan greatly)

came to competitive skating a bit later in life, took more time to train and test than average

despite his age and experience, he actually has the least amount of medals among the four and has yet to win Olympic gold

is seemingly unbothered by that fact (this confuses Roman greatly)

also never appears to be nervous or stressed about competitions (this confuses Virgil greatly)

when asked about his calm and cheerful demeanor even in the face of disappointment (by Roman) 

or his ability to display every emotion in the music so readily on his face (by Logan) 

or how he manages not to puke for hours before a big skate (by Virgil), he answers with this

when he was nine, both of his parents were killed by a drunk driver on their way to see him skate

he almost quit skating after that happened

(if he’s honest, he almost quit everything after that happened)

but after the grief settled slightly, he made a promise to himself that no matter what, every time he stepped on the ice, he would skate for them

every turn, every spin, even every practice session is for them and whatever happens doesn’t matter because he knows that his family is watching over him and they are so proud

having discovered a new level of respect for their teammate, the others find themselves complaining much less around him now

Deceit (known as Dimitri):

22, not a member of Roman’s dad club, of Russian descent but skates for Team Canada 

started showing up in competitions shortly after Virgil joined the team

immediately started crushing everybody, knocking Roman and Logan down to silver or bronze and Virgil and Patton off the podium completely

5′8 and the ideal build for a figure skater, judges go nuts over his lines and speed

deadly accurate jumper

the dude honestly seems almost perfect

Roman is Frustrated. Logan is Jealous. Virgil and Patton are Suspicious.

it’s Patton who finds out the chink in Dimitri’s sequined armor

he’s been blood doping for months in secret

but not for selfish reasons

he too was orphaned at a young age but unlike Patton, he was not the only child left behind

he has a sister and two brothers who he is the primary caretaker of

and almost every penny he earns is spent on their schooling, their healthcare, their overall well-being

he has to be the best in order for their family to survive

which is why Patton is sworn to secrecy

if this got out, he’d be done and so would his three siblings

Patton is Very Worried because doping is hella dangerous

but Dimitri will be fine

right?

I’m sure this has been done before but I don’t care, I’m in love with this concept and I can’t wait to write more.

Tagged: @ziallwarrior @apologieslogan @logansmolbean @crofters-jam @asylia5911 @ab-artist @band-be-boss-blog @unbefuckinglieveable @flyingfreeyt @thecatchat @thefallendog @backatthebein

[paladin-lynx]

Human SQUIPtober 2019, Day 7: Michael

Human SQUIPtober 2019 Day 7: Michael

Ships Involved: None

Setting: Post-musical AU where the SQUIP somehow returned as a human and was redeemed/rehabilitated by Jeremy (with the help of the rest of the squad), and lives with him having had nowhere else to go. He looks pretty similar to how he looked in Jeremy’s head, and physically he looks to be around college age.

Trigger/Content Warnings: None

Author’s Notes: (Late again, RIP me.) I’m going to be busy the next day or two, so I may not get to cover the prompts for the next few days. Or maybe I will. Who knows? I hope you enjoy this one! Apologies if any of my facts are inaccurate when Squip is rattling off information. I did my best to research. This one was really fun to write!

“Okay okay, um…Oh! When were the first headphones made?”

“1881, technically,” Squip responded without missing a beat, not even looking away from the screen as he guided his character to dodge a fireball. “They were used by telephone operators, but only had one earpiece and weighed over ten pounds. The first headphones that resemble what you know today were made in 1910 by a man named Nathaniel Baldwin. He made them in his kitchen and then sold them to the Navy.”

Michael let out a whistle, although when he looked out of the corner of his eye, Squip could see the slight crease in Michael’s brow from the fact that he had probably thought, yet again, that he could stump Squip. “Damn. So he’s the one I have to thank for my precious set?”

Squip huffed. “I suppose. Although he never patented them, since he considered them trivial.”

“Even though the Navy used them?”

“He patented certain parts of them, but not the way they were assembled. So yes, even though the Navy used them and told him he should get a patent. He may have just been an idiot with a few strokes of good luck.”

Michael laughed, having to pause the game to give himself a moment to recover. Squip couldn’t help breaking into a smile, setting down his controller to wait. He and Michael had become a very unlikely pair, considering all of the grief Squip had caused Michael when he was still in Jeremy’s head. Michael of course had taken a while to warm up to him despite Jeremy’s assurances that Squip had very intently turned over a new leaf, and Squip would have accepted it, albeit dejectedly, if Michael had chosen to avoid him at all costs.

But perhaps it was the fact that Jeremy was spending a lot more time with Christine that had drawn Michael and Squip, who both clung a bit too tightly to his companionship, together and had them warming up more to one another with each passing day.

Nowadays it was common, when Jeremy was off with Christine and Rich was up to only God knew what, for Michael to ask Squip if he wanted to hang out. Michael was usually the one to initiate since Squip didn’t want to impose – sticking to his manners as he tended to – but he had gotten better at every now and then asking Michael if he was free and if he could come over. They usually ended up just playing video games – as Squip seemed to have inherited a slightly tamer version of Jeremy’s obsession – and just chatting. Occasionally they’d watch a movie instead and Michael would wheeze in laughter as Squip felt the need to comment on everything happening on screen. Squip had become pretty at home in Michael’s house, even if it did often have a lingering smell of weed in the air. Michael’s mothers already fussed over him like he was another son, just as they did with the rest of Michael’s friends. It was nice, even if sometimes it was a little flustering.

But no matter what they were doing, the one constant was that Michael would always try to think up random, obscure questions to ask Squip in an attempt to find something Squip didn’t know. Even if he was no longer a supercomputer with extensive databases on everything known to man, Squip had retained a decent amount of his knowledge. Sometimes he needed to take a moment to wrack his brain for a specific fact, but thus far, Michael had yet to flummox him. Although he sometimes wondered if Michael would even know if he didn’t have an answer to one of his more random questions. Squip could make up a decently believable answer and Michael may very well buy it, although he felt that he would want Michael to have his victory should it ever come to pass. Even if Michael proceeded to gloat about it for the next ten years.

Today, they were playing Contra, since Michael as always preferred his older games. They did have their charm. He’d poked fun at Squip as he’d entered the Konami Code to grant them thirty lives, remembering when Jeremy had told him that a SQUIP’s way of syncing with other SQUIPs was with a play on the old cheat code. There had been some banter back and forth about Squip being able to take over Michael’s NES before they’d dove in, with Michael occasionally piping up with a question. Squip would never be Michael’s Player Two, as that revered title was reserved for Jeremy and Jeremy alone, but he liked to think he was relatively skilled. Video games were all about timing and strategy, after all. He’d settle for instead being the boys’ Player Three – sometimes even Player Four if they convinced Christine to give it a shot.

Michael finally sucked in a deep breath and calmed down, shifting to get more comfortable on the couch before he started up the game again, the pair of them easily jumping back into the 8-bit action. Their characters stuck close together, working in tandem to traverse through the oncoming bullets and leaping enemies. Squip knew that, unlike Apocalypse of the Damned, Michael and Jeremy had beaten Contra plenty of times, but it was such a classic that when they needed something to do, it was one of the games they fell back on.

“Ooh! I’ve got another one for you!” Michael chirped as they had to slow down, skirting past laser-beams. “What’s ‘I'm just one stomach flu away from my goal weight’ from?”

Squip blinked, brow furrowing at the screen as he took a minute to think. As the seconds ticked by without him giving a response, he could practically feel Michael squirming next to him in excitement. But then it dawned on Squip and he chuckled. “The Devil Wears Prada? 2006, directed by David Frankel?”

Michael groaned, sinking back into the couch cushions. “How do you remember all this stuff? Are you sure you don’t still have a computer stored away somewhere in your head?”

“Pretty certain.”

“Then how in the hell?”

To be completely honest, Squip wasn’t really sure himself. He seemed to be just as human as everyone else, at least in terms of appearance and capability, but he did have an exceptional memory with a lot of the information he’d had as a SQUIP stowed away in there. Of course, the brain had its limits and he couldn’t store absolutely everything, so it was inevitable that eventually Michael would find one of the handful of things he was fuzzy on. Until then, though, he continued to soar ahead in this little game of theirs.

He offered a shrug. “Natural talent? I am pretty amazing, even as a plain old human.”

“Narcissist,” Michael accused playfully, nudging his shoulder against Squip’s. “We all know that under that ego, you’re just a big softie.”

Squip snorted, rolling his eyes. “I am not.”

“You so are! You’re all squishy underneath that hard shell.”

Squip grimaced at the description. “Technically, all humans are exactly that.”

Michael blinked at him, like a startled cat, before he stuck out his tongue in a fake gag. “Gross, dude.”

Squip laughed, pulling his controller closer as he almost accidentally ran his character right into an enemy. “You started it.”

“Not really!” But Squip could hear the suppressed giggle in Michael’s voice.

After a little more laughter, they once again fell into comfortable silence as they focused on the game. Michael and Jeremy had a habit of moving this way and that along with the characters on the screen, and while Squip tended to sit rather still, every now and then he found himself wincing to one side to match what was happening in the game. The squad liked to point out all of the ways Squip and Jeremy had rubbed off on one another, which they tended to deny, not unlike the timeless sibling argument that no, they did not look alike. However, the similarities hadn’t gone completely unnoticed between them, although not all of them were positive. Squip may have gained Jeremy’s sense of humor and Jeremy may have suddenly become more interested in learning how to code, but at the same time Squip found himself having emotional slumps whilst Jeremy felt intense guilt about everything that had happened leading up to and during A Midsummer Nightmare. Everything was always a double-edged sword. Such was life, Squip supposed.

“…What would happen if you drank Mountain Dew Red like this?”

The question caught Squip off guard to the point where he turned his head to look at Michael, only to realize that he’d led his Contra character right off a platform to his doom. Not that it mattered, he had more than twenty lives left. But he still paused the game to properly address the inquiry, unsure if he’d heard it correctly. “I’m sorry?”

Michael shrunk into himself somewhat now that he didn’t have the game as a distraction, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should have even asked. Finally, though, he repeated himself, speaking more slowly: “What would…what would happen if you drank Mountain Dew Red now? You know, as a human?”

Squip set his controller in his lap so he could mull over the question. Ever since he’d come back as a human, he’d been avoiding Mountain Dew in all its forms, even the regular kind that would simply activate a SQUIP. Perhaps it was just an instinct ingrained in him from his programming, since, as human as he was now, he still had moments when he fell back into habits from when he’d been in Jeremy’s head. It was in his nature, after all.

In theory, since he no longer had any machine parts left in him – as far as he could tell – then no soft drink should have any effects on him that were different from what the Average Joe would experience. Squip had tried drinking alcohol a handful of times, upon the squad’s insistence, and even if he was a terrible lightweight, he’d reacted rather normally other than slipping into Japanese a few times. SQUIPs only had as much information on themselves as was necessary to function, so Squip had no idea if another SQUIP had become human before – were the others from the play out there, too? – and thus he really had no idea how anything would affect him in this new form. He had been playing it by ear from pretty much the second he’d awoken as a human.

So assuming he was, as he had called himself, a ‘plain old human,’ then there should be nothing negative that would happen to him should he drink Mountain Dew Red. But there was still that instinct deeply ingrained in his now-biological code that screamed at him to avoid the discontinued soda at all costs. It was too risky. But was it really?

Was it worth trying to find out?

Squip finally let out a sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “To be completely honest, I’m not sure. One would guess that nothing unusual would happen, but…well, my existence in itself defies logic, so it could still have some strange effect on me. Anything from a mild allergic reaction to…” He trailed off, feeling a shudder run down his spine as unpleasant memories resurfaced.

SQUIPs didn’t really feel, in either the physical or emotional sense of the word. That was what made them machines. But Squip was sure that what he had experienced as his world had crumbled around him and his connections to all of the students – and worst of all, to Jeremy – had frayed and ultimately snapped, energy forcefully blasting through all of his circuits, had been pain and fear and betrayal. To this day, he still wasn’t sure if his weak pleas for Jeremy to save him were genuine or just yet another manipulation tactic. He didn’t like to think about it, any of it. He wasn’t that thing anymore anyway. No longer a SQUIP, just Squip.

“…I’d have to drink it to know for certain,” Squip continued quietly, opening his eyes and wringing his fingers together as he stared at his lap. “But…I’m sure you can understand the risk of that.”

Michael nodded softly. “Yeah, I get it, so let’s, er…not do that. I don’t have much left of it, anyway.”

Squip raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the boy. “…Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking it. It was fated to be discontinued even without the SQUIPs’ interference, you know.”

“It’s not that bad! And Rich has drank it, too…”

Squip smiled a bit, picking up his controller again. “Naturally…Come on. We’re almost to the last stage.”

Michael nodded again, more eagerly, and turned back to the screen. “Right!”

And just like that, they fell back into their concentration, and Squip let the painful memories fade away, tucked back into the depths of his mind. It was silent up until they were just about to the final alien boss of the entire game.

“I just realized!” Michael suddenly exclaimed.

Squip turned to him curiously. “What’s that?”

He found Michael grinning at him, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “I found a question you couldn’t answer.”

Squip blinked once, twice, five times, before he broke into a warm, incredulous laugh and dropped his controller. He slung an arm around Michael’s shoulders and tugged the boy over, tousling up his hair as Michael squirmed and yelped in protest. “That was cheating and you know it.”

“There were never any rules and you know it!”

They devolved into laughter there on the couch, Contra all but forgotten as they continued to playfully bicker and shove at one another. It was at times like this that Squip couldn’t believe that just a few months ago, Michael could barely stand to look at him.

Now here they were, Players One and Three, every day becoming a stronger team.

[geek-patient-zero]

Part 1, Chapter 4

Or:  AAAAARRRRRRRRRTTT!!!

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Trilogy Volume 1

Washington, DC--March 11, 1994

Meet Makish, another Assamite assassin. He’s waiting in front of Union Station for a two o’clock AM meeting with his “mysterious employer.” It’s 1:59.

A small, slender male, with mahogany skin, slicked-down black hair, and too-wide smile, Makish attracted little attention other than that of an occasional bum asking for a handout. Or a hooker hoping to make some spare change. The few policemen, anxious to make it through the shift without any trouble, treated him as if he was invisible. Whenever one of them walked by, Makish grinned widely and sang out in a high-pitched, nasal voice, “Good evening, officer. I am waiting for my ride home, officer. Good to see you, sir.”

The “act annoyingly nice” method of getting city people to avoid you works, but I’m not sure it’d go so well for a clearly non-white dude doing it to a cop.

Union Station is the most secure building in DC’s southeast side. Half of the capitol is apparently like something out of a Snake Plisskin movie, or the beginning of Demolition Man where the street gang had anti-aircraft weapons.

The nation’s capital was infested with drug lords, crime bosses, and crooked politicians. Each controlled packs of thugs who engaged in a violent, ruthless war for territory. The small, outmanned, and outgunned District of Columbia police force had long conceded the street to the outlaws. North and West, where the major government buildings stood, were comparatively safe. The National Guard helped keep the peace. South and East, near Capitol Hill and the train station, justice came from the muzzle of a gun.

Remember the author’s note at the start of the book: the setting is a harsher, crueler version of our own world. What this usually means when it comes to Vampire: The Masquerade is that even ignoring the vampires, demons, etc., things are worse than in real life. The gap between rich and poor is larger. Slums are more run down and unlivable. The crime rate, especially homicide, is higher. The politicians and police are more corrupt. Corporations are more untouchable and all-powerful. There’re more specific examples too, like the levees in New Orleans being more poorly built and prone to breaking and flooding the city. Obviously that bit didn’t age well after 2005.

I know what you’re thinking. The most obvious and cynical take here’s that, except for all the supernatural crap, there’s no actual difference between real life and the World of Darkness. It’s 2019, and Poe’s Law reigns.

But whatever the case, this theme is usually subtler elsewhere than here in Blood War, where the fucking capital of the United States is under siege by street gangs to the point where the National Guard has to defend the seat of power but leave the rest to the street gangs and the drug lords and politicians they secretly or not so secretly work for.

Makish looks down on DC’s criminal element. See, he’s not just an assassin. He’s an artist.

Makish couldn’t understand the senseless violence. The cheap hoods who killed for gang honor and loose change disgusted him. They acted like wild animals, with no appreciation for art. Murder needed to be done with style, with panache. Makish was a connoisseur of extermination. Most Kindred thrived on blood. Makish drew his sustenance from murder. He was the supreme assassin in the world of the undead.

Fun fact. In later editions of the tabletop, the Assamites have three different castes: warriors, sorcerers, and viziers. Viziers are the “scholars and artisans” of the clan. Like Makish, they take their art seriously and obsess over it. Unlike Makish, the art doesn’t have to involve killing people. It’s easy to think Makish is a vizier, but since this book came out early in the tabletop’s existence I don’t think viziers were a thing yet. At least not like how they’re described in the link. So he’s more likely just an eccentric warrior.

“I believe you are waiting for me?” asked a voice slightly behind and to the right of Makish. It was exactly two hours past midnight.

“That’s how you arrive exactly on time, McCann, you wuss.”

Makish is caught off guard, since no one’s passed by him for a few minutes. The speaker, a tall and lean figure in a raincoat and slouch hat that hides their identity, appeared from nowhere. He beckons for Makish to walk with him out to the streets, saying that it’s more private outside and “there is work to be done.”

Their destination is east, in Washington’s worst slums. During their walk, they talk business, and we learn that Makish was the one who hired McCann’s would-be assassins on his employer’s orders. The employer’s aware that the assassins died, but he’s all “as expected, things are going exactly as planned” about it like a Greg Weisman villain.

“The other arrangements you requested proceed on schedule,” said Makish. “The work will be finished tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” said the stranger. “Though I expect no less. You come highly recommended. And cost too much for the services you provide.”

“I charge what I am worth,” replied Makish. “Success cannot be measured in mere dollars.”

“A wonderful sentiment for these times,” said the other dryly. “You have an artist’s temperament. In a few minutes, we shall discover if your skills match your arrogance.”

Then raincoat guy’s stripping.

Reaching up, the stranger removed his hat. Makish’s eyes widened when he saw his employer’s features. The speaker’s chalk-white face was that of a long-dead corpse, with decayed skin stretched across his hairless skull. Streaks of crimson stained his cheeks and forehead. With a smile, the horror turned to the assassin. “I am known as The Red Death. Touching my flesh would be a terrible mistake.”

Ah. It’s just Red D. revealing his identity to Makish.

Makish nodded, watching the stranger remove his raincoat.

Underneath the raincoat, the Red Death is still wearing the tattered shroud held together with moldering bandages he had on at The Club Diabolique. He knows enough to hide his identity in public with a coat and hat, but doesn’t want to compromise on his ancient horror look by putting on a pair of sweats or some shoes. The narration said earlier that the streets are empty because it’s the middle of the night and there’s a cold snap, but that’s no guarantee someone isn’t watching. If I were hanging around a slum at two AM, an ugly stranger wearing a coat but no pants or shoes would draw my attention more. I’d think he’s a flasher and I was about to get an eyeful of his withered zombie penis.

Or, that he’s a sitcom protagonist on his way to his girlfriend-of-the-season’s place with a sexy surprise, but uh oh, her parents are visiting, and after some wacky misunderstandings and pratfalls they’ll get an eyeful of his withered zombie penis.

No, wait, you know what he looks like, with his coat and hat over his shroud and wrappings? Imagine a cosplayer who’s been walking the floor of a convention for hours. They’re tired, their makeup and costume’s getting messed up, they’re cold, and they clearly don’t give a shit anymore so they just put on a coat over their elaborate get-up and wander around for another half hour before calling it a day.

They’re still walking east through this crime-infested neighborhood, Makish presumably dressed like a normal person and the Red Death like a half-naked mummy (though not a World of Darkness mummy, as they’re yet another creature that exists in it). The coat and hat aren’t mentioned again, so it seems that Red D. just dumped them on the sidewalk somewhere, like a normal person would. He’s also got his Body of Fire discipline activated.

Though he stood several feet away from the grim figure, Makish could feel the heat emanating from the Red Death’s body. It felt as if the mysterious vampire was on fire, without the flames.

Things have gotta feel awkward for Makish right now. The Red Death makes things even more uncomfortable by changing the subject immediately after revealing himself to grill Makish about his past.

“You are a renegade, no longer obeying the commands of your clan?” said the Red Death. It was more statement than question.

“The Society of Leopold killed my sire,” declared Makish defensively. There was little respect among the Kindred for those vampires without a clan.

They don’t use the word here, but Makish may be what Kindred call an antitribu. Antitribus are vampires who reject the political loyalties and culture of their clan, usually by joining the opposing sect or going independent. Think of a Brujah in the Sabbat, or a Lasombra in the Camarilla. Makish has left the already independent Assamites to become a free agent. Next book, we'll learn he's willing to take contracts on other Assamites, which is forbidden in the clan. While I’m not sure if that makes him an antitribu if you go by the strictest definition, I think it’s close enough that you can call him one.

Makish was one of those vampires who’re close to their sire. He wanted revenge on the Society of Leopold for killing them, but the Assamite elders at their main base in Alamut, Iran refused, concerned that letting him go all Death Wish on human enemies would jeopardize the Masquerade. Remember, while the Camarilla are the sect most obsessed with upholding the Masquerade, according to this book it was first started by the methuselahs after the fall of the Second City, so all vampires are supposed to follow it. Makish ignored orders and killed the humans involved in the hit. And the humans who ordered the hit. And their families. In total, Indian Charles Bronson here killed one hundred and fourteen people to avenge his sire.

“I thought it only proper to make a personal statement of my grief. My sire deserved a fitting memorial.”

Phht. Artists...

The elders at Alamut don’t tolerate loose cannons even if they’re damn good cops assassins, and attempted to summon Makish back to “explain [his] actions.”

“I politely but firmly declined the invitation. That was when I began working as an independent contractor.”

“Six Kindred disappeared delivering that request,” said the Red Death, chuckling.

“They refused to accept my decision as final,” replied Makish. He spread his arms out, as if appealing to a jury. “I had no choice but to convince them that I meant what I said. Five further failed attempts finally convinced Hasan’s minions to leave me alone.”

Makish notes that the Red Death knows quite a lot about him.

“My plans involve both the Camarilla and the Sabbat,” said the Red Death. “While the Camarilla claim this city, there are traces of the Sabbat here as well. I require an assistant loyal to neither sect. You are the best available choice.”

Remember back in the previous chapter when I was ranting about how some of the mystery around the Red Death was compromised so soon after his introduction? You notice how I never brought up how he just straight up announces his Sabbat affiliation? That’s because he was lying about that.

They’ve walked three blocks since the start of their conversation. The narration gives us another taste of the World of Darkness’s version of Washington, DC.

They were deep in the heart of gang territory. With the ruins of rusted cars, weed-infested lots, and seedy tenements, the street resembled photos of war-torn Sarajevo more than the capital of the United States.

Laying it on a little thick there, Mr. Weinberg.

The Red Death stops in front of a deserted-looking building, described as a “gutted brick structure.” He senses some vampires inside.

“The Camarilla rules the capital, but they cannot be everywhere. A Sabbat pack controls the drug traffic in this part of the city. It is time for them to learn the meaning of fear.”

The plan’s simple, but a classic villain move. Red D. will deal with the vampires, Makish with the ghouls except one. They’ll need a survivor to tell the story.

Question is, why does Red D. need Makish for this part of the plan at all? He was perfectly capable of leaving witnesses during his rampage at the Club Diabolique, and he shouldn’t have any problems handling mortals. It might have to do with how the Sabbat operates. Their low level cannon fodder troops tend to be vicious, stupid, and treated as disposable. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d do that fight scene thing where there’s one mook standing who’d just watched one guy take down all of their buddies but charge him anyway, kamikazeing on the Red Death’s literally hot bod.

They enter the building and eventually come to a basement stairway, but it’s guarded by two security cameras. The Red Death’ll probably have Makish hack them. In Bloodlines, you’d have to find a computer and have a high enough hacking stat (or more likely just look up the passwords on Gamefaqs, because why waste the experience points when you could just do that). Or he’ll just destroy them. Beyond teleporting, it’s not like the Red Death is big on stealth, dramatic bastard that he is. Or-

“Childish toys,” said the Red Death. “I assume you can neutralize them.”

Makish nodded and pointed a finger at the devices. After a few seconds, he smiled. “I froze the picture on their screen,” he declared. “Anyone monitoring the hall will see nothing unusual. I disabled the traps in the floor and walls at the same time.”

...Or Makish could use his psychic powers to remotely hack the cameras and eliminate all the traps. The fuck!? What discipline is that!? If this were the tabletop this would lead to a long derailing argument with the storyteller.

“Fools,” said the Red Death. “Depending on machinery for protection is the mark of incompetents. They deserve to perish.”

People who say shit like this tend to have had laptop trouble--or since this is 1994, VCR trouble--a few minutes beforehand and are being passive aggressive about it. The Red Death’s probably just pissed that his technological illiteracy made him miss an episode of Beverly Hills, 90210.

They head downstairs to a small foyer with all the security stuff, including the video monitors Makish psychic hacked, and a large biker-looking ghoul.

His first glimpse of Makish was his last. He died silently, his head twisted about a full 360 degrees. Though not very big, the Assamite assassin had incredibly strong wrists.

Impressive, but how did he achieve that? Did he twist the ghoul’s head a few times like a bottle cap? Or did he just smack him so hard his head spun around like that scene from Kung Fu Hustle?

They enter this Sabbat pack’s main headquarters, and Red D. flexes his inner drama student again.

“Greetings from the Camarilla,” he announced in a harsh voice. “I am the Red Death.”

"Yes, 'tis I! The Red Death of The Camarilla! I like to do Camarilla things! Antediluvians don't exist! Diablerie is baaaaad!"

Compared to the Club Diabolique, this drug den is a sad little affair. There’s just two vampires, finishing off a victim, and eight more biker or punk-looking ghouls gathered around a TV and watching Beavis and Butthead. No, really, I’m not making a joke. They’re watching Beavis and Butthead. It’s to show that they’re “typical young punks” but to be fair there’s no proof that the Camarilla vampires from earlier also don’t watch B&B during their free time. They just wouldn’t watch it at the club because the parts where Beavis and Butthead riff on rock music videos would piss off old man Vargoss. 

Anyway, Makish immediately gets to work.

Ghouls were tough, stronger and quicker than normal human beings. The taste of vampire blood heightened their awareness and physical abilities. But they were helpless as children against the assassin.

Again, no mention of the whole “no free will, slaves to their master” deal with ghouls.

Makish moved so fast that his motions blurred. He raced from punk to punk in an intricate pattern, resembling a complex dance. His fingers, hard as steel, ripped and tore at the bodies of his foes.

There’s several sentences about all the geysers of blood he’s causing and how it’s splashing everywhere and how the drug den looks like a slaughterhouse now. Normally a vampire would have trouble controlling themselves around so much spilled blood.

Unlike most vampires, Makish held the beast within his soul under tight control. So much warm blood would have sent other Kindred into a mad frenzy. Not Makish. He drank blood when necessary, for the physical nourishment it provided his body. Killing gave him life.

Sounds like someone’s been getting good hunger rolls. Or is it willpower rolls? I’ve never played the tabletop game.

The Beast. It doesn’t get brought up that often in this book. It’s the name Kindred use to refer to the bundle of monstrous urges and compulsions they constantly have to keep in check. Here’s what the White Wolf wiki had to say about it:

“Beast is a term used by vampires to describe the inner predator that strives for control over a cainite's mind.

[...]

The Beast is an innate demonic predator that awakens within each and every vampire upon their Embrace. It stands in direct opposition to a vampire’s Humanity (and in some cases the Paths of Enlightenment) and is responsible for many of the debased urges Cainites feel on a nightly basis. In times of extreme distress the Beast can overwhelm a vampire forcing them into a state of pure animalistic fight or flight, which is referred to as Frenzy or Rötschreck.”

If they don’t keep their inner beast under control, a vampire ends up going into a frenzy, uncontrollably killing anyone they either perceive as a threat or who they can feed on, consequences and Masquerade be damned. For example, if Makish were to frenzy right now, he’d kill every ghoul in the room against the Red Death’s wishes and then ravenously try to slurp up all the blood he spilled. Or he’d just run away because there’s a fire monster in the room and fire is bad.

All the other Vampire: The Masquerade media I’ve seen, like Bloodlines and L.A. by Night, tend to focus on the Beast with all the drama and pathos you can expect from monsters trying to keep their humanity. Sometimes they get too wanky about it. Blood War is different in this regard. Maybe it wasn’t as focused on in the early days of the franchise.

We get several paragraphs describing Makish’s kills, and learn more about his “artistic” mentality.

“To the assassin, art meant style and substance. Makish served as his own worst critic.

Don’t we all, buddy. Don’t we all.

A satisfactory murder required a minimum of effort with a maximum result. He strove to waste not a motion. Death was a broad canvas on which he painted his masterpieces of destruction. Whenever possible, he worked with Thermit. The explosive powder provided flash and color to an otherwise drab business. Though the assassin’s expression as he worked remained fixed, mentally he strove to attain the blessed state of the perfect kill.

He kills the first three ghouls in thirty seconds, each in different ways.

The first ghoul died with its throat torn out, nearly decapitated. The second collapsed on the floor in a steaming pile of its own insides, ripped from it with a disemboweling stroke of needle-like claws. The third screamed once, then choked to death on his own blood as Makish slammed his nose into his brain.

This is how Makish’s kills are typically described. The ones that don’t involve explosives, anyway. A simple move, and the victim explodes into a pile of gore, described graphically but almost offhandedly by the narration. He’s dancing around killing these guys in varying ways, and the way it’s portrayed I can see how it could be “artistic”. It still gets tiring after a while seeing yet another description like: “Makish slapped the ghoul on the back, causing his entire digestive tract to rocket out of his mouth. AAAAARRRRRRRRRTTT!!!”

The fourth ghoul is the one Makish spares to tell the story later. He smacks him out of the room, into the foyer. Instead of running, the fool conveniently watches in horror as Makish finishes off his buddies in under a minute.

The triumph of his art rushed through him like a powerful drug. He found the exercise an invigorating, if short, encounter. Simple, uncomplicated deaths, they required little effort. The truly satisfying kills, those done with explosives, would come later.

Yadda, yadda, yadda, you get the point. AAAAARRRRRRRRRTTT!!!

Makish checks to see how the Red Death’s doing. The big guy’s got the two Kindred by the throat, one in each hand, and, in contrast to his quicker Diabolique Club kills, is slowly cooking them alive. Soon, though...

The monstrous figure laughed. A wave of incredible heat poured out of his body, sending the temperature of the room soaring. With a faint popping sound, a trace of fire appeared around the Red Death’s fingers, like a crimson set of brass knuckles. The imprisoned Kindred shrieked in unbelievable agony as the tiny flames touched their cheeks, setting them ablaze.

They burned like dry, rotted wood. Flesh melted, eyeballs exploded, bones crackled and burst like rotted sticks. Makish, no stranger to violence, shook his head in amazement.  In a thousand years of murder he had never witnessed anything like this before. The Red Death was approriately named. He was flame incarnate.

Impressive, but remember that during all of this Beavis and Butthead is playing on the nearby TV. Their uhhhhuhuhuhs and hehehehehes would be heard over the Red Death’s little show. It ruins the moment a little.

(Heheheh! Fire! Fire! Fire!)

Their chosen witness runs away, and everyone else is dead. The Red Death is pleased. He expects news of this will spread.

“The Sabbat anarchs will demand immediate revenge against the Camarilla.”

Sabbat “Anarchs” huh? Well, that’s another thing I’ll have to rant about later. This chapter recap’s long enough.

"Prince Vitel and his council of advisors will retaliate swiftly to any such action. They know the Sabbat hungers to control the capital. A push or two in the right direction should finish the job. A single incident will escalate quickly into a major battle between the rival cults.”

[...]

“A Sabbat attack is assured. Leaving me free to pursue my objectives without interruptions.”

The Red Death smiled. “It is almost too easy.”

So Red D.’s acting out false flag operations in order to start a war (a blood war, you could say, and Makish does) between the Camarilla and the Sabbat, which’ll distract both of them from whatever he’s planning. Makish points out that hundreds, maybe thousands of vampires will die. The Red Death concludes by hinting at his true goals.

“The existence of the entire Cainite race depends on the success of my mission,” said the Red Death, all humor gone from its voice. “If I fail, entire generations of vampires will die in a slaughter unmatched in history. I must succeed, no matter the cost.”

*softly, from the other side of the room* “Settle down, Beavis.”

Now there’s one major flaw in Red D.’s plan I can point out. So far, his false flag attacks involved him arriving at a faction’s haven, introducing himself and declaring his allegiance to the other faction before killing a few people. But why is he exposing himself at all? Last chapter, Tyrus Benedict mentioned that the Camarilla has spies in the Sabbat, and presumably the Sabbat has spies in the Camarilla as well. Wouldn’t those spies discover that the same horrible fire vampire is attacking both sides, and come to the conclusion that he’s trying to start a conflict? Even without the spies, wouldn’t they discover the deception when one side, I don’t know, demands that the other side turn over the Red Death or something? Maybe Red D.’s counting on the tit for tat bullshit between the factions crossing the point of no return before it could make a difference? And the Camarilla and Sabbat would never actually team up against him. But he’s still drawing unwanted attention to himself, and at least some resources will be used against him that wouldn’t otherwise if he stuck to the shadows and kept his big dumb mouth shut.

Or maybe I should follow Makish’s lead.

Makish, who had been employed by fanatics many times in the past, knew better than to respond.

[tumblunni]

Headcanons for dr maddiman's son Cliff cos i have so many feelings

* ok first off his yokai name is dr nocturne and maddiman's hospital was called nocturne clinic so i guess thats the family surname? These poor guys were cursed to a ghostly fate with a name like that! But also doesn't that mean Cliff is literally using his dad's name as a yokai? Thats so fuckin heartwarming!! I like to headcanon that he kept his dad's old name badge from his job and he still wears it to remember him. Its kinda his "soul item" as a yokai, it stays stuck to his ghostly flame even when he's unconcious and if you damage it it does damage to him. But it also means its capable of magically reforming as he heals up, which is a huge relief! I think maybe he found this out after it got destroyed in a big fight one day? So he was shot down to 1hp but also buffed the fuck out in every stat from sheer rage and smashed the guy's head in. And then as he was crying over losing his treasure his tears touched it and it reformed back together...

* When he was very little he really loved his papa! They used to kinda be the childish duo playfully teaming up against serious mom, who'd go full ham playing the villain character in their goofy games. And he really looked up to his dad's super science smartness, and wanted to be just like him someday! Sadly, as he got older he realised that his dad's childishness also had its downsides, and he started wanting to be a doctor to "defeat" his dad more than to honor him. To be better than him and somehow prove him wrong. But also to try and connect to him now he was always so distant, and then to try and chase after his ghost when he was gone...

* i mean that metaphorically as i dont think Cliff ever worked with yokai like his father did. I think even when he became a yokai and started searching for his father he didnt really actually know his father was a yokai too, it was just sort of a distant hope of a second chance. Like "oh shit i guess dad's weird fairytale conspiracy theories were true, there's probably a very small chance he is also floating around somewhere right now". Just a very depressed dude with nothing else much to cling to. He didnt really believe he'd actually find his dad so he had no plans for what to do when they met, and thats why things ended up being all awkward and sad. Well, that and also he inherited his dad's inability to just talk about his damn emotions, gahhh!!

* Cliff's natural hair colour is red, althrough a more normal ginger instead of the blood red he has in his yokai form. He used to get bullied for it and everyone acted like he was a thug even though he was a straight A student. For a short time in his life (around when his dad became distant and he became disillusioned with him), Cliff used to dye his hair black everyday and try everything not to stand out. He did this even after his mum divorced his dad and they moved back to america where his hair colour wasnt as unusual. He had a lot of trouble adjusting and wasnt fluent in english so he still felt like he got judged as a dumb thug no matter where he was or how hard he tried. After his dad died he had trouble coping with his grief because he wanted to just be angry at him forever and not accept how much he missed him, cos it just hurt so much. So all this pent up anger kinda got channelled into self confidence?? Sorta "i have even bigger reasons to be depressed so its easier to deal with the bullying i suppose". He started experimenting with punk and dark styles, embracing his reputation as a "thug" and beibg like "if theyre gonna treat me this way no matter what then i may as well go ham!" So basically he looked 99% like he does as a yokai now, and he totally never turned back. But even though he dressed more bombastic and had more of a crass way of talking he was still continuing to be a straight A student prodigy and trying to defeat his dad in academic achievement and such. He literally never stopped being just a nice dude who was good at school, he just kept getting assumed to be the opposite cos people are judgy bitches... Poor kid...

* He was born with a heart condition that made his health very poor as a baby. He doesnt remember it much cos he was very young, but his parents were SO SCARED! He was constantly having close calls with death and as his dad was a doctor he was often arguing with his coworkers when they said the kid might not live to see his fifth birthday, and being all "let me do the opertion!" "No you have too much of a personal bias" etc etc. Basically it was really fuckin stressful and you can understand why Maddiman would get it into his head tht he was powerless to protect his family through legal means and had to pursue supernatural theories. The earliest thing Cliff can remember from the time he was sick is his dad making up wild stories about how he was gonna conquer the world to save him, lasso the moon to stop time, fight god with his goddamn bare hands, whatever could keep him from losing his only child! Hearing these stories through a feverish haze helped Cliff hang on to life, and onto his dad's warm hand as he sat by his hospital bed. Of course, he did actually survive, and he had multiple surgeries that helped him be able to live a fuller life as he grew up. He was still always quite frail and got exhausted easily, but from his perspective it seemed like nothing big and his parents were just coddling him too much, cos he didnt remember how close he'd come to death.

* Ultimately, this was what lead to his actual death all those years later. Similar to how Maddiman looks to be 20 or 30 in his backstory but as a yokai he acts like just a 45 year old almost-gramps or something instead of 90-100, i feel like if Dr Nocturne seems in his early 20s then maybe when he died as Cliff he was in his late teens? Like it seems that yokai do age and mature but just at a slower rate than humans. So i thought maybe what if Cliff tragically died in a very similar way to his dad? His obsession to become a greater doctor than his dad meant he was working himself too hard in his last year of high school, trying to get into a good university. And because of his weak heart this was risky, and well.. Yeah... Death by overwork. He just had an attack one day while studying and his mother didnt find him in time. He hates himself for this, he feels like in his desperation to not make his dad's mistakes he just made the exact same damn mistake and left her behind...

* As dr nocturne he haunts the nursing home where his mother is still alive, watching over her like a guardian angel. She's trapped in the delusion that he's still alive, keeps telling everyone how proud she is of her son the doctor even though nobody else can see him. The fact that she can see him probably means she doesn't have much time left... Itd be really great if hypothetically some player character could come along and reunite them all before its too late...

[geekymoviemom]

His Name is Peter

Tony tries to deal with the immediate aftermath of Thanos' snap.

Rated: T for language

Disclaimer: While I've seen every MCU movie, some dozens of times, I've only managed to see Infinity War twice, and I'm not that familiar with the canon comic-book material. Also, SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't yet seen Infinity War, please read at your own risk!

Tony wasn't aware—not that he really cared anyway—how much time had passed since… since it happened. He could've been sitting there on that desolate rock for minutes, days, or even centuries for all he knew, cradling all that remained of the kid against his heart. His haunted eyes stared blankly at the endless toxic wasteland that was Titan, as Peter's terrified voice reverberated through his head.

"I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go, sir, please! I don't wanna go!"

Peter was a brilliant kid, as bright as they come, and so strong he could stop a speeding runaway bus with his bare hands. But yet at the end, after witnessing four other people fade into oblivion, he was just as terrified to die as any other teenage boy.

Even so, his last words were meant for Tony, to help comfort him. Because that's the kind of person that Peter was. Always looking out for everyone else.

"I'm sorry."

Around Tony, everything else was still. Even the slight breeze had faded away as soon as the ashes of the dead were sufficiently scattered. It's as if the rest of the universe was as stunned as he.

And why shouldn't it be, really?

They had lost.

They had lost, and now Peter was gone. Turned to ash, along with Strange, Quill, the bug lady, Mr. Clean, and whoever else had faded away. Was Pepper still alive? Rhodey? Happy? Bruce? Aunt May?

Tony had no way of knowing. He was still stuck out here, in goddamn space.

He drew in a shaky breath, his lungs burning from the dry, stale air and the intense throbbing of the stab wound in his abdomen. Clenching his left hand into a fist around Peter's ashes, he brought it to his lips, squeezing his eyes closed. His fingers turned numb they were so tightly clenched, and his breathing grew more and more erratic as his body rocked back and forth, his shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to hold himself together.

He was having a panic attack.

No, no, please, not here! he thought. He clenched his teeth, trying to remember what his doctor had told him about managing these symptoms when they arose. Back at home when this sort of thing would happen he'd usually find something to tinker with to help occupy his mind. Program a new upgrade to the kid's suit. Work on that new computer for Pepper. Rebuild Rhodey's new spinal support. Try and come up with a dampening field for the Avengers Complex so Vision would have to quit walking through the damn walls all the time and scaring everyone.

Why didn't he go home, like I told him? Damn kid, never listened to me when it was important.

"The boy. Was he your son?"

Tony jumped at the sound of the low, soft, mechanical-sounding voice. He'd completely forgotten that he wasn't alone out here. The bluish-green robot girl, what was her name again? She was still here.

Slowly, he turned his head, his breaths still coming in stilted gasps as he studied the girl's androidish face. She wasn't crying—perhaps she was unable to cry—but her shoulders sagged and her eyes were half-lidded. Tony could vaguely remember someone mentioning that Gamora was her sister, so perhaps she was grieving for her loss too.

"No, not exactly," Tony said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat the size of his mini arc reactor. "He was my—, my—"

He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Peter was his son, really. Even if not by blood, Peter was as good as Tony's son. Tony sure thought of him as such.

"He fought bravely," she said, in that same soft voice. "You should be proud."

I was already proud of him, Tony thought. I didn't need him to fight off a monstrous, mad, space demon obsessed with balancing the universe to be proud of him.

"I know he did," he said instead, pressing his ashes-stained hand to his chest. "He always did."

The girl took a step back, eyeing Tony up and down.

"You're injured," she stated. "I can fix Quill's ship, get us out of here. Back to your home planet."

"Sure, yeah," Tony replied with a half-hearted shrug, wincing as the slight movement sent another jagged jolt of pain through his body. Guess he won't be offering to help. Any other time he would've jumped at the chance to tinker around with alien technology, but this was hardly any other time.

The girl worked quickly, and as she practically dragged Tony into the co-pilot's seat, she handed him a small bottle of some yellowish liquid and fired up the engines. Tony laid his head back against the headrest, trying to ignore the fact that the entire ship smelled like a basket full of sweaty gym socks. He swallowed hard at the rising bile in his throat, willing his heart rate to slow down and his breathing to even out. The last thing he needed was to vomit here, all over this rust bucket spaceship. That surely wouldn't help the awful stench at all, and would also likely tear open his abdominal wound. As it was, he barely had enough nanoparticles left to keep it closed until they could get to Earth.

Stabbed with his own damn weapon. How poetic.

"Drink," the girl said, gesturing to the bottle she'd placed in Tony's right hand. "You've lost a lot of blood and are dehydrated."

"I'm all right," said Tony dismissively. The thick, yellow liquid looked revolting, and Tony suspected it would taste even worse, and then he really would have to puke.

"You're in pain," she insisted. "It will help."

Rolling his eyes, Tony huffed out a sharp breath and twisted the cap off the bottle, taking two large gulps as quickly as he could, trying not to let the liquid touch his tongue. Thankfully it wasn't as bad as he'd feared, and he did notice a slight decrease in the throbbing pain of his wound.

Unfortunately, it only made the ache in his heart that much more prominent.

"Where should we land on your planet?" the girl asked as they took off.

Letting out a sigh, Tony shook his head. His first thought was New York, at the upstate Avengers Complex. Surely there'd be people there who would help them.

Wouldn't there? Or were they all dead now?

"Wakanda," he said a few seconds later. He's not quite sure what made him think of the remote African country, home to most of the world's vibranium, except that when Bruce first explained to him about the immense threat posed by Thanos, right before all hell broke loose in New York City, he was more frightened than Tony had ever seen him. That T'Challa guy was one kick-ass dude, or at least he was at the airport fight in Leipzig. If Bruce did in fact call Steve Rogers on that damn Nokia flip phone, Tony could see Steve directing him to Wakanda.

Bruce also saw—or at least Tony hoped that he saw—Tony fly up to Squidward's donut ship, after the kid, so he'd know they'd be coming from space.

"Wakanda," Tony repeated. "It's located on the second-largest continent on Earth."

The girl nodded, adjusted a couple controls, and settled back into her chair, closing her eyes. Tony did the same, trying to breathe through his mouth, relieved that she didn't seem to want to talk any more than was necessary.

The next thing he knew the android was poking him awake. "They're asking for identification," she said gruffly. "Apparently they don't like mine."

She pointed to a button the console, presumably the communications channel. Tony groaned as he leaned forward, clearing his dry, scratchy throat.

"This is Tony Stark," he said in the most authoritative tone he could muster. "I need to speak with Bruce Banner."

Please Bruce, be there.

There was a loud burst of static, followed by Bruce's relieved voice. "Good God, Tony," he said over the crackly radio. "It really is you. Hold on, we gotta open some force shield or something, then we'll send landing coordinates."

"Might wanna have a hospital bay ready," Tony said, grimacing as he pressed his arm into his bloody abdomen. "I took a pretty bad one up there."

"Don't worry, we'll take care of ya," Bruce assured him. "We're just all relieved to find you."

Tony didn't dare ask who "we" were. He knew he'd find out soon enough.

Bruce was there, waiting with a teenage girl with elaborately braided dark hair and some sort of floating stretcher as soon as the ship jolted to a stop. Tony hesitated only for a second before climbing onto the stretcher and curling onto his side. As embarrassed as he was to be seen so wounded and defeated, he didn't trust himself to be able to walk right now.

They took him into a brightly lit room filled with technology the likes of which Tony had never seen before. If he hadn't been so delirious with grief and pain he would've been quite impressed with the machinery and gadgetry that he was able to glimpse. As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open as the girl—Shuri, Bruce said her name was—started to work on him, mumbling constantly under her breath about having to fix yet another broken white boy.

Once Shuri announced she was done for the time being, she gave Tony some water and pulled a blanket over him, telling him to try and get some rest. Tony opened one eye, intending to utter a thanks, but was stopped short by the immense sadness he saw in her deep brown eyes. She must've lost someone in the purge too.

Against his will, Tony fell almost immediately into a dream, likely hastened by whatever painkiller Shuri had slipped into his water. He saw Peter, his innocent brown eyes wide as he took in the sight of Tony just casually sitting in the living room of his Queens apartment. The look of pure hero-worship that lit up his boyish face, as if meeting Tony Stark—in his own home, no less—was the best thing that had ever happened to him in all his fifteen years of life.

"I can't go to Germany," he'd said a few minutes later, after Tony revealed what he knew about Peter and his abilities, and Peter stopped trying to pretend that Tony was somehow mistaken. Tony was never mistaken about this sort of thing.

"Why not?" asked Tony.

"Ah," Peter stammered. "Cause I got… homework."

It had taken all of Tony's self-control to not laugh out loud at that statement. Tony's own schooling was so convoluted as a child, with skipping grades and special tutors. And it was a very rare occasion at MIT where Tony actually completed an assignment as assigned by his professors, instead of simply submitting one of his own inventions for credit. But here was this kid, who appeared to be almost as smart as Tony himself was at his age, saying he couldn't leave because he needed to do homework.

Peter Parker was about as pure as they came. It was one of the things that drew Tony to him the most. The almost overwhelming urge to protect him from all the bad things in the world, all the things that Tony had to deal with growing up as Howard Stark's son. The anger he felt at the airport when Steve dropped that terminal on his head was so intense it frightened him, as was the deep sense of horror and dread he felt when he spotted Peter lying motionless on the tarmac only minutes later.

Tony shuddered as he jerked awake, groaning as he shifted on the firm but strangely comfortable platform. Through the large windows he could see that darkness had fallen, and the room where he resided was still and quiet. Drawing in a deep breath, Tony clutched his ashes-stained hand to his chest, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Are you in pain?" a voice asked through the darkness, startling him. He hadn't realized anyone else was here.

"No," Tony replied, even though it was a lie. The throbbing in his abdomen was gone, the deep wound closed by whatever fancy healing technology Shuri had used on him. Bruce told him when she was nearly finished that he'd been lucky; a couple centimeters closer to the midline and Tony would've completely bled out only minutes after being stabbed, nanotechnology or not.

"Liar," said Shuri as she stepped closer, so Tony could see her face. "You cannot hide it; I can see it in your eyes. You are in a great deal of pain."

Tony looked away, uneasy under her piercing gaze. "This isn't healable pain," he muttered.

"You lost someone," she said. It was a statement, not a question. Everyone left alive had lost someone. "Who was it?"

The scratchiness in the back of his throat intensified, and Tony shook his head, his jaw clenched and his lips pursed. "His name was Peter," he whispered.

"And he was your friend?" asked Shuri. "This Peter?"

"No," said Tony as burning hot tears pricked his eyes. He tightened his left hand into a shaky fist. "He wasn't my friend. He was… he was… like a son to me."

Shuri nodded, her lower lip trembling slightly. "I understand this pain, Tony Stark." She held out her arms, sweeping them around the room filled with every type of gadget imaginable, and some that weren't. "Unfortunately, with all of my knowledge and technology, I have no way to heal it."

"You lost someone too," Tony said.

"Yes," replied Shuri. "My brother, our king."

Our king.

She meant T'Challa, the Black Panther. Shuri was his younger sister.

"Try and sleep now, Tony Stark," she said. "There is nothing else we can do at this moment."

Tony nodded in reply, even as he knew that further sleep would be elusive. Shuri placed her hand lightly on his shoulder before retreating silently back to whatever corner she'd come from.

After the fight in Germany, as Tony got to know Peter better, the protectiveness he felt for the kid only intensified. Tony could tell Peter was impressed by him. After all, most people were, although Tony suspected it was due more to his Iron Man persona than because he was Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. But what Peter didn't realize, and likely never did, was that Tony was just as impressed by him. If not even more so.

Tony had never wanted for anything, at least materialistically. His father's immense wealth gave him access to the best materials and technology that money could buy. Peter, on the other hand, had to work with whatever he could scrounge up from the Dumpsters around his school and apartment. That old Macintosh computer sitting on the second hand desk in his bedroom? Peter had found that ancient thing sitting outside the back door of a computer repair shop, and after asking the shop owner's permission to take it home, proceeded to turn it into something that was actually useable, instead of just a twenty pound paperweight.

Of course in the months following the fight with Cap, Tony slowly funneled enough money towards Peter—through various anonymous methods—to not only revamp his room, complete with the best new Macintosh he could justify giving a high school kid, but also update his new Spider Suit with the best artificial intelligence system that Tony could think up. The AI that Peter had so aptly named, Karen.

The suit that Tony then confiscated from Peter after the ferry incident, when Peter's lies and disobedience had forced Tony into a proverbial corner. He'd hoped the humiliation of Peter being dumped back at home with nothing except a pair of pink Hello Kitty pajama pants and a too-large New York souvenir t-shirt would be enough to knock some sense into the kid, but alas, he was wrong. All it did was bring Peter back to his friendly-neighborhood, working-class, build-everything-himself roots.

And after Peter brought down that plane, and subsequently turned down Tony's invitation to come and live at the Avengers Complex, Tony rewarded him for his newfound maturity by returning his Spider Suit, complete with brand-new Karen upgrades, not one but two tracking devices, and a new, even better parachute, designed to dematerialize if it became submerged in water.

He also put item 17-A—the Iron Spider Suit—on permanent standby with F.R.I.D.A.Y., just in case.

But in the end, not even the best and most technologically advanced suit Tony could dream up was enough to save Peter. Once again, Tony had failed.

Tony curled his left hand under his chin and closed his eyes. He'd refused to allow Shuri to clean it while she was working on him, not wanting the last remains of Peter to be simply washed away, like unwanted dirt. He wanted to cling to them just a bit longer.

He wasn't yet ready to let go.

XXXX

As the first slivers of dawn crept up over the mountains in the distance, Tony gave up the pretense of trying to sleep and sat up, wincing as various joints popped and groaned in protest. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't as young as he used to be.

Glancing around, he noticed he was alone in the large room. Shuri must've slipped out at some point, perhaps going off to try and catch some sleep. There was a glass of water next to his platform, along with something that looked like the Wadandan version of a granola bar. Tony reached for the water glass, his hand shaking as he brought it to his lips, nearly choking as the cool liquid slid past his parched throat.

He was still gasping for breath when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he croaked, quickly chugging another gulp of water.

He was expecting Shuri to come walking through the door. Or maybe Bruce, or even Rhodey; Bruce had told him that Rhodey survived Thanos' snap.

He absolutely was not expecting to see Steve Rogers enter the room, looking more bedraggled and defeated than Tony had ever seen him.

Almost instantly Tony felt his jaw tighten at the sight of his former teammate-turned-fugitive. Although obviously still very fit, Steve looked rough, as though the years he'd spent running from the law had actually been tough on him. His hair was longer than he'd worn it before, he had a shaggy beard that aged him at least ten years, and although Tony could still make out the star and stripes on his dusty uniform, it was so stripped down from its usual patriotic verve that they were barely recognizable.

Was this was Steve meant about showing his dark side?

Steve paused right inside the room, a tentative expression on his bearded face. Tony's upper lip curled, and that old feeling of wanting to punch him in his perfect teeth flared up in his chest, as if it had been only moments before that Steve had left him lying on the freezing concrete floor of that Hydra facility in Siberia.

Where Steve had dropped his shield—the shield Howard Stark had made for him—next to Tony's prone body as he dragged an injured Bucky What's-his-face away.

"Tony—" Steve started, taking a couple steps towards him.

"What the hell do you want?" Tony interrupted, each word shooting from his mouth like a blast from his palm repulsors.

Steve stopped in his tracks, raising his hands up in surrender. "I'm not here to fight with you, Tony."

The eerie calmness in Steve's voice only served to make Tony angrier. "No?" he snapped, dangling his legs over the side of the platform. "Let me guess, the soldier's finally had enough fighting?"

"Tony, this isn't helping anything!" Steve retorted. His hands dropped back to his sides, and he took another step towards Tony. "I'm only here to—"

"Did you know he was only a kid?" Tony demanded. "When you dropped an entire fucking airline terminal on top of his head, did you know he was just a kid? DID YOU?"

"He wasn't just an ordinary kid, Tony—"

"He was MY KID!" screamed Tony, slamming his fist against the platform. "He was my kid, my responsibility, and you tried to fucking kill him! You laid him out and dropped a hundred ton terminal on his head!"

"I'm sorry!" shouted Steve. He crossed the distance to Tony's platform in three strides, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'm sorry, Tony, okay? But maybe you shouldn't've brought someone so young in on it in the first place!"

A fresh wave of grief bubbled up in Tony's chest, and he slumped back against the platform, his eyes trained on his ashes-stained palm. "It doesn't matter now anyway. He's gone. We lost."

Steve let out an enormous sigh. "Tony, you're not the only person who's lost someone. Everyone here has lost someone, people they loved. But if someone dies on our watch, we don't give up. Remember?"

"Don't you say that to me," warned Tony, his upper lip curling into a sneer. "Don't you dare say that to me right now. Look around you, Rogers. We've lost. Even you should be able to see that."

"Not necessarily, Tony," said Steve quietly. "Bruce and Shuri have been talking; apparently she was able to learn some things from the Mind Stone… before it was taken by Thanos. Nebula is working with her now. Thor's on his way to pick up Barton and Lang. Once they get here, we can start to work on a plan."

"Plan?" asked Tony, nearly spitting the word. "What plan? What in the hell can be done about… this?" He pointed out the large window, at the battle carnage still littering the vast plain outside.

"I don't know," Steve answered. "I'm not the brains of this organization." He paused, cocking his head as he drew in a deep breath. "They could use your help, Tony. They're working in a makeshift lab at the moment since this one was damaged, but..."

Tony pursed his lips, shaking his head as he thought. Peter was always the optimistic one, not him. Tony always planned for the worst. It's what drove him to upload the near constant updates to the suits, both his and Peter's. It's what drove him to ask Aunt May to list him as an emergency contact for Peter at his school. It's what drove him to invite Peter to come and stay at the Avengers Complex on weekends, so he could see for himself what Peter was up to, not fully trusting the boy's vague phone updates since the battle with Vulture.

What help could he possibly be to anyone right now?

"I don't—" Tony started, but then stopped. He could almost hear Peter's kind voice in his head.

"We should help them, Mr. Stark. They're counting on us."

"Bruce got ahold of Pepper, Tony," Steve said. "She's on her way."

Tony's head snapped up at the unexpected news. Pepper was alive. She was on her way.

Pepper loved Peter, and Peter adored "Ms Pepper" just as much. Tony even caught Peter sleeping on her shoulder in the media room of the Avengers Complex late one Saturday night, after a particularly tough week of school. They'd been watching The Empire Strikes Back for the umpteenth time.

Pepper would be able to mourn with him. She'd understand some of what he's going through.

Okay, kid. Let's help them.

"All right, fine," said Tony, slowly sliding off the platform. "Lead the way, Cap."

With a single nod, Steve turned around and headed for the door. Tony clutched his aching left arm in his hand as he followed, glancing up at the sky through the window, noticing the thick grey clouds gathering overhead. His arm always ached worse when it rained.

He wasn't able to save Peter from Thanos' snap. But maybe, just maybe, with their combined minds and a bit of luck, Tony would somehow be able to avenge him.

After all, Strange did say there was one possibility for victory. One possibility, even out of millions, was at least better than none.

"What was his name?" asked Steve as they turned a corner. "The kid? Spider-Man?"

"Peter," replied Tony, flexing his hand. "His name is Peter."

I love reviews more than Tony loves his suits. ;) I can't wait to hear what you think!

[roominthecastle]

“Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody’s power, that is not easy.” - Aristotle, The Art of Rhetoric

Well, look at that ancient Greek dude rolling out a pitch-perfect summary of - what I currently consider to be - Liz’s core issue on TBL. My core issue is that I cannot keep things brief, so I’ll poke this some more bc damn S5 was so much better than I expected, and it left me with an urge to try and sort this canon mess into sth I can swallow.

What’s the deal with Liz, why is her relationship with Red in such a terrible shape at the end of S5, and why is that a likely promise of better things to come?

It’s possible to look at this deterioration as a more or less continuous (organic!) process that reaches back at the very beginning; a process to which both characters have contributed their fair share over the years and now they are reaping the consequences and setting themselves up for a potentially healing collision.

I. Liz has narcissistic traits. Red is a natural born charmer with closely-guarded secrets and a pervasive guilt-complex. Putting them together is like putting mints in a bottle of coke: even on a perfect sunny day it's the kind of fun that leaves a mess.

II. Liz’s traits are amplified by Red’s behavior and Red’s behavior is warped by Tom’s presence. When Red scales things back (i.e. stops going on guilt-trips whenever others don’t feel like facing the consequences of their actions), it only makes things worse. This is the dark side of their intense "lock and key" dynamic, the deep angst pit that has been fore-fronted since S3B due to a rapid sequence of betrayals Red suffers from those closest to him. Tom triggers both empathy and repulsion in him, which in turn feeds his self-hatred and prompts him to keep enabling Liz out of guilt, creating an unsustainable bubble that finally bursts in S5.

III. The current name of the game for Liz is repression and denial, for Red it’s still obsession and rumination. At any given time Liz works off of a partial image of him, which is less about him keeping things from her and more about her purposefully ignoring parts of him in a misguided and doomed attempt to keep an illusion of safe simplicity (she does this with Tom, too). Meanwhile Red displays clear signs of compassion fatigue, which comes with its own destructive habits and distortions of reality.

IV. Sprinters are bad at running marathons. This simple truth has been a background tension factor in the Red/Liz relationship from the get-go. It’s mirrored in Red’s earlier troubles with Madeline and in Liz’s “Tom problem”. It keeps them united yet out of sync, which leads to misunderstandings, doubts, and quite a lot of friction.

more on these behind the cut:

I. Liz has narcissistic traits. Red is a natural born charmer.

Liz has a narcissistic streak and a tendency to delude herself as a messed-up coping mechanism, all of which she voices right off the bat in the pilot episode when Cooper asks her to profile herself (and to give us a brief intro to the character). These manifest chiefly as

(1) angry, aggressive outbursts (2) a sense of entitlement/egocentrism (3) blame-shifting

and she displays these traits to varying degrees throughout the show.

Now add to these the standard “Reddington Effect” that gets pointed out by other characters, articulating what Liz has been feeling since day one:

“There's no one on earth who can make a woman feel like the center of his universe more than Raymond Reddington.” (204)

“I was star-struck. It was exciting and captivating and... it consumed me. My work, my marriage.” (411)

We can also witness this "soft power” in action when Red approaches Zoe, Berlin’s daughter, to use her against her father. We can see how easily he can charm and pull people in to get what he wants. Sometimes it hilariously backfires - as it should - but that’s beside the point rn. The point is, Liz seems to receive this standard treatment, too, and she’s immediately, intensely receptive to it.

We can see both the positive (fascination-attraction) and the negative (rejection-aggression) side of this chemistry early on. She gets exposed to Red’s regular charm routine but it’s ultimately a v different experience because what those women quoted above don’t know (and what Liz still doubts) is that with her, his feelings run very, very deep. She is both the means and the end, the journey and the destination. Neither can walk this road without the other but walk it they must.

II. Liz’s traits are amplified by Red’s behavior and Red’s behavior is warped by Tom’s presence.

Thank God I have Tom, because with you, I never know what to believe. I have never lied to you. How the hell would I know?

Red’s secretive, seductive, guilt-ridden behavior feeds Liz’s narcissistic impulses.

(1) His ingrained "I will never tell you everything” ground rule regularly forms a volatile mix with her proneness to irritability and anger. There are countless examples of this (often understandable) reaction with a wide range that goes from a raised voice to actual physical aggression.

(2) It also clashes with her belief that she's automatically entitled to be told everything, regardless of the possibility that knowing might not make much difference to her but could get others killed, or the fact that she’s often careless w/ sensitive info and sometimes straight-up ignores the answer anyway.

This is an irresponsible and wasteful way of going about getting answers. Wanting to know doesn't entitle anyone to know. It's not at all surprising that Red - whose very life depends on carefully calculated discretion - is rarely fully forthcoming. Still, this is a major source of friction, esp as it seems to run counter to him telling her how special she is and treating her as such with a consistency that most well-adjusted people would fall for. A narcissistic personality like hers stands even less chance. This triggers jealousy and possessiveness very early on, and later engenders a full-blown expectation that when push comes to shove, he would always put her needs above anybody else’s, including his own. This (partially conditioned) expectation is in play e.g. when Tom re-enters her life and also when he violently leaves it again.

(3) Red is also burdened with a lot of chronic guilt which makes him an easy target for blame-shifting by those select few he loves. He often allows Liz to push blame on him for things he is not responsible for and he suffers in silence because “in his heart, he knows he must pay”. This also enables her to delude herself into thinking that he's indeed the unified source of all her problems, which makes her receptive to Mr. Kaplan’s terrible Solution to Nothing that targets him as such. Red has branded himself a “sin eater” and this gets taken full advantage of in a way that veers into emotional abuse. It paves the way for Operation Possum and its fallout that ripples across the next two seasons.

These 3 major negative “lock and key” interactions combine and reach a very unhealthy peak in S3/B. Liz’s thoughtless, pointless fake death stunt pushes Red to an edge he barely manages to pull himself back from, and it throws a wrench in the delicate cogwheels of their relationship where the degree of functionality and “healthiness” has always hinged on proportionate reciprocity (of good and bad alike). The faked death plan is - among other things - so disproportionately cruel and so exceptionally dumb and pointless, it unhinges this interplay.

It shakes Red from his grief- and guilt-induced stupor and cracks his habit of putting Liz on a pedestal. In S4 it is now Dembe who gets to be referred to as the "light in the darkness", which, given the changed circumstances, is a much better arrangement for both Liz and Red. Red would never ask anyone to carry this burden but the truth is, he needs someone like that by his side to keep him from falling to pieces. Dembe is a centered, reliable, well-adjusted person who can carry this heavy weight. Liz can't and she shouldn't, either. Now Dembe needs to be the lighthouse keeper as they navigate their stormy relationship.

On top of pulling Liz from the pedestal, Red also begins to scale back his willingness to play buffer and absorb blame. He pushes back against the kind of behavior he partially conditioned and enabled. He refuses to give in to Mr. Kaplan’s absurd and reckless vendetta that still targets him as the “root of all evil” in Liz’s life. He refuses to keep serving as a scapegoat for Tom’s failings and Liz’s self-imposed blindness, but the most significant “slight” contributing to the big fracture in his relationship with her is his refusal to share the secret of the bag.

“That’s why you’re here. That’s… Not to help me, not to avenge Tom’s death, but to help yourself and get your precious secret back.”

It is less about the secret itself and more about Red prioritizing it above her. She is jealous again but this time it is not directed at a person but at his “precious secret” that ultimately separates him from her, and once again it masquerades as projected and misplaced anger stemming from her deeper desire for their relationship to be close and genuine.

We have been here before when the Fulcrum surfaced:

"That's why you came into my life then. And that's why you're here now. Not because of me or who I am to you, whatever connection we might have, but because of some... object. Some thing."

and after her name gets cleared in S3/B:

I thought maybe after all we've been through the past three months that you might want to take a break. It's a mythic battle, and it's not anywhere close to being over. It's your battle, not mine.

and then again with the bag of bones. “Not me but” is the underlying issue that gets to her in each of these instances and it always manifests as anger.

From her warped perspective (warped by pain, confusion, and narcissism) he is deeply hurting her and taking everything from her to keep himself safe and cozy. It is the complete betrayal of her (partially conditioned but still unreasonable) expectation that he’d always put her and her needs first. In her eyes, this is again proof that their relationship, just like the one with Tom, has been a mere tool, a manufactured illusion, which - coupled with the impostor reveal - must truly mean Red never really cared for her at all.

But her assessment is once again dead wrong because she refuses to take a careful look at all the available information in proper context - a broader context where her personal issues are not the only ones of importance and where Red not bending to her every wish, esp those that make him deeply miserable or an instant murder victim, is not a sign of lack of genuine feelings but of a healthier attitude. She is also projecting anger at her own dishonesty with herself on him, and while it worked back when Red was receptive to it bc it was conducive to his self-flagellation, this messed up coping mechanism is finally breaking down, too, due to his increasing resistance and the multiplying events that signal he was never that alleged single source of evil.

"We want the same thing."

Indeed. It's the need underpinning Liz's anger, the same one Red has already articulated, albeit indirectly: "an inextricable intimacy and a commitment." Liz uses anger to express this, Red uses fish stories and Tom.

We were both half right. Together, we were right.

Liz sees Red's commitment forever lying elsewhere: with his precious secrets. Red sees Liz's commitment tied up in her relationship with Tom even after his betrayal, even after his literal death. They’ve been longing for the other to break away and commit, but this longing still manifests indirectly and out of sync: she pulls Tom between them like a guardrail (and DG, too), so Red flees into his “work” as a defensive response, which she interprets as lack of genuine interest and withdraws further into safe denial, and we have a vicious cycle on our hands. Despite all that, she still wants him to give up his secrets and he still wants her to give up her fixation on Tom. It’s no accident Red is so captivated by her when she describes her fantasy to him. It’s v much his, too.

But they both feel betrayed right now and both cling to their respective security blankets: Red to his secrets, Liz to her anger.

III. The current name of the game for Liz is repression and denial, for Red, it’s obsession and rumination.

Liz's remark about Red during her therapy session is telling and relevant here:

"Some of what he's done is unimaginably bad. But some of what he's done for me is unimaginably good."

She has been privy to many good things Red has done for others (hell, an entire county once) but those are not factored in when she evaluates his "goodness". No, this is about her and again, it produces only a partial image. It is a good start to say to an outsider that they don’t have the full picture of who he is (or can be) and therefore their understanding is skewed. However, the same goes for Liz and she refuses to accept that her POV is limited, too, and that she is complicit in it being so. DG is a prime example: she is handed a DNA test and everything that contradicts the result is pushed aside at once. The same happened when Tom told her he was a changed man: she ignored the contradictions, so she could have the illusion of stability. Red withholds information but it’s Liz who blatantly lies to herself about many things.

But back to the quote above: so only what Red does for her is weighed on the scale of goodness. Only that defines his moral character. It is decidedly untrue but again it's a manifestation of possessiveness and something Red partially conditioned in her in moments where e.g. he says saving her helps him live w/ himself (104) or where he implies that being with her allows him to become less of a monster (209). As a result, he is reduced to something less but something confined to her, something conveniently simplified that - depending on her need - is easier to either embrace or scapegoat. When he goes along with what she wants (whether it is actually good or not), he is a welcome, positive presence. When he refuses her (no matter how justified or necessary it is), he is deemed toxic and gets rejected. But after Tom inserts himself back into their lives and after the fake death betrayal, Red seems to have less and less willingness to silently confine himself to her whims and wishes, and they finally reach a breaking point in S5.

Fans on both sides of the "why does Red care so much about Liz" fence focus heavily on love as his primary drive, and label the nature of the R/L relationship accordingly: parental and romantic respectively. What else could explain such grandiose display of unconditional love other than being related or being in love? To quote Red, "perhaps there's a third option." There is and despite it being on full display (or maybe because of it since the show has conditioned us to assume a convoluted mystery everywhere) we often overlook its importance:

With Red, guilt is the operative word. This is the governing emotion right next to love (a more recent development) to which many of his grand gestures are anchored. The pervasiveness of guilt in Red's life is pointed out several times in the show, most notably in episodes 104, 216, and 319:

“The farmer, who is no longer a farmer sees the wreckage he's left in his wake. It is now he who burns. It is he who slaughters. And he knows, in his heart he must pay.”

“The truth of it is, once you start down this road there's no logical place to stop. For the first few years, it may work. You'll draw some measure of virtue from being her invisible benefactor. But that won't last. It's all a fraud. That it's really not about her at all. That it's all about you. And you're just going through the motions to salve your own guilt. All the money, all the time and effort, all the favors in the world cannot possibly equal what you took away from her. Everything else is just a nice gesture.”

“It was a Hobson's choice. There was a woman and her child. Both were doomed. Both would die. I could either save one or lose both. I chose the child. It was the worst thing I've ever had to do in my life. Worst thing by far. I was arrogant. I presumed that there was an order to things, that there was... that if I nourished and protected and taught the child, she would be safe and happy. And she was neither. No matter what I tried to do, all I brought her was misery and violence.”

In each, the debilitating nature of guilt is given emphasis, the symptoms of which are exhibited by Red throughout the show. Chronic guilt can be an extremely powerful drive. As Red notes, "once you start down this road there's no logical place to stop". He genuinely believes he owes Liz an immeasurable debt and that nothing, not even wrecking or even giving his own life for her, could make up for it. If we look at his behavior from this perspective, the primary answer to why he is willing to go to such great lengths for her becomes obvious. He loves her, too, of course, but love is - as noted above - is a more recent, healthy development, and it still has to co-exist with deep-seated guilt that keeps it in a toxic choke hold. This combination is the main reason why he cannot deny Liz anything (see: Tom) and why he's so vulnerable to blame shifting. When someone believes they deserve to be used and punished by the one they also come to love more than anything, the danger of abuse skyrockets, too.

Guilt-driven gestures, no matter how grandiose, are ultimately selfish and fake, as Red observes. But after he finally meets her, love starts creeping into the picture, shifting their dynamic and imbuing it with something real and selfless. And Red starts pushing back a little now where Tom is concerned. This sprouting, deepening love, however, gets badly trampled on when the guilt-trips and betrayals come. Red endures them because guilt says "you deserve it", but it no longer has quite the same hold as it once did. Heartbreak is a somewhat sobering experience but until the still unknown source of his guilt is uncovered and addressed, his relationship with Liz, his love for her, cannot reach genuine fulfillment.

IV. Sprinters are bad at running marathons.

Red and Liz want the same thing (as we have established above) but she is impulsive and wants it now whereas he is wary and plans long-term.

“I can’t tell you what I’m gonna want 10 years from now. Even a year from now. I just know what I want right now.”

Liz is no fan of delayed gratification. She has wants and she wants those satisfied "right now" even if it means she has to trade a more secure, more enduring yet still unavailable future (Red) for a readily available present of poorer quality (Tom). The former requires hard work (of the sweat, blood, and tears kind), honest self-evaluation, careful planning, and lots of patience. The latter is just easy and right there, so she cuts straight to the finish line, then it all promptly comes crashing down on her.

This is what happens after her exoneration in S3B. She goes to Red but instead of some quality personal time, he acts prickly and distant, then whips out a giant map to show her how just much hard work still needs to be done before Odysseus can even consider returning home. Her response? She rejects it (and him with it) and goes straight back to Tom. He promises to give her everything she wants right there and then at a discount. She only has to bury her head in the sand regarding a couple of things and since Liz is prone to self-delusion and denial by default, she jumps at the opportunity. This is where her relationship with Red begins to go off the rails.

“Circumstances are far more complex than we ever imagined. I’m betting on the long play. The future.”

Red plays the long game when it comes to the most important things in his life, and he doesn’t shy away from torturous self-examination and self-denial to secure enduring results and a better future for those he loves. Liz’s relationship with Tom was a sprint with many corner-cutting and the inevitable letdown. They had a short present, but no future. With Red, there is a future still but Liz has to run a marathon to reach it and being a sprinter, she struggles a lot.

But she is not the only one struggling. Red is still traumatized by the loss of his family, which makes him instinctively reluctant to try to settle down again. Those who inflicted that debilitating loss still represent an active force in the world (see: the map). The longing to settle down is certainly there. It’s a dream he shares with Liz. They practically wish upon it under the stars while “Our House” is playing, but on top of his guilt and grief, the circumstances seem to be forever against him, so he doesn’t dare actively push for it like she does (he even rejects Agnes at first). He redirects his focus to the “job” to try and create a safer environment and maybe a future opportunity. This folds back to the marathon approach that Liz rejects at first but now, after Tom's demise, she must face. She vows to destroy Red but I don't think it will be a literal destruction. Deep down they still want the same thing and even though they have yet to admit it openly, they want it with each other.

Their time spent on the run in S3/A is immersed in the theme of a shared home. Liz and Red seek refuge in a theater where the stage is set as a home. This is where Liz tells Red about her fantasy and this is where Red immediately retreats behind a wall when he realizes that Liz will be pulled back into Tom's orbit.

“I’m not interested in what you want. I’m interested in what you deeply desire. I can sense that death and vengeance aren’t what drive you, Elizabeth. Or feed your soul. [What does?] A lost world, I suspect. Another life. If you can’t face your truths, I can’t be of service.”

The Djinn makes a clear distinction between “what you want” and “what you deeply desire”. It is echoed in the tension-filled dream Liz has where Red removes Tom from the picture just when he is about to spill a secret (nice piece of foreshadowing btw), then stalks up to her bed and asks her the same thing - not just what she wants but what she really wants. This image of Red stepping up as a sexual-romantic partner after her husband’s demise is shoved deep down in her subconscious. It is one she is not yet ready to face, but it is there - the option of making a home with him, an option he, too, keeps at arm’s length due to past trauma and present circumstances, and it adds even more tension to their interplay.

This exact type of unresolved tension has already popped up on this show when Madeline Pratt re-entered Red's life w/ some grievances.

"Florence was everything, our way out, a fresh start. But to you, it’s all just a job."

She feels betrayed and played for a fool because Red chose to continue living his danger-magnet criminal life, prioritizing it over her and their intended home.

"They used Pratt as bait, faked the kidnapping in order to bring Red into the Kings’ custody."

Later on, counting on his savior complex, she lands him in hot water to get even. She stages her own kidnapping and lures Red into a trap set by an enemy with a score to settle. If it sounds familiar, that’s because we see something similar play out between Liz and Red. It’s low-key in the background during S3-4 (w/ the whole home theme) and gets kicked into high-gear in the S5 finale (when Liz thinks he played her for a fool so he can continue living his criminal life):

We were out. You said the ship we were on was headed to Spain. Change of plans. Because? Because after far too much time playing defense, today’s the day we switch to offense.

They could get away and start a new life but Red refuses to quit his "mission". As mentioned above, he tells Liz they still have a lot to do and her reaction is disappointment, and when Tom offers her everything Red is not yet able (to go away and start fresh), she accepts. And this is when their downward spiral begins in earnest and all the accumulated hurt peaks in S5, in Liz's very Madeline-esque plan to fake a kidnapping and lure Red to one of his enemies for some answers and score-settling (the same business the Kings were into w/ their illicit auctions):

If you’re gonna tell him you hurt me, he’s got to believe you. You knew Reddington would come for you. He got to do what he always does: try and save me.

Indeed. And he is about to confess his greatest secret to save her life when they get interrupted and an alternate solution presents itself. He kills Sutton, takes the bag and leaves. Liz vows to destroy him after this and I think she is right. Raymond Reddington needs to die for good this time. He needs to die so the man behind that mask can finally emerge. He needs to die so Liz can finally face and understand the full picture.

Red’s guilt feeds on the secrets he keeps and Liz continues to cling to her anger because these secrets are a wedge between them. The murky past and their distorted perception of it (Red's warped by guilt, Liz's scrambled by memory manipulation) hold them and their relationship hostage, so it must be disclosed and sorted for both their sakes. The second chance will not come until this happens. When it does, I think it will be the most cathartic moment in the history of this show.

This collision course is their way back home.

[vrenaewrites]

CRAVE by Tracy Wolff thoughts: Ch 22 - ch 48

Full video here.

CH 22: Baby, it’s hot in here

Like, baby it’s cold outside?

Sooooo much internal monologuing about her first boyfriend and how no one has made her feel like Jaxon does…

“The big picture is that the most popular boys in school are obsessed with you”

“He looks at you like it physically hurts him not to be touching you. Baby, if he wanted you anymore he’d spontaneously combust”

Macy wants the tea about her and Jaxon

She says flint and him had a “massive pissing contest over her” lmao

“Are you trying to be reassuring or scare me?” “yes”

She tells heather ttyf? Am i stupid??? What does that mean?

TALK TO YOU FOREVER?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?

“It sounds like every cliche in the book, but he’s different around you. Somehow less intense, but more intense.”

“You can trust me, we’re family” and grace almost starts crying :(

CH 23: never bring an ice cream scoop to a gunfight

Macy FINALLY comes clean re: flint and jaxon are mortal enemies

“What is this the breakfast club? Even they figured out they could all get along” grace just be quiet and let the girl who actually knows wtf is up at this school tell you wtf is up. You been wanting her to talk for so long, be quiet.

Ooh something big happened a year ago that made them all break up into factions

It’s about hudson jaxon’s brother!

Or is his name spelled Hyudsin because stupid spellings

Ooh macy warned grace not to become the chew toy between flint and jaxon

CH 24: waffles are the way to a girl’s everything

I want to hate this but i fucking love waffles so like…

Someone’s texting her about her ankle...i thought it was jaxon...AND IT IS!

“I don’t know the punchline to whatever knock knock joke you’re setting up” I BURST OUT LAUGHING BECAUSE “he’s funny over text” ma’am...this isn’t funny? Maybe a lil snarky, but funny?

Now she’s telling jokes over text and we’re having a whole long stupid text fucking exchange….i hate this so much

Then he tries, “what do you get when you cross a vampire and a snowman? Frostbite” and my soul leaves my body because what in the 8th grade twilight fanfiction is happening…

She texts him brb instead of just responding when when she was done peeing and then he stops answering her, this used to happen to me with the toxic dudes i talked to in high school...am i reading too much into this? Idk yet

And then she’s spiraling about why he stopped texting and UGH I REMEMBER THIS FEELING!!!!!!!!!

Jaxon has food sent up to her room from the...cafeteria? Wtf…

He says he doesn’t like the food and she says “So what do you like to eat” and then is like “wow that sounded suggestive” lmao

And he says “i don’t think we’re there yet but let me know when we are” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

CH 25: truly madly deeply bitten

And we’re really just gonna keep texting 21 questions

She loves tatbilb...i mean same lana condor is the loml, but

Jaxon loves rogue one………

I don’t care AT ALL. NOT ONE BIT DO I CARE, TRACY WOLFF.

“I wish i could ask the real jaxon vega to please stand up” i rolled my eyes but i also giggled

“You suck” “you have no idea how much” i threw up in my mouth.

Niall horan reference, hozier reference, rhianna reference

JAXON’S. FAVORITE. SONG. IS. TRULY. MADLY. DEEPLY.

INSERT SNAPCHAT OF ME CRYING LAUGHING HERE

Gambino reference, beethoven reference???, and then brown-eyed girl which personally offends me because my mom used to sing that to me

This makes her hands shake

She plays brown eyed girl a bunch of times

Then another woman comes to deliver a package to grace...from jaxon...it’s a library book

It’s twilight

Insert snap of me screaming stfu here

Macy is laughing her ass off about this because she isn’t stupid, she knows what jaxon is

And grace says she never read it when it was popular all those years ago…

Baby you said you liked reading. No way did you survive middle school without reading it.

And then he shows up!!!!!

She makes a shitty joke to lighten to the mood

He’s massaging her hurt ankle...oh shiiii

They ALMOST kiss

He gives her a little note wrapped in a ribbon

“I wonder how i’m going to keep this beautiful, broken boy from cracking my already battered heart wide open”

Hades voice: we were so CLOSE!

CH 26: the uniform doesn’t make the woman, but it sure brings out the insecurities

He ripped a page out of anais nin’s journals that says some shit like “i dreamed you, i wished for you”

So cute sentiment but you ripped a book my dude? Cardinal sin

Grace is finally going to class

The cafeteria is goth as fuuuuck

The music is “creepy af”

Jaxon sits next to her in front of everyone

CH 27: 10 degree weather gives a whole new meaning to “the cool kid’s table”

He sits in the super ornate chair backwards and it makes her horny

The order is kind of ragging on jaxon about being cute to grace which is funny

We get all the dude’s names at one - raphael luca liam mickey?? I think

“A dark and devastating desperation” in his eyes

And then we got byron who’s more angsty than jaxon - “mad bad and dangerous to know” just like his namesake

CH 28: “to be or not to be is a question, not a pick-up line”

Jaxon walks her to class

Wanting him feels like opening a vein

“I love the way your hair smells”

“My heart is beating like a heavy metal drummer”

We were so close!!!!!!!!!

We’re doing hamlet in class ofc

The teacher says “although you look like the shy type despite your association with katmere’s most notorious student”

Instead of just saying the halls are like playing frogger she describes the old video game where you try to get the frog across the road...is it just people in the south that say playing frogger when describing crossing traffic? Or is this a well known phrase??

Apparently there’s hidden tunnels so flint takes her to them

Her intuition is like BITCH DON’T GO IN THE TUNNELS but she ignores it AGAIN

CH 29: with friends like these, everyone needs hard hats

There are beds with shackles?!?!?!?!

Leah shows up and turns out they’re going to the same class? But flint insists on walking her to class…

Leah and flint are NOT friendly

Damn she offends flint with a buffalo bill joke

There’s bones in the tunnels and a giant chandelier in the rotunda that’s also made of bones…

There’s an earthquake!

CH 30: you make the earth shake under my feet, and everywhere else too

And it stops as soon as they get out of the tunnel

Jaxon is there and being a dick to flint and grace has HAD it

CH 31: big girls don’t cry, unless they want to

Grace gets hit with a basketball in gym

All the order has been walking her to class because jaxon knew she was mad at him

Does jaxon cause the earthquakes somehow?

She finally reads the texts jaxon had sent and feels bad for being mad at him when he was just worried - no he acted like a dick. Be mad.

She’s making sooooo many excuses for his anger: the earthquake, the fact that he’s already rescued her before so of course he’s worried…

Aww a student is playing autumn leaves which was her dad’s favorite song :(

She starts to boo-hoo “grief is a wild thing within me”

Civil twilight AGAIN

Jaxon is standing there when she finally stops

CH 32: it’s not a coincidence that denali and denial use all the same letters

He opens the door in the alcove and it’s like a clubhouse? Oh it’s his dorm room???? Confusion

So it’s like the living room and NOW he’s leading her into his bedroom

She says she’s terrified of him touching her because of the intensity but then says she has no trepidations about doing or being anywhere with him...ya just said...nvm

They go out to the roof

CH 33: Madonna’s not the only one with a lucky star

Please decide if grace is a silly teen who doesn’t know what frogger is or an old soul who loves madonna pls

She asks if he’s an alien…

And she tells him he’s the hottest person ever and that his scar makes him sexy as hell and he's all like “me?!” which is a nice role reversal

This is his favorite place

And there's a meteor shower!!

CH 34: all’s fair in love and earthquakes

Thanks i hate this

When she touches him she realizes how cold he is and thinks it’s from being outside which makes him act all weird

Someone please just tell this girl what’s going on!!!!!!!!! I HATE when the reader is 8,000 steps ahead of the MC

“A craving in his eyes” WE’VE SAID THE TITLE FOLKS!

She makes the move to close the space and says she’s dazzled, GUYS

She’s making the MOVE! “Did you ever want something but you were scared of taking it?” “yes” “what did you do” “i took it anyway” and then he kisses her!!!!!!

The kiss is as soft as a snowflake, as delicate as the permafrost

Then “his mouth goes crazy on mine lips tongue teeth, it’s a cacophony of sensations, a riot of pleasure”

“My knees go weak at his tongue on mine, just like one of those heroines in a novel”

His hands are vices on my biceps...his hands were around her back at first which seems way more romantic than manhandling her arms??

There’s an earthquake...and jaxon is like you have to go

A window breaks and cuts her and then she blacks out????

CH 35: baked alaska is more than just a yummy dessert

Intimidating af is the nurse

The glass nicked her artery!!!!!! The FUCK. or did jaxon bite her?????

Her mom died like that… yikes on bikes

He fucking bit her...this is a lie...i’m calling it…

FINN ABOUT TO COME CLEAN!!!...but the nurse stops him.

Macy is an OG bff she is the best

Or is grace the one making shit happen??

Grace notices the sheets are fixed but that macy never went to the bed

Macy asked what they were doing when the earthquake hit...WHY

CH 36: no harm, all foul

Grace goes after Jaxon and he’s like “our kiss didn’t matter”

He says he put her in a lot of danger by being around her, a “target on her back” and wants her to stay away from him but he can’t pull himself away

But then he does

CH 37: don’t ask the question if you can’t handle the answer

Leah drops the bomb that she and Jaxon are expected to carry on like a family dynasty sitch since Hudson died

CH 38: nothing says “i like you” like a fang to the throat

She’s freaking out of course

Mickey says jaxon def didn’t bit her and she’s even more confused and me too

Jaxon is in the mountains...he wants her to wait but she’s pissed

“I take a deep breath and hold onto it with both hands” ….?????

Because i have to hear it out loud, “what did make these marks?”

Say it, out loud

CH 39: there’s never a hallucinogen around when you need one

She’s furious and she should be! I’m glad she’s not replying to Jaxon

We finally get to the bottom of it all!!!!!!

Macy admits Jaxon is a vampire

Leah is one too!!!!

Flint is a dragon!!!!! CALLED IT

He’s got fire? With a name like flint how could he not PUKE

“Who needs LSD when you go to monster high?” Shut UP

Macy is a witch DUH

“You should have been one too”

CH 40: be careful what you witch for

GO FUCK YOURSELF WITH THIS TITLE

Grace’s dad was a warlock but he lost his power when he fell for grace’s mom...oh no was their accident like a magical mafia hit??

“What kind of witch are you if you can’t do something an 11 year old can?” “the kind that doesn’t come from JK Rowling’s brilliant imagination”...THAT aged poorly…

“This is a less bloody version of game of thrones” shut UP

The school nurse bit her because jaxon used his vampire venom to heal her cut, and it worked too well so she needed to cut through the healed skin with her vampire teeth

Because this is twilight satire so of course they have venom…

“So vampires can just override each other’s venom?”

Most of the vamps would have had a hard time not draining you dry, but not jaxon

I absolutely called it: witches, vampires, dragons, and werewolves confirmed.

CH 41: Vampires dragon and werewolves, oh my

This physically hurts

She’s kind of categorizing the students now that she knows which is totally something i would do

God almighty is flint just a jacob clone…

CH 42: good thing pancakes aren’t on today’s menu

The chandelier is falling onto her and someone pushes her out of the way - it’s jaxon!

His eyes smolder at her

She dresses his cut on his head and his arm

“I wouldn’t have had to save you if you were in your room where i told you to be” he grinds the last part out through clenched teeth

He finally lays it out that someone has been getting her hurt on purpose

CH 43: what doesn’t kill you still scares the hell out of you

Her uncle wants to talk to her before she sees jaxon again and i smell an info dump coming

Dangerous af

“Macy told me she spilled all the tea” said her UNCLE with no hint of like “is that what you kids say these days”. GTFO

“I wait for the other shoe to drop even though 100 have already fallen” that’s not how that idiom works

She’s like “how could he think i wouldn’t figure it out i knew something was wrong” no ma’am! No you didn’t!! You kept shrugging it off until chapter 24 at the EARLIEST when you settled on aliens

Getting the tea on the turf war between dragons and vampires - so it’s not like twilight because it’s not the werewolves. Whatever.

Uncle says it was probably some witch who got too loose with her powers and grace is like yeah no absolutely no one is trying to kill me it was yet ANOTHER freak accident

Uncle wants to sent her back to cali

CH 44: Sweet home alaska

So she doesn’t wanna go because of jaxon, not because her only family in the world is in Alaska….

It’s only been a WEEK

“I know jaxon can be...seductive” says her UNCLE

the guys in the order are born vampires, not made, it’s a v big deal

Info dump city re how vampirism is a genetic mutation…

There are 6 ancient families of vampires...this all sounds like the first draft of my new wip where I was trying to figure out how the secret society worked…

Then he says he’s not in the habit of talking students with other students….we just did...this whole chapter…

Another earthquake???

Ch 45: I always knew there was fire between us, I just didn’t know it was your breath

Dude shut up

She goes to the library and wonders if the books about vampires etc would be under non fiction or biology lmao

The librarian is a native Alaskan with elemental magic….yikes

She does a weird eye swirling “you’re more than you think you are” thing to grace

Flints in the library and she asks him about dragons and I swear to god if we get a chapter devoted to learning about each species via info dump I will burn this place to the ground

He singes the marshmallow with his fire breath, loves it

And he can breathe ice? He cools the water down

He can bloom flowers in his hand????

“They’re beautiful” “you’re beautiful” “but I’m not hitting on you??”

Because when I hit on you, it’ll be because you want me to!!!!! We Stan flint!!!

Ch 46: I’ll get you and your little dog too

Enough

Dry throat around flint now, oh shiiiiiii

Oh shit the order is on the move!! There’s trouble

She chases them into a classroom and sees jaxon making shit fly everywhere with just his mind...is he a vampire and a witch??

There’s a werewolf vampire brawl

Damn jaxon can freeze everyone with his mind!

She tries to stop him but he’s put up a barrier

She breaks through!!!!

And jaxon bites cole!!!!!!! ALMOST KILLS COLE!!!!!!!!!!!

“This is your only warning”

CH 47: the first bite is the deepest

Jaxon pulls grace away, this whole time grace’s inner monologue is her feeling responsible for the carnage

“I won’t hurt you” “I know” “you know? do you have a death wish?”

But jaxon is so disgusted at himself that she's just like “well did he deserve to almost be killed?” She has accepted this shit with sociopathic speed

“The power you wield...it’s unfathomable” sis has turned the corner

“You don’t scare me jaxon”

They flipped the script and she breaks down his defenses and it’s kind of hot ngl

She tells him she needs him and he bites her??????

Ch 48: is that a wooden stake in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

They’re getting worse

But it’s not a hurting bite it’s like a sex bite…like she describes an orgasm basically..

Then they kiss

The earthquakes are jaxon! Called it

At this point I am sooooo annoyed because just make him a witch!!!! We really wanted the twilight combo so badly we made him a telekinetic earth-shaking vampire?????????

They go to his room...and she goes to his drum kit instead of his bed, you dumb bitch

Now they’re talking in the bed

The jokes are just so fucking bad

He cuts them off by pulling her on top of him and kissing her!!! In bed!!!! We ain’t in twilight no more henny

“The kiss curls my toes but the yank curls everything else” wut

“I don’t want you anywhere near that world, and I sure as hell don’t want that world anywhere near you” - someone. Anyone. Take a second pass

~~~

[gulescamisade]

Mega Texas:  Day 11

ARADIA: -she's humming something to herself while they are traveling and writing something down in a notebook-

SOLLUX: -He's been pretty out of it a large portion of this trip, but the sound of Aradia's voice rouses him from a fitful sleep, and it's a fair bit more soothing than half-assed rest. He finds himself drifting a little awkwardly through the aisle to drop down in the seat next to her, leaning his head on her shoulder.-

ARADIA: -pats his head- hi

ARADIA: whats up?(edited)

SOLLUX: mmh.

SOLLUX: can't sleep.

ARADIA: -gentle pets- what are you thinking about

SOLLUX: dunn0.

SOLLUX: feel like there's t00 much t0 think ab0ut. s0 maybe i'm n0t trying t0.

DIRK: -he's pretending to be napping, but to be fair he was definitely making an effort. when sollux slinked away it became impossible to try, so he's just kinda curled up in a seat now, eavesdropping.-

ARADIA: that makes sense but

ARADIA: trying not to just makes you think about it

SOLLUX: d0n't underestimate my ability t0 run fr0m my th0ughts. -snort-

ARADIA: i exactimate

SOLLUX: what is that a new 0ffice supply?

ARADIA: how did you know

SOLLUX: gl0bal marketing pl0ys are all the same.

ARADIA: damn

ARADIA: -pauses a little- hey

ARADIA: i saw her

SOLLUX: what?

ARADIA: i saw her

SOLLUX: i heard that part.

SOLLUX: what d0 y0u mean?

ARADIA: with feferi

SOLLUX: ...

ARADIA: wait

ARADIA: -checks her com-

ARADIA: ok we are good

ARADIA: anyway

ARADIA: you know where i go when im asleep

ARADIA: now i can go into dreams where some souls of the dead are stored

DIRK: -listening to this is making him too anxious. he gets up and makes a bee line for the bathroom again. hello darkness my old friend...-

SOLLUX: ... 0kay.

ARADIA: she wanted me to tell you something in particular

ARADIA: maybe it will help

SOLLUX: ... -He can't think of anything to say, now. He's just quiet, waiting.-

ARADIA: she told me to tell you

ARADIA: she said dont worry

ARADIA: and she will find her way back to you

ARADIA: she said she promises

SOLLUX: .... heh.

SOLLUX: -It's just one noise, and then after a long moment he sort of shifts against her, sitting up again and leaning his head back against his seat.-

SOLLUX: yeah.

SOLLUX: she w0uld.

ARADIA: we are pretty good at coming back

SOLLUX: yeah we are.

SOLLUX: ... -He takes a deep breath and exhales it slow, and then his hand slides over, searching for hers.-

ARADIA: -she holds his hand tightly so he doesn't have to look for long-

SOLLUX: -It's in that moment when she finds him -- when he doesn't have to keep looking -- that everything stings behind where his eyes would have been, and his throat is too tight, his teeth clenching. There's something crawling up through the tight space left where he should have been breathing and it's strained, a sound that's bare, too many years in the making. Losing people doesn't really get easier, does it?-

ARADIA: -sadly not. she moves to use her other harm to just hug him. words can't really do justice here. he heard what he needs to hear, and the rest is just being there. existing. sitting in the sadness and loss and grief of another person while acknowledging that you don't have access to the fix-

---

DIRK: -eventually he emerges from the bathroom again, but he doesn't feel any less anxious. it's only gotten to a point where being in the bathroom is now making him kind of anxious and claustrophobic. fun...-

ARADIA: -watches him as he leaves from her spot on the floor- hey

DIRK: -eyeballs her- Hey. -slides into a seat... then stands up again.-

ARADIA: -watches him sit and then stand- do you have to go again

DIRK: No.

DIRK: I just don't wanna sit.

DIRK: ... -steps around her so he can pace-

ARADIA: ok

ARADIA: -looks up at him still- you can get your steps in

DIRK: Thanks bro. I don't wanna get all flabby.

DIRK: -pacing pacing... running his hand over his forehead-- an unfortunate tick when he's got stitches there.- Ow. -hhhh. paces FASTER.-

ARADIA: do you

ARADIA: want to talk

DIRK: Not really.

DIRK: I know you aren't asking so much as suggesting. Or maybe you are. Who knows.

DIRK: Under most circumstances this is where Roxy or Rose or Dave would corner me like dude we're talking this out right now before you wear a hole in the floor.

DIRK: But nah. I don't want to talk.

SOLLUX: that's ab0ut the answer i was expecting.

SOLLUX: -commentary from the seats-

ARADIA: -keeps watching him- you want to pace

DIRK: Well, there you go.

DIRK: Everyone here knows how much I want to obsessively drag myself across this aisle. Thank you for honoring that.

SOLLUX: y0u're welc0me. -it's not to him but HES TALKING ANYWAY-

ARADIA: whatever human marriage is it worked out well for you

ARADIA: considering i heard double the amount of sarcasm i usually do in one sentence

SOLLUX: i'm t00 tired t0 pretend like this wh0le scenari0 isn't bullshit. at least s0meb0dy has the energy t0 pace.

DIRK: Luckily I always have spare energy in what I like to refer to as my insanity reserves.

DIRK: -stops pacing, instead just clenching and unclenching his fists. he wishes he had something to do with his hands, that'd be a better distraction.-

ARADIA: i like that name

ARADIA: it sounds like it could be a rock band

DISCIPLE: -UNCATS from one of the overhead compartments, slinking over and stretches her back.-

DISCIPLE: She has something for this.

DISCIPLE: -wrapping some Big Furred Kiton Mittonz around her hands, carefully.-

DIRK: ...

DISCIPLE: -HOLDS UP HER PAWS like a boxing trainer.-

DISCIPLE: Hit.

ARADIA: what a great idea

DIRK: -he seems to hesitate, but ultimately draws in close enough to raise his fists. they're a little scabbed over from the other day, but he doesn't really care about that. he takes a swing... shaking out some of the pain in his hand. and then he takes another. before long he's getting into a rhythm, and trying not to hit too hard.-

DISCIPLE: -BAT BAT BAT. She is a sturdy cat, taking the punches. At least the paws are relatively soft.-

DISCIPLE: This vehicle. She thinks it is growing too small.

DISCIPLE: The body does not like such small places, no.

DIRK: Right.

DIRK: There's a whole goddamn universe out there just beckoning to me.

DIRK: Where my loved ones are locked up. -punch.- Being tortured. -punch.- Dying. -PUNCH.-

DIRK: And here I am, stuck on this fucking plane. Wallowing over my own shitty decisions.

DIRK: Can't even think straight long enough to come up with some kind of plan.

DIRK: I'm supposed to-- -starts slowing down-

DIRK: Someone has to fix this. Someone needs to... help everyone.

DIRK: It's not me. -looks at his hands, turning them around a couple times. his knuckles are bleeding a little again.-

DISCIPLE: -She lowers her punchy paws, going instead for some fabric to wrap up his bloody knuckles, if he allows it.-

DIRK: -he lets her. he's finally too tired at that point to object.-

DISCIPLE: -she lets out a small chirp, tying off the fabric and petting his hand.-

DISCIPLE: She felt this way.

DISCIPLE: When they were caged.

DISCIPLE: She could not stand to look at the doors, sealed and locked tight. She beat herself against the walls.

DISCIPLE: -She lowers her head.- It was a terrible cage. It is a terrible cage. She is sorry again.

ARADIA: -listening politely. disciple has it handled but aradia is still supporting him-

DIRK: -nods slowly, sniffing. he hates that he keeps coming unhinged, and worse yet, that he can't express how grateful he is that someone is always around to put him back together.- Thanks... Again.

DIRK: -quietly moves to find a seat with sollux.-

DISCIPLE: -STRETCHES A LITTLE MORE AND SQUIRMS, climbing back up into the overhead compartment.-

ARADIA: -looks up at sollux and dirk. so fucking adorable. she's just going to lay on her back, deep in thought-

DIRK: -he is cute when he's sucumbing to deep hopelessness... it's true. he has such big sad eyes.-

DIRK: -leans on sollux whether he likes it or not.-

ARADIA: -looks at dirk from this vantage point and smiles at him-

[truerealstories]

real experience,beheaded people can communicate for up to 4 minutes

Today I Learned: The Beheaded Can Communicate For Up to Four Minutes Ricky had a way with obsessing over weird shit. His latest obsession was so fucked up, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It seems that historians left out a strange after-effect of a beheading: After separation from the body, the beheaded can hear, see, make facial expressions and communicate. You read right, the dude whose head was sliced off can see and hear you. Ricky got so obsessed with his finding that he researched the phenomena, often citing a rat study proving how post-severance, rats remained conscious for up to four minutes. I told No Sleep about Ricky a while ago in Fapper. He was the new kid at our high school and got bullied because he was weird looking. The thing was, Ricky had a yellow cast to his skin, eyes and hair, and it didn’t help that he fucking dressed weird. It’s no surprise he got bullied. Ricky though, got even, but his revenge was unique, he didn’t say anything or lash out physically. What he did was sketch eerily prophetic drawings. Artistic masterpieces that foretold each kid’s last days or revealed their darkest secrets. What I didn’t have the heart to write about until now was how Ricky died. Ricky’s death would prove to be the most harrowing and oddly illuminating 4 minutes of my life. It started the day I showed up at Ricky’s low-slung ranch style house. The last thing I expected was that it would be his final day ever, or our final day together. When he led me to his garage and showed me the makeshift, but all too genius homemade guillotine, I knew that for Ricky, there was no turning back. “You don’t have to do a damn thing, okay?” he said, “It works when I pull this lever,” which he pulled, dropping the heavy diagonal blade downward past the half-circle base on the bottom and sending a cold electric current of creep up my spine. “Dude, all I need you to do is sit and watch.” “Fuck no.” I turned to leave. Once I was at the doorway back into the kitchen, Ricky said the only thing that mattered and with so much devastation in his voice, that I froze. “I don’t want to die alone. You’re the only person I have left.” He was right too. His mom and dad died when he was in college, he had no siblings, his trusty dog Rukus had died a month before, which meant, I really was his only friend. “You can sit over there and….just be here, so I’m not alone, then leave, no one will know.” I walked back in and sat down and looked at my long-suffering friend, “Then what Ricky?” “It’s simple, one blink for yes, two for no. And, just in case, opening my mouth means it’s fucking awesome. I’ll keep it to myself, if it sucks, you don’t need to know that shit.” I was speechless and the thought that I would lose my friend that day overwhelmed me. My body shook with a deep grief I’d never felt before. Then I looked up at Ricky and saw that he was smiling, he was happy. “Ask me yes or no questions, talk to me and just ask whatever. This is such a rare opportunity; it’s something I really need to know. In all the experiments I’ve read, they say I’ll have 4 minutes tops after severance, so ask me if it hurts, ask if I see a white light or fucking angels or if I know the secret of life and the universe.” “Oh man, Ricky, severance? Dude, this is fucked up.” Ricky looked down and nodded, then looked up at me again, this time there were tears in his weird yellow eyes and I knew I would help my friend, no matter how messed up the whole thing was. “I want to do this before the pain starts. This fuckin’ disease I got, I read there’s pain in end. I fucking want to win this one my way, by cheating death.” We sat around for sometime in that strange garage before Ricky died. He’d done all the prep work, he’d planned everything, down to where his head would land- on Rukus’s old dog bed. Rukus, the dog that had been his other only friend. Ricky would lay his head on the guillotine facing sideways as if lying on his side in bed. I’d sit facing him on the floor and we’d do the work of communicating. “You know, my life was made better by you. I never told you that. It’s embarrassing and I’m not good with emotions and shit, but meeting you in high school made all the fucked up shit that went on tolerable.” My eyes were so full of tears and I was so near falling apart, I couldn’t risk answering Ricky. All I knew was, I loved Ricky and had never been able to say it. Surreal is what it felt like when Ricky knelt at the guillotine, lay down and turned his head. He set his head gently on the base of his homemade contraption. Then, before I could blink, that damn diagonal blade flashed down just when Ricky said, “Thank y—“ But Ricky’s airflow was cut off and his last word was interrupted. In one strange second, my friend’s head lay on Rukus’s bed and his open eyes stared into mine. Not dead eyes either. My brown, on his very alive yellow eyes. I kept my eyes away from his neck, but even peripherally, I saw the bleeding red of his neck stump and the white center of his severed spinal column. My hands shook involuntarily as I forced myself to look into Ricky’s eyes. “Ricky, can you hear me?” One quick blink, for yes. Oh man, this can’t be real. “Does it hurt, like are you in pain?” I spit out. Ricky blinked twice for no. “Can you see me?” One quick blink. “Do you see angels or something like that?” Two blinks. “Is it weird?” Again, two blinks for no. He then paused and mercifully his mouth opened, revealing his teeth and even though it looked more like a mime’s grimace, I knew this meant that whatever it was he saw or felt, it was something awesome, something not to be feared. “So, you’re not afraid?” Two blinks and then again, his mouth opened. What a relief. Suddenly, I felt at a loss for questions, but we still communicated. Ricky stared into my eyes and it felt comforting, it felt safe- if that makes any sense. Then Ricky’s eyes closed and I worried that was it, that he was gone for good. I needed to think of something, so I spurted out: “Ricky do you know stuff now, like the secret to the universe or life or whatever?” His eyes opened more slowly this time and he blinked once and I swear his mouth moved as if he was trying to speak, it freaked me out knowing speech was not something he could do, not without the use if his lungs, so I rushed my next questions, “Is it bad? Is dying bad?” Again, his eyes opened much slower and he blinked twice for no. “Are there others, like people around you? Are they good people?” He blinked once for yes, but I had no way of asking who they were, if he even knew the people around him. By then, I had no more questions, because at this point, there were no more questions left that mattered. After that, Ricky and I locked eyes and time seemed to stand still for us. Until suddenly his eyes got wide and he looked past me, and I saw him smile. There was something there, something he saw that I couldn’t see and whatever it was, it was good. But then, Ricky did something that wasn’t in the plan, he blinked four quick times before he left for good. Just like that, Ricky was dead. “Ricky? Four? What the fuck do four blinks mean! Ricky!” I’d distinctly counted four blinks and fuck, he’d never said anything about four. I was confused, I was shocked and mostly, my heart was broken for my friend. I must’ve sat there staring at him for a long time, because when I got up to leave, it was dark in the house. When I turned the light on in the kitchen I saw a folder on the counter with my name on it. Inside was Ricky’s will and a note. ‘It sucks that I could never tell you how much your friendship meant to me. Thank you for being friends with the freak. I love you. Four blinks meant just that, I love you.’ Ricky left everything to me, the house, where I live now and four grand in cash. After paying for his cremation, I sent half the money to a residential facility for abused and abandoned children, the other half to a local animal shelter in memory of Rukus. It was the least I could do for a guy whose life was riddled with sadness and I figured, Ricky would’ve liked that.

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