#because they consider her useless as a plain old human

[piratefalls]

upon whatever number rewatch this is at this point (3? 4?) i just clocked that adalind actually looks uncomfortable when she’s flying to vienna at the end of season 3. like she’s telling herself, on repeat, “it was for my baby” while also not feeling good about the thing she did. she’s trying so hard to justify it to herself but she can’t even make herself fake a smile. she’s not proud. she’s a desperate mother who wants her child back and will do whatever it takes to accomplish it.

[justcourttee]

Hey. Can you write one where the batfam visits Marinette at school and the class is just plain surprised and chaos ensues. You can include any salt (if yes, preferably Alya and a jealous Adien). Ship is daminette with sibling Jasonette or something like that. Thanks

Sorry It’s a little late! I hope this is something like what you had in mind :)) @long-lost-peace

Career Day

“-And it was just terrible Damian! Lila literally stood in front of the class and told them how she tried to get you all to come for career week, but that you all were just so busy in Thailand on a business trip that you just didn’t see how you could make it.”

Damian chuckled at his exasperated girlfriend. He knew how agitated this sausage haired woman made her, but his laughter couldn’t be helped. After all, every time she enters a rant, her little nose scrunches up in the cutest way that he couldn’t help but compare to the hamster she’s always wanted.

“Damiannnn, this isn’t funny! I was literally going to ask Dick if he could come for Friday’s session, Madame Bustier knew that too! So for her to step up and claim that it was all her idea? Gods, now he can’t even come because everyone will praise her for ‘convincing’ him to show up.”

“I know my love, what if father and I show up instead? Dick is on a business trip in Thailand right now, attempting to expand the company into further international business, but I’m sure even he would drop the meeting if you asked.”

Marinette let out a sigh as she slunk down into her seat, only the top of her head visible in the laptop camera.

“I know he would, but I’m retracting my ask. I really don’t want to deal with the backlash. Besides, it’s getting late. Chat will be expecting me for patrol in an hour and I haven’t even started my homework yet.”

Damian nodded as they said their goodbyes before signing off his computer. His hand absentmindedly reached for the small token the Marinette had given him just last summer. It was a river stone that she had engraved with the name he had first called her; Hobi.

He spun the stone several times before gently setting it back in its rightful spot. If he wanted to help his love, then he was going to need more chaotic energy than his own. Picking up his phone, Damian dialed a number he had learned by heart over the years. The phone had barely rung twice before the man answered.

“What up demon spawn? Ready to cause some trouble for dear old dad?”

Damian rolled his eyes trying not to imagine what Jason could’ve possibly meant. Instead, he turned his focus to the task at hand.

“This is more important Todd. Marinette needs our help.”

There was a momentary pause on the other side of the phone and for a brief second, Damian was tempted to check to see if Jason had accidentally hung up on him. (it wouldn’t have been the first time.) He was both relieved and perplexed when a sound rang through the background that was suspiciously similar to a gun being loaded.

“Well, why didn’t you start with that Damian? Who exactly do I have to kill?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . .

Career week couldn’t come to an end fast enough for Marinette. Hearing Lila’s false tears over her Damiboo and favorite brother-in-law not being able to make it despite her constant begging was both infuriating and a bit nauseating. She was almost certain that if Damian heard the word Damiboo uttered in a half-mile radius of himself, he would bring down his sword on that person’s neck.

“Alright class, settle down.” Madame Bustier walked into the room, an ear-splitting grin accompanying her. “We have a few very special guests to finish off this Career Week. In fact, one of your own classmates made this meeting happen!”

The class muttered excitedly as all eyes landed on Lila in the front row. Marinette placed her head on her desk, ignoring Adrien’s hand attempting to rub calming circles in her back. She was 100% done with this week.

“Please welcome Bruce Wayne and his associates here to talk about the world of Entrepreneurship.”

Several jaws hit the desks as Bruce walked in, Jason and Damian in tow, all wearing bright smiles. Marinette sat up so fast that her back crushed Adrien’s hand into the bench behind them.

“Ouch, excited much my lady?”

Marinette ignored his teasing as her eyes narrowed in on her boyfriend standing in the front of the room, an absolute shit-eating grin gracing his face.

“Oh no.” Adrien followed her stare down to the boy in the front of the room, instantly feeling a dislike for him. If his lady was uncomfortable, then so was he.

“Thank you for having me Madame Bustier and on such short notice. I realize that Marinette said it would only be my son Dick Grayson, but seeing as he was away for a business trip, I just knew I couldn’t leave our favorite Parisian high and dry.”

There was an instant silence across the room as all eyes turned from where Lila sat in the front row to where Marinette sat in the back. She wanted to shrink in her seat and disappear from the number of people looking at her, but it felt impossible.

“Anyways, I would like to start my presentation by stating-”

“Excuse me, sir!” Alya’s hand shot into the air, her stare intense as some of Gotham’s finest.

“Uhm I haven’t covered any information yet Miss, did you have a question about my flight?”

A few chuckles sounded throughout the classroom, but that didn’t seem to stop Alya as she stood, her arms crossed in front of her body.

“I believe you owe my best friend an apology. Marinette didn’t get you here, Lila did.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back to where Jason and Damian stood.

“I didn’t get your girlfriend’s name wrong, did I, Damian?”

Damian shook his head, his grin pulling into a smirk as his eyes met Marinette’s.

“I would hope you didn’t father. After all, you have known her for years now.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully as if considering Damian’s information as a possibility.

“So as I was saying, thanks to Marinette-”

“You mean Lila? Damian, how could you mix up your own fiancee with a shell of a human being like Marinette.”

Damian took a step forward, one hand on his shoulder holding him back as Jason sent a wink in his direction.

“Madame Bustier, if I understood right, Brucie here offered a free trip for your class to the Thailand location this winter if they could sit through just one measly presentation. Are you really going to let this rude child ruin that for the rest of the class?”

Bustier’s smile wavered as she turned her attention to where Alya sat, motioning for her to sit and zip her lips. With a great huff of annoyance, Alya compiled.

“Excellent, now that we can begin-”

“I’m just saying, Mr. Wayne. Lila did all this hard work, attended all your charity functions, helped your city’s heroes, and is betrothed to your son. How could you not recognize her?”

Madame Bustier tried to wave Alya down once more but it was useless.

“Alya, is it?” the girl nodded confidently as she slung her arm around Lila’s shoulders. “I suggest that whoever this Lila person is, you should reconsider your friendship with her. If you or she were caught spreading rumors about another billionaire besides myself, you might not make it off so easily. We take defamation very seriously as it could hurt our empires. Take that as lesson one for Entrepreneurship; always know who you’re working with.”

Alya’s mouth gaped like a fish out of water as she slipped back down into her seat, her eyes burning holes into the side of Lila’s head. With the new peace, Bruce continued his presentation with the full attention of the rest of the class. When the time came for questions, every hand but two were raised high.

“How about you sir? The blonde in the back beside Marinette.”

Adrien stood, his eyes narrowed in on Damian.

“You said the first lesson was to always know who you’re working with, well, did you know that your son is a liar?”

Another round of hushed whispers echoed through the room as Adrien took the first step down toward the front of the classroom. Bruce cocked his head to the side as he instinctively put out a hand to catch Damian before he could move forward.

“How would you justify that kid?”

Adrien stepped closer, his posture rigid as his stare never left Damian’s face.

“Well, he’s been telling you that he’s been dating Marinette, but that is a lie. Marinette is my girlfriend.”

Damian’s fist curled as Jason took a step to intercept the two boys.

“I think you forgot to put a space between the girl and friend sir. You see, demon spawn here and pixie pop up there are together, no space. You and pixie pop are just friends.”

Everyone’s eyes shifted uneasily between the men, unsure of who was going to strike first. No one was given the chance as Marinette raced down the stairs, pulling Bustier to the side. Her whispers were harsh and rushed and when she pulled back, all the color from the teacher’s face had drained.

“That’s enough Adrien, I wouldn’t want to bother your father over an inconvenience like this.”

The boy's mouth closed tightly as he turned his attention to where Marinette stood, a sudden feeling of nausea coursing through him. Did she really just pull that card here? In front of everyone?

He couldn’t say a word as he marched back to his seat, ignoring the many questions that were thrown his way.

“Well, I’m sorry to everyone that had real questions, but this stunt seemed to have taken up all of my time. Madam Bustier, do you mind if I check Marinette out of school early?”

The teacher could only nod as the men swept Marinette out of the room before she could protest. She waited until they had reached the car before turning on the men, hitting each of them as hard as she could. Three simultaneous ow’s sounded through the courtyard.

“Pixie pop, what was that for?” Jason’s whining was shut down instantly with one cold look.

“I told you all not to come! You totally just made everything worse.”

Bruce risked a step forward as he pulled her into a hug.

“Marinette, you mean the world to this family. Defamation to the Wayne family needs to be shut down instantly. That Alya girl is bad for your emotional state, the Lila one as well.”

Marinette tried to deny his accusations, but Bruce refused to hear any of it. He pulled back, opening the door to push Jason inside, slamming it shut before he could fight back. With the other two gone, Marinette was forced to face her boyfriend.

“Hobi-”

“Don’t start with your cute nicknames. What was that scene with Adrien?”

“He was the jealous one! I can’t help if he tried to attack me.” Damian crossed his arms in defiance, ignoring the daggers Marinette’s eyes were shooting.

“You know he’s just a friend mon amour, you are the only one I want.”

Damian grumbled under his breath as he allowed himself to be pulled into Marinette’s embrace. After a few minutes, he pulled back, a curiosity overtaking his face.

“What did you say to the teacher to cause her to stifle Agreste?”

Marinette’s smile was devilish. It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so terrifying.

“I just reminded her that defamation was taken very seriously and that if she didn’t stop Adrien, he could have started a full-blown legal battle between two very powerful men, leaving the school and her job in the crossfires.”

Damian placed a kiss on her forehead before moving towards the car.

“Hobi, you amaze me at every turn.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she allowed him to help her into the car. She would deny till her last breath that she was grateful for that particular Career Day, but the one thing she couldn’t deny was how much she loved the Wayne boys.

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @long-lost-peace @heaven428 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava

[ritsushinbro]

My Critique of Rebuild of Evangelion's Characterization: I originally wrote this post on the Evageeks forum and decided to post it here. It discusses the relationship between Misato, WILLE and the pilots and whether it is realistic and in-character. Warning this post contains spoilers and is very long. Also has references to self-harm and suicide.

With each revelation that comes out regarding the measures WILLE take against Shinji and their own pilots, it becomes more and more unrealistic for me to the point where it's almost comical. Let's go through some of them here:

They wear the explosive DSS chokers 24/7 which will kill the pilots should they risk awakening an Eva.

They are kept in a single room rigged with explosives.

In Shinji's case, he is (intended to be) put in 24/7 solitary confinement with explosives fitted as well.

Shinji is escorted around the wunder whilst restrained on a stretcher. (NOTE: The only time he isn't, is when Sakura takes him to Ritsuko).

It is confirmed in another thread that Misato gave clear permission to the crew for them to shoot Shinji on sight if they suspect he is attempting to get into an Eva. 

Now let me attempt to deconstruct these measures one-by-one:

It is understandable that Asuka and Mari wear DSS chokers because after all they are pilots and there is a risk of awakening. However in Shinji's case, he is forbidden from piloting and so there is no risk of awakening (remember Ritsuko did not think NERV would come after him, so they had no reason to think he would escape). So why place the DSS choker on him? Well we have already established it is simply because they have a resentment against him; there is no special, pragmatic reason. Is this realistic? Well I would say no for reasons I will explain later but I can certainly understand why others may say it is.

I don't think I will understand why they would keep their two main "soldiers" if you will, in an explosively rigged room. I believe others have  stated that from a tactical point, it's an extremely dumb move on WILLE's part. After all, if Asuka and Mari didn't have plot armor, what's to stop Gendo from tricking WILLE into killing their own pilots with these explosives? How would WILLE stop Gendo then? Will they use Shinji? No, for reasons I will state later. And another thing, we know that their rooms were already fitted with explosives so why on Earth would they add extra after the events of Q (when they stopped 4th impact). What do they hope to achieve with more bombs? Make the pilots more "deader" than they already are? In my opinion, this doesn't even come across as paranoid but just plain childish. Is this measure realistic from a story standpoint? No not in my eyes.

We know they intended to put Shinji in a solitary cell as this is what they do in Shin. If it was solitary confinement on it's own, then I believe it would be a realistic measure that would happen in real life. However I believe the writers did not factor in the effects of solitary confinement (especially one that is rigged to explode) on fully grown men; never mind a 14 year old who's just come out of a 14 year coma. Many people think solitary confinement is a walk in the park so I made another post a while ago highlighting why that's not the case:

"I remember when before Shin came out people here theorized that if Shinji stayed on the Wunder, they would eventually softened to him and let him help in ways that wouldn't have involved piloting. However with these revelations it looks like they intended to keep him in an isolated room far from everyone else that is (presumably) rigged with explosives as well as keeping the choker on his neck. Not even allowed to freely leave his cell without WILLE's permission (it is unlikely they would let him out judging from these measures). 

Even though Asuka and Mari were treated like this as well, at least they had each other and were able to leave as they had responsibilities in piloting. But Shinji was forbidden from piloting and was to be kept by himself except maybe being checked up on by Sakura now and again. So judging from these leaks (we will have to wait to properly see the full context) WILLE intended to lock Shinji in solitary confinement.

I have copied and pasted some of the effects of Solitary Confinement from Wikipedia below:

“Psychiatric: Research indicates that the psychological effects of solitary confinement may encompass "anxiety, depression, anger, cognitive disturbances, perceptual distortions, obsessive thoughts, paranoia, and psychosis." The lack of human contact, and the sensory deprivation that often go with solitary confinement, can have a severe negative impact on a prisoner's mental state that may lead to certain mental illnesses such as depression, permanent or semi-permanent changes to brain physiology, an existential crisis, and death.

Self-harm: According to a March 2014 article in American Journal of Public Health, "Inmates in jails and prisons attempt to harm themselves in many ways, resulting in outcomes ranging from trivial to fatal." Self harm was seven times higher among the inmates where seven percent of the jail population was confined in isolation. Fifty-three percent of all acts of self harm took place in jail. "Self-harm" included, but was not limited to, cutting, banging heads, self-amputations of fingers or testicles. These inmates were in bare cells, and were prone to jumping off their beds head first into the floor or even biting through their veins in their wrists. A main issue within the prison system and solitary confinement is the high number of inmates who turn to self-harm. Many of the inmates look to self-harm as a way to "avoid the rigors of solitary confinement."

Physical: Solitary confinement has been reported to cause hypertension, headaches and migraines, profuse sweating, dizziness, and heart palpitations. Many inmates also experience extreme weight loss due to digestion complications and abdominal pain. Many of these symptoms are due to the intense anxiety and sensory deprivation. Inmates can also experience neck and back pain and muscle stiffness due to long periods of little to no physical activity. These symptoms often worsen with repeated visits to solitary confinement.

Social: The effects of isolation unfortunately do not stop once the inmate has been released. After release from segregated housing, psychological effects have the ability to sabotage a prisoner's potential to successfully return to the community and adjust back to ‘normal’ life. The inmates are often startled easily, and avoid crowds and public places. They seek out confined small spaces because the public areas overwhelm their sensory stimulation.”

And this is just for solitary confinement. There are so many other things going on with and happening (or could happen) to Shinji such as the things below:

Shinji being only 14 years old.

Shinji being abandoned and neglected by his father.

Shinji being coerced/emotionally blackmailed to pilot Unit 1.

Shinji seeing girls he cared for "die".

Shinji being in a coma for 14 years.

Shinji being told he has a bomb on his neck.

Being told it is because he is being punished.

Being told he cannot pilot the eva anymore (he is effectively "useless" now).

Have his former co-pilot and friend try and punch him after he thought she was dead.

[Potentially] being told he started NTI and devastated the world.

[Potentially] being told that the girl he tried to save is "gone" and that she was a clone of his mother.

Being imprisoned in a cell (presumably) surrounded by explosives and not being able to freely leave.

Be completely isolated from everyone except when being checked up by a girl who's father he got killed. (NOTE: Mari might want to see him so Shinji at least has her, maybe). 

Have his mother figure (the woman who made him pilot the eva the most) threaten to detonate the choker around his neck and blow his head off when he tries to leave.

With the above list, is it any wonder his head is so messed up? I understand the purpose of these films is all about growing up and taking responsibility but expecting Shinji to willingly allow himself to be subjected to the treatment WILLE had in store for him is pure, unadulterated masochism. Much of what was is written here can safely be considered cruel, inhumane and arguably, torture. 

There is a massive difference between taking responsibility for one's mistakes and just letting the whole world torture you because you did something bad. My main fear and problem with Q and Thrice is that their main theme, which is accepting responsibility, is equated with accepting unreasonably cruel treatment. And I just think that is an EXTREMELY unhealthy message to send to people especially if they are depressed or live in abusive relationships."

When you take all these into account, does it place into perspective how messed up Shinji would have been had he stayed on the wunder? This is assuming that they thought they would never have a need for him, but as we find out in Shin, they needed Shinji in the end to defeat Gendo. If Shinji never left with Mark 09 and Misato successfully kept him "protective" custody, then one of three things would have happened when WILLE actually needed him to save everyone:

A: He would not have been in the mental state to pilot Unit 1 and Gendo would have completely wrecked him due to shit synch ratios. 

B: He would have told Misato and co. to fuck off and die. We've seen this nihilism before from Shinji (after the 5th angel). His incarceration alongside the humiliation and guilt from wearing the choker will have ratcheted up by a million.

C: He wouldn't have piloted because he would have killed himself. There's only so much a 14 year old can take and when subjected to a fate that causes even hardened criminals to resort to self-harm, genital mutilation and suicide, then what chance does Shinji have? 

Now back to my original point, do I think this measure is realistic? I would like to say yes if it was the solitary on it's own, however when combined with the other things, then I think the chances of Shinji commiting suicide is extremely high to the point where it's not believable for him to continue as an anime protagonist. You have to make sure the protagonist goes through difficulty in order to experience growth and change, however if you make it too harsh (to the point of committing suicide) then it seems less believable that they live to continue the story. On a separate note, many people think that Shinji was immature for leaving with Mark 09 the first chance he got and that this is proof that he is, in Asuka's words, a "brat". But let's be realistic, if this story is about Shinji's growth and maturation, then how exactly would WILLE's treatment of him be conducive to that? The truth is WILLE's sheer hostility towards him would have completely stunted any emotional growth and maturation in Shinji and it would have destroyed the point of the film. Also no-one can argue that WILLE would have eventually "come round" or "softened-up" towards Shinji because even after 14 years they still don't trust their own pilots. So yeah, Shinji most likely would have been stuck in solitary with a bomb around his neck until he either killed himself or the war ended (but even this doesn't guarantee his freedom).

Regarding the stretcher business. I don't understand why you have to restrain Shinji on a stretcher when the kid has already surrendered himself and has come voluntarily. Maybe WILLE are just full of bondage fetishists; it would certainly explain the chokers as well. 

If the DSS chokers and the explosive rooms weren't enough, Misato actually gave orders to the crew to shoot Shinji if they thought he was trying to pilot again. At this point, I just think this is just overkill. I mean the kid has a bomb on his neck that prevents him from awakening an Eva, you intended to keep him locked up even though he can't really leave the wunder except with outside help and now you intend to shoot him if you think he'll get into an Eva. The problem with this, is that piloting an Eva requires all the bridge-bunnies to sortie the damn thing. Shinji cannot enter Unit 1 by himself, especially since the thing is being used as an engine so why do they assume that Shinji is capable of being Sam Fisher and sneaking into Unit 1? We see that Sakura and Midori are actually willing to shoot Shinji in 3.0+1.0 and do so when he merely suggests that he pilot Unit 1. But seriously what harm would Shinji have done in Unit 1 considering the fact that Gendo was already going to start another impact anyway? Why actively try and kill (or injure in Sakura's case) the only guy that can save your ass? One cannot argue that they were just being "desperate or panicking" because in Midori's case, she actually takes the time to confirm her orders from Misato. This shows that at least, she was still of lucid mind. This particular altercation just beggars belief in my mind and the fact that Misato actually gave those orders on top of all the other measures is absolutely extraordinary. So as you can imagine, I do not think this was realistically executed.

However, I can already hear some detractors say: "So what? Misato hesitated to detonate the DSS choker and also took a bullet for Shinji. She redeemed herself from putting the DSS choker on him and the kill-order for if they thought he would try and get into an Eva." 

And to those people I say….not really. There is an idiom attributed to Benjamin Franklin and it goes like this: "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure." How does this apply to Misato and Shinji's relationship? Well Misato wouldn't have had to hesitate to pull the trigger if she didn't put it on him in the first place. Misato wouldn't have had to take a bullet for Shinji, if she didn't give permission for the crew to shoot him in the first place. Let's take this following dialogue for example:

916-929:

Kitakami: "It's a good thing we got Major Shikinami back. But why'd we have to take that disease along with her?"

Aoba: "Just leave it alone. Better than Nerv still being able to use him."

Tama: "If he tries to get into an Evangelion, all hands have permission to shoot on sight. There's nothing to worry about this time."

Kitakami: "Come on, that's all for show. The last time he broke out of here, the Captain couldn't put him down. I've got zero trust about this time either."

Nagara: "He was a kid. I can understand why she'd hesitate."

Kitakami: "That 'kid' caused Near Third Impact and murdered my entire family!"

Hyuga: "Near Third was a consequence of what he did, not his goal. The Captain's doing her best to atone for that too."

Takao: "That's right. She's who Kaji entrusted with Wille, and it's our job to trust the captain."

We learn a few things from this dialogue. Firstly, the older WILLE members are much more understanding to Shinji and Misato's situation: Aoba and Hyuga understand that it's better to keep an eye on Shinji and that he never meant to start NTI, Takao is one who always trusts Misato's judgement and Sumire understands that Misato would have found it difficult to kill a child, especially one that Misato was close with. 

Secondly, it appears that the younger WILLE members (Midori, Sakura and Tama) are the ones that are fearful/hateful towards Shinji (NOTE: Tama is a strange case, he strikes me as the sort of kid that just follows what everyone else is feeling. He might not feel anything towards Shinji beyond what you'd expect). 

Finally it appears that most of WILLE crew members are actually reasonable people and are not the extremely desperate and paranoid individuals some people on the forum believe. Remember this is AFTER Shinji started the 4th impact in Q. The fact that some of the WILLE crew members speak of Shinji in this way, show they are capable of understanding. Most actually trust Misato and respect her judgement except for Midori, who questions Misato's capabilities in following through on her threats. 

Which brings me to my next point. Misato has had no hesitation in pulling rank in the past. In 2.0, she even has an altercation with Ritsuko, her best friend, right before they fight the 8th angel. Misato is a woman that will tell even her best friend to STFU, when it comes to doing what she wants. Having said that, (timeskip shenanigans aside) there's no reason why she couldn't have done the same with the younger WILLE crew members. She could have nipped all of it in the bud by telling Sakura, Midori and the rest of them that Shinji was groomed to cause NTI and it was not his fault.

Instead, despite being the captain that everyone loves and fears, she kowtowed to the crew's paranoia and had the pilots fitted with explosive chokers, put in explosively rigged solitary confinement and gave the order to kill Shinji if they feared the worst. This is the sort of thing that drives fully grown men to suicide, never mind 14 year olds that have just come out of a coma. Imagine if Shinji did commit suicide in his cell. Who would Misato and WILLE have turned to in order to defeat Gendo in the end? What if Gendo tricked WILLE into killing their own pilots with the explosives? They would be properly screwed then. If Misato actually cared, as we are led to believe from her hesitation to kill Shinji, then she would have told the rest of the WILLE crew to fuck off, instead of alienating and putting Shinji and the pilots in that much risk. Are we really expected to believe that Misato placed such extreme countermeasures on Shinji just to appease Midori and Sakura? Not likely. This is why I believe that Misato would not have put the DSS choker on Shinji in the first place, and her doing so in Q was extremely unrealistic and out of character, even with anything that happened during the timeskip.

Some of you will say: "Who cares about realism? It's a show about aliens and growing up." While this is true, Anno has proven that he is able to pull the themes off much better when you look at the NGE series. Disregarding the self-contained narrative, it is obvious that the purpose of Q was to bring Shinji to the same point he was at after episode 24 of the series. If we look at how NGE/EOE handled Shinji's depression, we see that it is quite realistic:

The neglect and coercion by the adults in his life, almost dying to angels multiple times, the sexual tension with Asuka, almost killing Touji, finding out Rei is a clone of his mother, Misato putting the moves on him and having to kill Kaworu all culminate towards Shinji's mental state during EOE. Shinji is passively suicidal but it's due to the *situation* and his own introverted tendencies instead of people actively trying to hurt and isolate him. He finds the will to live again due to his mothers words despite knowing just how difficult living might be. If you remove all the Evas and the Angels from the story, the themes that are touched upon (isolation, neglect, misunderstanding) still apply and the audience can still resonate with them. 

The rebuilds however go about it completely differently. They bring Shinji to that same suicidal state by having all the characters/plot actively harm Shinji's mental health by:

Putting him in a coma for 14 years so he is completely clueless. Imagine how groggy you are when you wake up in the morning and then multiply that by a million. 

Have Misato psychologically castrate Shinji by telling him he won't do anything with a look of disdain on her face.

Have Ritsuko make Shinji feel dread by telling him he has a bomb on his neck and it's because he is being "punished".

Not tell him why he is being punished when he asks Misato.

Have Asuka try to punch Shinji after he thought she was dead.

Tell Shinji the girl he saved is "gone”.

Have his "mother figure" threaten to blow his head off for wanting to leave with the girl you just told him is gone.

Have Asuka and Mari attack Shinji in Lilith's chamber even though Shinji was seemingly willing to listen to them had Asuka not kept attacking. (Watch that scene again and you'll see when Asuka learns what Shinji is trying to do, she stops attacking but instead of explaining that he's being manipulated, she just calls him a brat instead).

Even Mari was willing to potentially kill or cripple Shinji with the Anti-AT rounds. (We don't know what the AA rounds are truly capable of because the only time they are used on screen, they don't work. The round cartridges state that they are armor and AT field piercing and have explicit restrictions on their use. The fact that Mari requires Asuka's explicit authorization to use them imply that they are most likely lethal and would have killed/crippled Shinji had he been in a normal Eva). 

Have Shinji's friend's head explode with the device Shinji's "mother figure" actually meant for him. Imagine seeing someone's head explode and then remember that your "mother figure" actually meant that to be for you. That would certainly mess anyone up.

Have Asuka then kick and manhandle him when he is catatonic.

Have Asuka force feed him to the point where he pukes whilst he is still grieving the death of his friend. 

Have Shinji only be escorted whilst tied to a stretcher despite him coming voluntarily.

Have Misato place Shinji in 24/7 solitary confinement in a cell rigged with explosives.

Have Misato tell the WILLE crew to shoot Shinji on sight if they think he's getting into an EVA.

Have people tell Shinji that he's being a brat the entire time for reacting badly to all this.

By having Misato, Asuka, WILLE reject and "punish" Shinji so harshly so it kicks off his isolation and desperation, it makes Shinji's "recovery" seem less believable. Anno himself didn't even know how to make Shinji recover psychologically in 3.0+1.0 and he actually had to ask the voice actors on how to make that happen. The story made the WILLE crew go full scorched-earth and in doing so made Shinji's "growth" and his reconciliation with Misato seem impossible. 

I have already stated that I believe Q represents "Condemnation" and Shin represents "Compassion" and I think both films pull that off brilliantly. But that doesn't mean I think the characters acted in a realistic manner. I do not believe that Misato would have placed such harsh sanctions on Shinji in the first place for the reasons I have stated above. And if she did, I do not believe that Shinji would have easily forgiven Misato (even IF she took a bullet for him) as we see he does in the film. I do not believe that WILLE were merely "scared and desperate" because as the dialogue above shows, they are surprisingly understanding (but still disapproving) of Shinji's situation despite him literally starting another impact. I do not believe that Misato would have bent over to Sakura and Midori's resentment and taken measures against Shinji, just to ease their minds. 

In summary, my main problem with the post-timeskip rebuilds is that I feel they gaslight the audience in thinking that Shinji was just being a "brat" the entire time by having Asuka and Mari say: "You have grown a little/You smell like an adult now." However, the truth is Shinji's been through so much mental suffering perpetrated by the people he cares about, that it's a miracle he's not killed himself. It would certainly break most of us on this forum. The movies seek to show Shinji "finally" taking responsibility when the truth is, the plot went so above and beyond putting him down in such an extreme manner in the first place.

[pitviperofdoom]

TMA Fantasy Week, Day 2

Prompt: Fae

Summary: A faerie imprisoned by hunters receives a strange visitor. (Pre JonGerry)

Warnings: Imprisonment, forced obedience.

Part of a larger story I’m working on. I’ll be posting it on AO3 when I’m finished.

***

He smelled the she-wolf before he saw her.

When the door to his little chamber opened, he kept his eyes shut, as always. Why bother opening them? The hounds had become tiresome to look at of his own accord. If they needed him, then they could bark his Name and be done with it.

And so he smelled her first—fresh blood and grave dirt clinging to her fur—and heard her claws click on the cold stone floor, until the sound softened as heavy paws became lighter feet.

It was a shoe that nudged him, none too gently, before she spoke in a voice laced with a low growl. “Get up, Keay.”

He rose because he could not do otherwise, even with only a fragment of his Name in her teeth. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to find the she-wolf standing before him, windblown and bloodstained from a recent and successful chase.

That was odd. The hounds rarely hunted without consulting him first, wringing answers from his unwilling lips until they were satisfied that they knew their prey. But here she was, eyes bright and hunger sated, without his help.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Shut up,” she snapped, and his jaw clicked obediently shut. Satisfied, Julia looked over her shoulder and called out. “Bring ‘em in, Trev.”

The other hound entered, though he stayed back by the door. And then, a moment later, a third figure crept cautiously through the doorway, skirting Trevor before coming to a halt at a respectful distance from Julia. In an instant, their eyes were on him.

They were small, though anyone would look small while standing near the hounds. They were nearly plain as well, but for a few flashes of beauty. Dark brown eyes, deep and sharp with curiosity. Dark hair that brushed their shoulders, shot through with silver. Slender hands on delicate wrists, that would have been graceful if they weren’t trembling so. It only took a glance to know why—their skin was darker than his, but he could still see the familiar bruises that marked their wrists. The wolves had been rough with them—another prisoner to share his cage?

No—they would never bother keeping a human. What good was a human to them, when they had him instead?

Only… someone must have aided in their hunt.

“Here you are, then,” said Julia, with a dismissive flick of her hand. “You want a story? He’s got plenty.” The human’s eyes narrowed at this—not angry, merely thoughtful. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ve heard what you do with stories.”

(His ears pricked at that—a human with sharp and curious eyes, aiding hunters and asking for stories in return. That could mean nothing, or it could mean everything.)

“Count yourself lucky we didn’t just rip your throat out too,” Julia growled. “Save everyone else the trouble.”

The human carefully shifted their shaking hands behind their back. “That won’t be necessary,” was their polite reply.

“Good.” Julia nodded shortly. “That’s our end of the deal, then.” She shouldered roughly past them, knocking them neatly out of her way as she rejoined Trevor. From some hidden pocket within her coat, she drew out a familiar slip of old, weathered sheepskin between her fingers and showed it off with a careless wave. “Give us a shout if he gets mouthy, and we’ll set him right.”

“You’re not staying?” the human asked.

“Trevor hates being around him too long,” Julia replied.

“Gives me the creeps.” Trevor’s lip curled past the tips of his teeth. “Looks human but ain’t. If it wasn’t so useful, we’d have killed it ages ago.”

“Door’s unlocked, so come out when you’re done,” said Julia. “Don’t worry about him escaping—he knows better.”

As the wolves left the dark chamber and closed the door behind them, not once did he take his eyes from the scrap in Julia’s hand.

The moment they were gone, he sat down again, and with a rustle of fabric his visitor joined him at a distance. Their eyes never left his face, even as he refused to meet them.

“You want a story,” he said. It was not a question.

“I don’t know if ‘want’ is the right word,” the human replied.

“You’re the Archivist.” The words slip easily off his tongue—the truth, then. “Why are you here?”

The Archivist was silent for a moment. “I led prey to them,” they replied. “I helped them hunt. I asked for a story in return, but they didn’t want to give one, so they brought me to you instead.”

He smiled at that, wide and angry in the dark, clenching his teeth until he could imagine the taste of blood. “Did they, now.”

“Will you tell me one?” the Archivist asked.

It was a question, not a command, and even if it were otherwise, without his Name in their hand it would have no teeth. “No,” he replied, savoring the taste of the word like fine wine.

It was not freedom that he felt in refusing, but if he closed his eyes and imagined, it felt close. It was his favorite word, if only because he so rarely got to say it. Sometimes it felt as if gold would fall from his lips when he did.

It was worth the pain that always followed.

The Archivist looked confused, but not quite surprised. “No…?”

“Their debt is not mine to pay.”

“I suppose it isn’t.” The Archivist regarded him thoughtfully, curiously. Their lips pressed together firmly, as if holding back a deluge of questions.

He waited for his visitor to rise back up, call for their hosts and demand they make good on their deal by forcing a story from him. There wasn’t much he could do to defy the wolves that held his Name, but defiance still tasted sweet in the moment.

But the Archivist remained where they were. Either they thought they could cajole or force him themself, or they simply hadn’t thought of it yet. If that was the case, then he wasn’t about to remind them.

“Then we’re at an impasse, I suppose,” they said after a moment. “Unless there’s something I can offer you?”

He bared his teeth in a smile. “Your name, if you don’t mind?”

“I do mind,” the Archivist replied without batting an eye. “You may not have my Name. But if you like, you may call me Jon.”

He spread his hands wide. “Then we are at an impasse,” he replied. “Jon.” A simple name, but it sat nicely on the tongue.

“I suppose we are,” said Jon. They glanced at the door, but made no move to approach it.

Perhaps they were simply stupid. Rather unfortunate, for someone so significant to the Court of the Eye. Then again, it didn’t take much in the way of cleverness to collect stories.

“Was there something else you wanted?” he asked.

Jon shrugged. “It hasn’t been enough time for a story yet,” he said. “If I leave now, they might wonder why.”

That was not the answer that he was expecting. “And?”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want them to rip one out of you against your will?”

He stiffened. “No,” he admitted, almost petulantly. Not stupid after all, then. “Don’t you?”

He didn’t like the way Jon looked at him after that, measuring him with a glance. “Not particularly,” they replied. “They’re the ones indebted to me, so they should be the ones to pay, not you.”

“Oh.”

From the other side of the room, the Archivist’s eyes remained fixed on him. “They have more than just your name,” they said, and though their voice didn’t rise at the end of it, he knew it for the question it was. “You’re a full faerie, or as near as you can be.”

He nodded. “Only half of one, by blood,” he replied. “But these things don’t really care much about blood.”

“Except vampires.”

“Obviously except vampires,” he snapped. The Archivist cringed at his tone, drawing in their shoulders to make themself even smaller. “What matters is power. And, for the Court of the Eye, knowledge. But I’m sure you already know that.”

“Yes,” Jon replied, a little hoarsely.

“Knowledge matters here, as well,” he went on. “That’s why they keep me.”

“They showed me that scrap she had,” said Jon. “They said it had your Name written on it. I thought it was awfully risky, showing me something like that when they want to keep you.” Their eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ll bet, if I called it right now without that slip in my hand, it wouldn’t work for me.”

It was not a question. In fact, the Archivist sounded like they were trying very hard to keep it from being one.

“What of it.”

Jon studied him for a moment longer. “Just curious,” he said. “In the meantime, is there something I can call you?”

The question puzzled him, though he didn’t show it. “You know my Name already.”

Their face spoke volumes—a tightening around the lips, to hold back something more telling. “I don’t think I’d like it if people used my Name, even if it was useless to them,” they said. “Is there something that you’d like to be called?”

The question tugged a “Yes” from him, though no more than that. He could have kept silent, and in spite of everything he knew about the world, he suspected that Jon would even let him. In the end, he replied, “Gerry.”

They smiled. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “It’s a pleasure, Gerry.”

“No it isn’t,” he said, and the smile slipped from their face.

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I don’t suppose… is there anything I can do?”

“Steal my Name back from the wolves, and deliver it to me,” he replied. “You’d get a story from me then.”

He’d meant it as a joke, an impossible task posed to flaunt what little power he had. And yet the Archivist looked thoughtful, as if they were genuinely considering it.

“They’d rip you to shreds before you got close,” he said.

“Yes,” Jon mused. “I suppose they would. Considering how they’re trying to repay my favor, they don’t strike me as particularly fair.”

“Yeah, they’re big on foisting debts on others.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Jon replied, and barely flinched when he showed his teeth. “From what I’ve seen, I doubt they won your name fairly in the first place.”

He ground his teeth. “I think it’s been enough time, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Jon sighed, but got up anyway. At the door, he paused and looked back. “One more question, if you want to answer.”

“What now?”

“Do you know if someone’s looking for you?” they asked. “Anyone you’d like to send word to? Anyone wondering where you are?”

“There’s no one.” Nothing was pulling the truth out of him this time, but it still poured hot and foul from his throat. “No one but the one who gave out my Name in the first place. My mother is gone, and my father died so long ago that I never even learned his name.”

Something sparked in the Archivist’s eyes. Not just emotion, but power—the very power revered in the Court of the Eye. He hadn’t expected that, and he couldn’t help wonder what his honesty had wrought.

The moment passed, and without warning, the Archivist smiled again. “Thank you, Gerry.”

They said it precisely and clearly, with obvious intention. It made him balk; the Courts worked in deals and trades and favors, and words of gratitude came with the risk of accepting a debt. He had to wonder once more if the Archivist was stupid.

But he wasn’t going to get an answer. Jon knocked on the door, and moments later Julia opened it.

“All done?” she asked gruffly.

He sat back, tired and vaguely curious. The Archivist was odd, odd enough to reawaken his own curiosity, long since buried after the wolves took his Name. It was a shame to see him leave so soon.

“Not quite,” Jon replied, startling him. “I have business with the Court and I have to leave, and I was only able to hear a piece of his story. I’ll be back later for the rest.”

What?

Irritation flashed in Julia’s eyes, but she stood to the side with an impatient huff. “Fine then. Guess the quarry you found us was worth a lot.”

The Archivist glanced over their shoulder before they left, briefly meeting his eyes. That strange light still shone in Jon’s gaze, steady and curious and otherwise unreadable. They were gone before he could properly decipher it.

Julia barely spared him a second glance before shutting the door on him and leaving him in the dark. He sat back with a sigh, thoughts running through his head with frantic energy. Had he caught the attention of the Eye? Had Jon caused it, or was he merely a symptom of that attention? Perhaps he would find out, the next time the Archivist came to visit him.

It was an odd feeling, to have something to look forward to again.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

hey hi I've been trying to write something, anything, and what came out is like 3k of an extremely stupid supervillain/superhero story that I’d been kicking around in some form like over ten years ago. it doesn’t map onto any kind of an AU so I guess it’s original fiction? enjoy?

Cityton Chronicles, part 1

The problem with carrying out an evil scheme, thought Edmund, was the scheme part.

Anyone could nurse a sinister thought or two; it wasn't that hard to shake one's fist at the sky and murmur, “You'll pay for this. With God as my witness, oh, you will pay” and then maybe cackle a little. That much was child's play. (Literal child's play; he had witnessed more than a few dire pronouncements from his classmates at Hawthorne Grimmsbury's Academy for Ominous Boys, especially when recess was threatened.)

Actually going through with a plan was a whole different story. There were logistics to manage. There were people to manipulate, details to babysit, hypotheticals to anticipate. The nitty-gritty, as it were.

Edmund was not destined for the nitty-gritty.

Although, wasn't that what useless people always said? “I'm more of a big-picture person.” Maybe he was useless. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe Edmund Malarkey, heir to Malarkey Industries, was simply not cut out for masterminding.

Case in point, he had a terrible feeling he was about to make a complete hash of the Ritual.

The parameters were clear enough: full moon—check. Chalk for pentagrams—check. One hundred lit candles—check. (Some were scented; the store hadn't had enough plain tapers in stock, but the text of the Ritual had been written well before the notion of pumpkin spice was a cozy twinkle in some godless marketer's eye, and so Edmund figured this would probably not disqualify him.) Thirteen hooded figures, all in black...

This was where things got dicey.

The first sign of the trouble to come was when Carl showed up in navy fucking blue.

Edmund pinched at the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly, breath crystalline in the late November air. The invitations had been so specific.

“It looked pretty dark online,” Carl offered as the wind whipped at them atop the roof of the Cityton Natural History Museum.

“Pretty dark? Pretty dark? Did it look like the blackest black?” said Edmund. “Did it look like Anish Kapur's most haunting nightmare? Did it look like a raven's wing in shadow at the stroke of midnight, Carl?” Carl stuck out his chin. “It's almost black.”

“Yes, and bananas and humans share about sixty percent of their DNA, we're almost cousins,” Edmund told him, dangerously quiet, “but fortunately for you, I'm not going to peel you and eat you in a fruit salad, you buffoonish optimist.”

Edmund should never have relied upon his father's former henchpeople. They were loyal to his father; they looked upon him with bemused tolerance. He should've just gone ahead and recruited all of the necessary twelve people from Craigslist. He'd held off due to a suspicion that anyone he found on the internet would assume the Ritual was fundamentally a weird sex thing, but at least a bunch of kinksters would have probably taken the rules seriously.

He sighed. “Carl, there's a bodega down on the corner. Go buy two black trash bags and make yourself a garbage-robe.” Carl frowned. “Is there time?”

Edmund checked his phone. Eleven fifty-three. “Hurry. And save the receipt.”

Another gust of wind kicked up. Edmund shivered. He'd been smart enough to request a fabric swatch ahead of time from the Etsy store where he'd custom-ordered his own set of hooded black robes. He hadn't stopped to consider how warm—or not—a single layer of said fabric would feel well into autumn, completely unshielded by the elements. Theoretically, he could've crammed a coat under the robes, like a child wearing a Halloween costume in an unseasonably cold October, but no, he hadn't wanted to look bulky.

He checked the candles again, for want of anything better to do.

“Boss,” said a hesitant voice behind him.

“What is it, Stephanie,” said Edmund.

Stephanie had clearly repurposed her teenager's old Hermione costume as her robes, but she had bothered to remove the Hogwarts branding, which was something, at least. Beyond the fact that Edmund didn't feel like giving a repellent transphobe any extra attention, there might have been copyright issues.

“Is that thing about bananas really true?”

“Yeah,” said Edmund. He had read it many years ago, in a book titled 2002 MORE WACKY FACTS TO BLOW YOUR MIND AND AMAZE YOUR FRIENDS, which didn't seem especially pertinent. He did a quick headcount. Even without Carl, they only numbered eleven. “Where's Donna?”

“You should call her,” said Stephanie. “Donna never answers her texts.”

Edmund had been halfway through tapping out a text. Ugh, Boomers. Calling was for emergencies only; everyone knew that. Unfortunately, this qualified. He gritted his teeth and dialed.

Donna answered on the fourth ring. “What?” She sounded groggy.

“Did you,” said Edmund, still through gritted teeth, “forget what night the Ritual was?”

“Oh shit,” mumbled Donna. “Are you sure? I thought it was at noon tomorrow. Carl told me twelve o'clock.”

“At night,” said Edmund. “Twelve o'clock at night, this is a dark incantation to a primordial god, it does not overlap with daytime television.”

Just then, Edmund's phone beeped with another call. “Can you hold, Donna,” he hissed.

“Hey boss,” said Carl, “the bodega only has white or green trash bags, what's my next step?”

“HOLD,” Edmund shouted, switching calls again. “Donna, can you grab an extremely dark-colored robe and be here immediately?”

“Like a bathrobe?” said Donna, sounding lost.

Of course Carl had not bothered to relay the dress code. Of course he hadn't even managed to hand her the painstakingly crafted invitation. Edmund had used the nicest card stock available to him, not that it mattered.

“Uh, boss?” Leroy called over the roar of the wind. Edmund flexed his stiffening fingers.

“One second, Donna,” said Edmund.

“How much longer is this gonna be?” said Leroy. “Because I was gonna catch the late show tonight—”

“Watch it on YouTube the next day like a normal person!” Edmund snapped. “Donna—”

“I can be there by 12:40,” said Donna through the tinny phone speaker. “There's some errands I wanna run first.”

“It's the middle of the night, what errands!” said Edmund. “Donna, hold—” He switched back to Carl. “Listen, are you sure there aren't any black trash bags?”

“White or green only,” Carl affirmed. “Some of them are scented, do you think that would make a difference?”

“Boss,” said Frank from the other side of the roof, “we lost the chalk?”

“Hold on, Carl,” said Edmund. “What?”

“It was here a second ago!” “Did you secure the chalk against the wind?”

“What?” said Frank.

“The chalk, it's cylindrical!” Edmund managed to shout. “Did you do anything so it wouldn't just roll straight off the roof?”

Somewhere above the din of wind came the sound of a half dozen pieces of sidewalk chalk landing on the street five stories below and shattering.

Edmund buried his (cold) face in his (frozen) hands.

“Uh boss,” said Stephanie. “It's 12:01.”

Edmund sighed. The primordial god K'h'gg'ragel might have allowed for some creative interpretations on Ritual-adjacent matters, but everyone knew K'h'gg'ragel was a stickler for punctuality.

“Alright,” said Edmund, pitching his voice to carry. “Pack it in, we'll try again next full moon.”

“Phew,” said Leroy, who was wearing a thick downy jacket over his robes, and a hat with earflaps, and mittens. “It's cold out.”

“I FOUND A BLUE ONE!” Carl shouted from the speaker. “IS THAT ANY BETTER?”

Edmund turned his phone off.

Lighting and strategically placing one hundred candles had been something of an undertaking. Blowing them all out alone and stuffing them back into a series of duffel bags was somehow worse. Edmund was about half-done when he heard a distinct whirring buzz. He looked up.

It was Dragonfly. Of course it was Dragonfly, heading right for him.

Great. Edmund's first-ever showdown was going to be a one-on-one against a superhero armed with a jetpack, one hell of a punch, and electrified darts. Edmund was going to get flattened, and all before he even got the chance to point out that the darts and for that matter the punching didn't fit with the overall insect theme. 

“Hey man,” said Dragonfly, dropping effortlessly down to the roof of the museum. “I saw the lights from the sky, thought I'd investigate.”

They weren't fighting yet. Why weren't they fighting? Edmund's whole body fizzed with adrenaline. Also, cold. Either way, he was shaking a little, and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“And what, strike another heroic blow against the terror that is a bunch of sweater-themed Yankee Candles?” said Edmund.

Dragonfly shrugged. His costume included a bottle-green moto jacket and gloves. It looked warm, in a way that made Edmund feel even colder. “Sweater candles? What, like burning wool?” he said.

Privately, Edmund had wondered about that too. This, he decided obscurely, was another strike against Dragonfly.

“Maybe burning wool smells phenomenal,” said Edmund instead, rocking forward. “There's no way you could possibly know, unless you're here to tell me you've lit a sheep on fire, which seems well outside your whole—” he waved his hands vaguely “—moral compass.”

“Word travels fast,” said Dragonfly gravely. “I am foursquare against sheep-burning. Always have been.”

Edmund squared his shoulders. “So, are we doing this, or what?”

From behind his signature oversized goggles, Dragonfly's brow seemed to furrow slightly. “Doing what?”

“Fighting,” said Edmund. He had to grind his teeth together to keep them from chattering.

“Ah,” said Dragonfly after a pause. “Oh. Um. Okay. Here's the thing?” He steepled his fingers. “You seem unarmed. You're not hurting anyone. You're also not committing any crimes.” Edmund opened his mouth to protest, and Dragonfly continued, “Or, okay, you're trespassing on the museum, I guess, technically, but it's not like you're even trying to sneak into an exhibit without paying.”

“I am here,” said Edmund firmly, “to perform a terrible and arcane Ritual which will summon—”

“Yeah?” said Dragonfly. “Where's your followers? Where's your summoning chalk? It's well past midnight and the only sign of any occult activity I can see is the candles, but for all I know, you were just up here trying to have a little me-time, which, like, on some level I get, you know?”

“So,” said Edmund blankly, “what now?” He had given up on trying to tense his jaw. His upper and lower teeth clacked rhythmically against each other.

“I give you a stern verbal warning about what's probably a minor fire hazard and recommend that you enjoy the museum from the inside, during business hours, with a ticket,” said Dragonfly. “I hear they have a great exhibit on prehistoric mammals. In the meantime, get somewhere warm, okay? Your lips are turning blue.” “Fuck off,” Edmund more or less managed to say through his shivers.

Dragonfly spread his hands, placating. “Fair enough.” He began to walk away. At the edge of the roof, he hesitated. “Uh, do you have a way down?”

“Obviously,” said Edmund.

“Yeah,” said Dragonfly. “Uh, okay.” They regarded each other. “What is it?” said Dragonfly after a few seconds.

Edmund froze. Or well, he was already half-frozen. Edmund stopped moving, was the point.

Apparently interpreting Edmund's silence as helplessness, Dragonfly offered dubiously, “I could carry you down?”

“How,” said Edmund, flat. It was the wrong thing to say, in that it wasn't 'No,' or 'Fuck off' again, something sensible like that, but damn it, he was freezing, and if he gave up the way he'd gotten everyone onto the roof, then this whole fucking evening was going to be a wash. He had tried so hard. It wasn't fair.

Dragonfly took a step closer. “Fireman or bridal?”

Edmund tried and failed to parse this three separate times in his cold-fuzzed brain. “Is that a meme?” he settled on finally.

“Do you,” said Dragonfly, “have a preference on how I carry you.”

“We haven't even established that you're going to,” Edmund said. Clackity clackity clack went his traitorous teeth.

Dragonfly sighed. “I can't leave you up here,” he said. “One, if I let you keep hanging out on the roof of the history museum, then technically I'm kinda aiding and abetting your whole trespassing situation. Two, it is really fucking chilly up here, and if you freeze to death, then that's on me. Which is also not, like, great for my conscience.”

“So I don't have a choice,” Edmund spat.

“You totally have a choice,” said Dragonfly. He tilted his head to the side. “Hell, you could do me a solid and just exit using whatever secret method you entered with, but I have a feeling mum's the word on that particular angle.”

This Dragonfly character was smarter than he looked. Of course, he was a grown man who fought crime dressed as a giant insect. The bar was not particularly high.

“Mum's the word?” Edmund echoed. “What are you, ninety?”

“I'm an old fucking soul, dude,” said Dragonfly. “Point being, you don't trust me not to watch you leave the roof. Which is hurtful, frankly. I'm not sure I trust you not to stay up here out of pure stubbornness. If I give you a quick boost down, then it's problem solved and we can both go about our nights. Crime-fighting for me, and for you hopefully a pile of blankets and whatever warm food rich people eat. Mashed potatoes? With...caviar?”

This clearly did not merit a response. Dragonfly knew who Edmund was, apparently. Most people did.

“What if you drop me?” said Edmund.

Dragonfly laughed. He had a nice laugh. It was yet another point against him, somehow. “Don't you think that might go against my whole—” he gestured with both hands “moral compass?”

Edmund recognized his own words being used against him. On the other hand, the thought of a hot meal and, moreover, central heating beckoned.

“I don't care,” Edmund said at last.

“What?” said Dragonfly.

“Bridal or fireman's carry,” said Edmund. “I don't care.”

Dragonfly nodded sagely. “Let's get this over with, then,” he said. “Hey, d’you want help with your candles?”

Did he? He didn't want to want help with his candles, but that was another question. On the other hand, if Edmund accepted Dragonfly's aid, it would shave off valuable minutes of this excruciating headache. The backs of Edmund's knees were cold. It was absurd.

“Fine,” said Edmund.

“Huh,” said Dragonfly several minutes later. “This one's rain-scented, and this one's Ocean Spray, and yet they smell nothing alike.”

Dragonfly had without fail commented on every single scented candle in the bunch. Edmund looked up from his umpteenth taper candle, momentarily distracted from the knifelike chill.

“Rain and ocean are two completely different things,” said Edmund. “The surrounding environment, the vibe, the salt content.”

“The vibe, I grant you,” said Dragonfly. “But salt, really? Have you ever smelled salt before?”

“The ocean has a smell,” Edmund insisted. His family had summered on the coast every year before—well. Before last year. He mostly remembered the sea as having a whiff of fish about it, which didn't sound promising for a candle, but it was the principle of the thing.

Dragonfly shrugged. “You've got me there,” he said. “Never been.” Cityton was only about an hour's drive from the beach. Edmund wasn't sure he knew anyone who had never visited at least once, for a long weekend at least. Of course, it wasn't like Edmund knew Dragonfly. He didn't even know what Dragonfly's eyes looked like.

Edmund blew out another few tapers.

“This one's just called Singing Carols,” Dragonfly announced. “Guess what it smells like, I dare you.”

And so on.

In the end, Dragonfly carried Edmund off the roof of the Natural History Museum scooped under the armpits, the way you might hold a cat if you were engaging in some light cat-related horseplay. The mechanical dragonfly wings were well-made, Edmund could admit that much; Dragonfly didn't seem to have any issue bearing Edmund's weight or the combined weight of the candles, and their feet gently touched the ground after only a few seconds. It was already slightly warmer—or at least slightly less freezing—on street-level.

Dragonfly let go and stepped back immediately. This close, Edmund could see that his lips were pretty badly chapped. It made sense that someone who donated all their time to—again—flitting around town trying to right every minuscule so-called wrong while dressed like a bug wouldn't be experienced enough with self-care to be acquainted with a good lip balm, but the thought made Edmund weirdly a little sad.

His sense of deeply ingrained politeness warred against the equally powerful urge to be a real bastard about the whole thing. In the end, politeness won out, by the very skin of its mannerly little teeth.

“Thank you for not dropping me to my almost certain death,” Edmund gritted out with extreme reluctance. He stared over Dragonfly's shoulder as he said it.

Nevertheless, for some awful reason, for just that moment, it felt a little like the end of a date.

“Right,” said Dragonfly. “Right. Well then. Happy trails.” He seemed to consider this. “Or you know, if doing crimes is what makes you happy, then for the sake of Cityton, let's say, mediocre trails. Do you wanna borrow my gloves?”

“Why,” said Edmund flatly.

Even though the goggles completely obscured much of the upper half of Dragonfly's face, Edmund had the distinct sense that a disbelieving stare was being leveled at him.

“For your hands? You know, the traditional office of gloves?”

As the scion of Malarkey Industries, Edmund was long accustomed to being hated for who he was. Hated, feared, not-too-secretly envied. And lately: mocked, dismissed, his family name transmuted into a juicy, low-hanging punchline for lazy late night writers.

He wasn't sure he'd ever been pitied before. It did not sit well.

“I'll warm my hands on the fires of hell while I plot your demise, you miserable fool,” growled Edmund.

“Yikes,” said Dragonfly easily. “Well, I'm off.” And with that, he took to the sky.

Edmund curled his fingers into the sleeves of his stupid, summer-weight summoner's robes and started back towards what remained of his home.

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 9

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 9

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

The Gala. The Wayne Gala. The Wayne New Year’s Gala. The Wayne Gala to celebrate the New Year.

“I can’t do it!” Marinette screamed. “What if I trip and fall on Mr. Wayne and then he will break his leg!? Or what if I accidentally babble something I’m not supposed to and make it a disaster!? Or what if Lila makes a mess and I get blamed for it in front of thousands of people!?” She started breathing heavily. “Or maybe I’ll just look awkward and people decide that I’m useless and Mr. Wayne decides that I should leave Damian to spare him the embarrassment?! I can…” Tikki slapped Marinette when she didn’t respond to any of her pleas.

“Marinette! Breathe.” The Kwami instructed her. 

“Sorry Tikki. I’m really nervous. I know that making the announcement today is the best option since we’re starting school soon and the news would break anyway, but it’s just so… I’m not used to all that.” 

“I know Marinette. But you must accept that your beloved lives in these circles and you must respect some of the needs. He’s changing for you, but you can’t just demand he abandon his old life.” 

“I know… I really want to make this work. He… I know I can trust him like nobody else. Even… even you… I love you, but you’re not…”

“Human?”

“Yes! I’m sorry Tikki. You’re still my partner and my best friend. Don’t tell that to Chloé though.”

“My lips are sealed.” The kwami giggled. “You’re my favorite chosen too, Marinette. You have the true creation inside you.”

“Thanks, Tikki.”

“Not get on and show them what you’re made of!” The little goddess cheered. 

“Yes! I’m going to rock! I’m great!” The girl said confidently and put on the purple mask with golden lines. 

-------

Damian waited impatiently for his beloved to come. The guests were already filling in and his father and brothers went to greet them. Tom and Sabine, dressed in their MDC original outfits, were already on the dance floor, showing everyone that they could still move even in their forties. Cass was probably somewhere with Bourgeois, stealing cookies or something. The two seemed to bond over being the third wheel and treating Sabine like their new mother. 

“Wassup Dames?” A voice startled him and Damian whirled around with a punch that stopped an inch from Jon’s nose. 

“Tt. Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs? With the guests?” He grumbled. 

“Nah. Mom and Dad are with your dad, going over the safe questions to ask your wi…” Jon didn’t get to finish that word because Damian lunged at him and covered his mouth. 

“Tt. Shut up. The last thing I need is drama caused by your big mouth.” 

*muffled sounds*

“I don’t care. Mouth shut or I’ll test the new Kryptonite dusters.”

*more muffled sounds*

“I did get them. Want me to try them out right now?” Jon shook his head. “Good. We’ve got an agreement?” A nod. “Fine.” Damian let him go.

“You’re very violent, you know that?”

“Tt. Shut up.”

“I’m just saying.” 

“I told you to…” Damian’s words died in his throat. Marinette entered the scene.

“Shall we?” She asked, handing him a sleek black mask with gold details. When light reflected from it, a very subtle purple gleam could be seen.

“It’s incredible, Habibti. Just like the rest of my suit.” He was dressed in a pure-black three-piece, a white shirt underneath, and had a black tie. He screamed style and power.

-------

All in all, the trip was not yet a disaster for Lila Rossi. Her lies were slowly taking root in the people around her. Like the clerk at the Hotel. Soon, she would have them all wrapped around her fingers. Only Maribrat and Chloé seemed to be completely immune to her charms. But that girl was too goody-two-shoes for her own good and Bourgeois was hated even before she started her work. 

There was also that exchange student, Grayson boy… Darren, Damien, something like that. She couldn’t believe she thought that guy was Damian Wayne when he first walked into her class. She went as far as stopping Alya from being mean to him. From her research, all Waynes were kind and helpful. Damian Wayne supposedly volunteered at an animal shelter. The press described him as ‘cute in a special way.’ Blasted Waynes and their no-pictures policy. The guy in her class looked a bit similar to Bruce Wayne, at least at first glance. Then, she noticed that his skin was darker (not just solar tan), his nose was a bit different too. And his eyes were green. It was the only constant with the Waynes. They all had dark hair and blue eyes.

As such, she dismissed him as unimportant and focused on her more important goals. Making a deal with Gabriel Agreste, or rather Hawkmoth, was risky. In the end, it worked out for her in many ways. She gained a foothold from which she made her small empire. And Agreste boy was nice arm candy for a while. Until he went all psycho on Maribrat that is.

Now if she found one of the Waynes, she could start working on worming her way in. Blasted masks! They appeared too good in the media not to have a big dirty secret to exploit. Blackmail wouldn’t be new for her. 

The Gala was slowly starting when all the lights turned off. Two stage flood lights focused on the stairs leading to the second floor of the manor. Two people appeared on them. First was a young man, about her age, dressed all black. He radiated money and influence and she was sure what he wore was in fact an MDC original. But he was nothing next to his companion.

Her dark-purple dress shone in the light like a thousand diamonds. It hugged her figure perfectly and while she was most likely the same age as her companion, she still looked stunning. The high collar was embroidered with a golden thread that formed intricate patterns around her slender neck. The sleeves went down to her arms where they seamlessly merged with gloves. The line was blurred by twin bracelets that each had a symbol of a bat with flowers. A nod toward the Bats of Gotham while keeping it original. From the waist down, it opened on the side, giving her the freedom to move while still keeping the near-royal appearance. With each step, it flowed slightly, revealing the golden underlining. Her legs were also covered with the same material down to ballet shoes in a deeper shade of purple finished with golden lining.

Her blue hair reached slightly beyond her shoulders and matched her eyes perfectly. All the gold and purple served to make everyone focus on her. 

Lila cursed under her breath. There was no chance anyone would notice her with someone like that parading around. Something had to be done. Lila checked her own dress. It was pretty, but when compared to that, it came plain. 

All her scheming came to the halt when the pair walked over to Bruce Wayne and got him to stop speaking with Gotham’s mayor. They knew him. A realization dawned on her. It was Damian Wayne and his date. They had to be. But his eyes… they were green. 

“No…” escaped the Liar’s lips. The woman she was talking to noticed and followed her gaze. Some part of Lila’s brain noticed she also checked her dress and was saddened. At least her reaction was not out of place. 

Bruce Wayne walked with the two back to the stairs where the stand with a microphone was prepared before the lights were turned back on. Sensing a juicy story, all the journalists and bloggers swarmed as close as possible. Some even lost their masks. 

“Can I have a moment of your attention?” The billionaire asked. His eyes swept over the crowd. “Before I start, I wanted to remind you that there is a strict no-photos policy on the gala. We’ve hired a photographer with an exclusive contract and any pictures taken not by him will be considered a breach and will be met with a lawsuit.” 

The murmurs broke all around the crowd. It was a known fact that taking unsolicited photos at Wayne Galas was forbidden. There was no need to remind anyone about it unless it was a really juicy piece. The last time Bruce Wayne took time to remind everyone about this was when Jason Todd turned out to be alive and well, only slightly amnesiac. 

“Now. First I wanted to welcome everyone to this year’s Gala. We’re closing another year and I thank everyone for showing up to celebrate with me and my family.” He raised a small glass of champagne. “In particular, I wanted to welcome a class from Paris that is participating in the year-long exchange program funded by the Thomas Wayne Education fund. I hope you enjoyed Gotham so far.” The journalists were frantically noting everything down. Either for publishing or just to put it in tabloids with some conspiracy theories. “Now, onto the main reason for the announcement. You know I’m not good at speeches.” He grinned and the crowd exploded into laughter. “Since my son just returned from Paris, I’m well aware that this news would break anyway when he returned to school. I ask you to respect their privacy and… well, at least try not to bother them. May I introduce Damian Wayne and his girlfriend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Everyone started to either whisper or frantically make notes and think of questions to ask. The fact that Damian Wayne, dubbed Ice Prince of Gotham, got himself a girlfriend serious enough to be introduced to everyone was already front-page news for many of them. Even just the dress she wore was front-page news. Any journalist that dabbled in celebrity fashion would recognize an MDC original by now, at least from Jagged Stone or Clara Nightingale. The two refused to even consider anything else. 

“Tt. Against my better judgment, I know that teenagers are walking gossip machines so you would all learn it the moment we entered Gotham Academy.” Damian started his speech. “As such, I want to clear any and all confusion before it can start. This,” he motioned at Marinette, “ is my girlfriend. We met in Paris and clicked immediately. I expect you to show her the same respect you show my family or I will challenge you to an honor duel.” 

Damian was not even trying to hide his distaste for journalists today. He could see that Marinette was uncomfortable with this attention even more than he was. He grew up used to attention while simultaneously being taught that newspapers were at best a propaganda tool and at worst trouble to be dealt with. Obviously, he disliked them, even more, when he became Damian Wayne. Usually, he tried to remain civil to the journalists unless they were irritating. Today, he didn’t bother. Not that they didn’t know he was a private person. A certain paparazzi with a blade going through his camera would attest to that. 

“Angel, do you want to answer their questions or should I?” He whispered.

“Um… shouldn’t you first tell them more?” 

“No. It’s better if I only answer what they want to know.” 

“Um… Maybe you start.” 

“Fine.” He turned back to the microphone. “I will be taking the first question.” He pointed at Clark who had his hand in the air. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet. Could you tell us more about how you met?” 

“I joined Marinette’s class for the exchange program my Father mentioned. The only free seat was next to her, so that’s where I sat. What got my attention first was her willingness to stand up to injustice and forgive those who slighted her. She was open-minded and didn’t back down even when I was… Ehm… a bit rude.” He admitted. “I managed to ask her out and she showed me the side of Paris you don’t usually see with a tour guide. We share a passion for drawing and she shared with me her favorite place in Paris. No, I won’t reveal it. After that, my respect for her only grew when she was willing to accept an apology from a girl that bullied her in the past, helping her actually change her ways. Next question?” He pointed at a different journalist. He really hoped he picked right. The masks were making it harder than he assumed. A flaw in their plan that they overlooked. 

“Vicky Vale, Gotham Gazette” The woman introduced herself and Damian resisted the urge to curse. His Father’s ex was not exactly the most favorable toward them after their breakup, even if she tried to stay professional. “What more can you tell us about the mysterious girl behind the mask? So far we know she’s from Paris and likes to draw, plus some traits.”

“May I answer this?” Mari asked Damian, thinking it was high time for her to step up and help. He nodded and stepped back so she had free access to the microphone. “Hi. I'm Marinette. Mostly, I’m just a normal girl with a normal life…” She started. What followed was quite a long introduction where she gave the press enough to satisfy them while keeping private the parts she wanted.

There were many more questions. About family, plans, dreams, etc. The young couple answered some while dismissed others as too personal and rude. Finally, after over an hour they ended the event and told those who would stay to move on with the gala while several journalists were removed. In total, ten photographic devices were confiscated and Chloé got the honors of handling everything with Tim. He was there for a technical site, she was there for intimidation. 

One of the particularly irritating paparazzi tried to argue, but then Chloé started to rant until he was cowering in the corner. Pretty much everyone around them was now glaring at him with a hateful gaze. After that, they mostly behaved. 

-------

“Well… that was exhausting. And it’s only ten pm?” Marinette and Damian were resting next to the snacks table. They were enjoying a moment of peace once the initial wave of well-wishers passed. Jason was keeping an eye on the class to make sure they were stopped from making anything worse for themselves and everyone else. So far they were too stunned to deal with it. He was pleased to see that Alix girl was finally doing something and pointing out many flaws in their reasoning. The problem was Lila disappeared in the crowd for the moment. Chloé was on the hunt though. She was a master of dealing with a rich crowd, probably surpassing even Drake. 

“Here you are!” A voice startled the couple. Marinette and Damian turned to see a group of four people. Jon was one of them. There was also a girl with blonde hair pulled into a long braid and a boy in a blue suit with medium-long black hair and blue eyes. The fourth one made Marinette’s blood run cold. Her eyes went wide and she acted before anyone caught the wind of it. A strong straight punch sent the boy looking like Adrien flying onto the ground. 

Chatter around them died in an instant. Marinette tried to lunge at him, but Jon caught her. He was probably the only one strong enough to hold her back. 

“Let me go! Don’t you see he is a criminal?!” She was doing her best to get out of his grip. Damian suddenly was holding the blade to the neck of the blonde boy. 

“You have five seconds to speak.” 

“I’m sorry, but I’m not my moronic cousin. Would you please let go of me?” He asked with a thick British accent. 

“Tt. Prove it.” Damian scoffed. 

“Ugh. I’m really tired of dealing with everyone taking me for a criminal just because I look like him. Ask my mother!” 

Indeed, a blonde woman in a gray dress was making her way through the crowd. “Felix sweetie!?” She kneeled next to him while glaring daggers at Damian and Marinette. Reluctantly, he took away the sword but didn’t put it away. Dick and Tim also arrived.

“What happened?”

“That twit attacked my Felix!” 

“Tt. He shows up and looks just like a known criminal. You should’ve really chosen something other than a black mask and a black suit.” Damian frowned. He didn’t exactly feel bad about the incident, but the press would jump on that.

“It’s alright mum. I admit I’m partially at fault. I forgot the reaction Parisians have to me right now.” He bowed his head. “Please accept my apologies.” His lower lip was bleeding.

“Um… here. Let me help you.” Marinette pulled a tissue from her pocket (of course her dress had pockets) and handed it to him. Nodding, he wiped the blood. 

“Tt. I’m still not convinced.” 

“Damian! That’s rude. I remember Felix. He was in Paris once.” Then, she mumbled under her breath. “Caused a triple akumatization.”

“I am sorry for that…” 

“Felix joined our class this year. You left the day before he came.” The blonde girl explained.

“It was all just one big misunderstanding folks. You can move on.” Dick took control of the crowd and allowed the teens some breathing space. Except that’s when the class finally decided to start speaking up. 

“Yeah right! Marinette is just a big bully! I’m in her class and she was mean to Lila from the beginning. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dated Damian Wayne just for money.” Alya had to babble. The rest of the class (minus Alix) was either nodding or giving their own confessions, real or not, and always against Marinette. 

So far the Waynes avoided any accusations about gold-digging. The one journalist that tried to pick up the subject (subtly at first) was silenced by Damian’s evil eye. Now more people murmured. And the number of people able to respond was greatly limited as Damian, Chloé, Jason, and Sabine had to be restrained from hurting people. 

To everyone’s surprise, it was Cass who jumped on the table.

“Shut…! Up!” She shouted. Or what stood for her shouting, which was only slightly louder than normal people’s speech. Still, it got everyone’s attention. “Cousin Nettie is… kind. Good. Sel… Selfless. She is my family. Not… digger.” She glared at several people that were still muttering. “Saw her… date with Damian. She did not let him pay. Not digger!” There was a dangerous edge in her voice. That was enough to shut people up. Except for the class. 

“Of course you would protect her!” Kim stared at her. “You’re probably…” He didn’t finish because Alix covered his mouth. The girl noticed that Bruce, who was restraining Jason Todd was about to let go. She wasn’t sure exactly what would happen, but she wasn’t willing to find out. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave. Where is your teacher/chaperone?” Bruce asked, also glaring at them.

“Um… Madame Bustier is…”

“Madame Cheng is right there!” Mylene pointed to where Tom was doing his best to stop his wife from grabbing the Bag and cutting the class into tiny pieces.

“I… I don’t think it would be healthy for us to go with her right now. She is very emotional right now.” Alix offered. She was trying to act like the voice of reason. Something this class lacked. 

The teacher was quickly located flirting with one of the musicians invited to the gala. She was completely unaware of what her charges did. 

“I’m sure it was just some misunderstanding. Marinette indeed started acting out a bit this year. They probably overexaggerated a bit.”

“Tt. You mean she stopped being a doormat?” Damian huffed. 

“As I said, it’s time for the kids to leave,” Bruce said in a harsh tone. 

“Oh… Okay. I’m sure Sab…” 

“Caline. You’re the one responsible for taking care of them. You’ll take them away when Mr. Wayne asks.” Tom then pointed at his wife, who he was holding a few inches above the ground to keep her from doing something stupid. 

“Um… Of course.” The teacher sighed. “Kids. Gather your things. We must leave.” 

As they were walking out, people applauded. After Alfred closed the doors behind them it was finally safe to let the more violent part of the family free. In all that mess, nobody noticed that a certain sausage-haired girl was not with them

“Now, Wayne.” The blonde started. “Want to explain why we had to learn about you having a girlfriend from a press conference?”

“Or why did Jon know her before us?” The boy added. 

“I would also appreciate hearing how my bloody cousin earned your ire,” Felix added. 

“Oh! Sorry.” The girl turned to Marinette. “I’m Allegra and this is Claude. You already know Jon and Felix. We’re Damian’s friends. Or the closest thing he had to such.” 

“Tt. I don’t have friends.” 

“Bro. Not cool.” Claude argued.

“Shut up. Claudius.” he huffed. 

“You wound me.” The teen gasped and put a hand on his chest. “Dami.”

Felix and Marinette watched from the sidelines how the quartet bickered. Jon tried to help Damian sort things out. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” Felix said after a moment of silence. “My cousin is a daft git.” 

“That we can agree on,” Mari said absentmindedly while trying to keep the eye on Damian. She hoped he didn’t bring the kryptonite dusters tonight. 

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

Masterlist // Next

[agusvedder]

I DON’T CARE if this doesn’t get any notes. I need to vent.

My name is Agustina, I’m 27 years old. I’m a nonbinary, queer, latinx person, parent of a 4 year old, non-verbal authistic child. I suffer from depression and anxiety.

I’m 9 thousand kilometers away from the woman I love.

I’m not a victim. I am a minority. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I started watching Supernatural in 2015, you know, being a stay-at-home parent, who dropped her career and her job to live the first years of their child, there wasn’t much I could do in my free time but to watch a show. I caught a few episodes of season 11 on tv and then I decided to start from zero. I always acknowledged how problematic it was in terms of representation, but always saw small threads of light filtering in the message it sent, recognizing how its writers were trying to shed a little light, creating a jenga tower of storylines and new characters, only to be thrown away by poor, useless deaths and the erasure of said characters.

Since my first run on season 1 I related to Dean. I saw myself on him. (I will never be as brave and cool as him tho, never ever, but his personality traits, some of his family issues, his self worth issues, his loneliness, his unaddressed childhood trauma, his growth in a circle of violence, his reticence to address his feelings until he explodes?... Yeah. There are days where my girlfriend makes fun of me saying “Ok Dean”). I kept looking up to Dean in his geekiness, in his way he always put his life on the line to protect the people he loves and put them always first… even in the supernatural side of the storyline, he still was profoundly human and abnegated to the people in his life. Also because I’m deeply in love with Castiel but that’s another subject. Thanks to this show, I’ve found people in my own country who now I recognize as my family beyond SPN, who helped me accept myself the way I am, who are always there for me. My found family, my chosen family. Because family don’t end in blood, because family cares about you, not only for what you can do for them, because that’s what all of us have in common, and why this show resonated as strongly as it did for us. That’s why we found each other and ourselves in the process, in a circle of love, support, non-judgement and willingness to find a family in ourselves when our own blood relatives ignored us, abused us, refused to recognize us. We’ve found love and family. I’ve found the woman with whom I wanna spend the rest of my life with because of this show.

That’s the power of this story. I know my small circle is not the only one who lived this, who continues to live it.

I can talk about this forever, but there’s something I wanna talk about specifically here. When the ending aired.. what I felt was… like a bucket of cold water was thrown over my head. You know when your parents come home, or call you and give you the devastating news that someone you love died? that exact feeling. The adrenaline, the heartbreak, the feeling of loss. 

The whole season 15 and 15 years of storyline were completely overturned. The misogyny the writers tried so hard to erase, it was there again, in a faceless woman who was supposed to represent the person a lead chose to spend the rest of his life with, reduced to a lilac dress, a blurry face and a uterus. We never seen acknowledged the existence of Eileen Leahy, Sam Winchester’s romantic interest since season 11, his perfect partner whose disability wasn’t an obstacle for her to be a badass hunter. (BUT COVID!! <- No. Eileen Leahy appeared in two episodes this season without Shoshannah being on set: Last Holiday and Despair. If they wanted to include her, they would have. They didn’t because they don’t give a FUCK). Sam Winchester is an academic, a witch, a leader, a powerful hunter, a kind human being, and the ending that was given to him was living an unfulfilled life, dying at a ridiculous young age, having a son only to replace his dead brother? It was sad. Sammy deserved better. He always did.

My beloved Dean Winchester, who I love so deeply, who taught me a lot about myself, about life, love, family, about *ejem* VICIOUS CIRCLES and the power of breaking free from them, of learning to embrace one’s self, our real tastes, our real identity, to come out of a shadow of being reduced to someone’s caretaker instead of having an identity of our own, to spend life loving family the healthy amount.. well, he was killed in a ridiculous way, on a milk run of a hunt.  After being eager and ready to kill himself so many times. After all he’s been through, after saying he’s good with who he is, after considering retirement, after standing up to his dad, saying he already has a family, ready to cut the “I’m Okay” bullshit, address his feelings, his trauma, don’t letting those define him. He deserved better. He always wanted a family, he always wanted to break free from the version of himself he was created to be, “daddy’s blunt little instrument” (For fuck’s sake, he even said it in the same show 10’ before dying, man. If we don’t keep living, the sacrifice the people who died for us did, was for nothing). Are you telling me this man really would refuse his brother to call an ambulance? Refused his brother to get the first aid kit even knowing it was more serious than his brother thought? He was ready to live. He CHOSE life, and at the end his choice was stripped away from him. He clearly was a bisexual man and they never explored it.

Cas. The misfit. The fish outside of the water. Ambiguous gender and sexuality. Finally makes a homosexual declaration of love after all he’s been through. After being brainwashed, used, suicidal, isolated. After telling Sam and Dean he loved them more than once, that they meant everything for him. After confessing he’s been in love with Dean since he pulled him out of hell…. Was erased from the story. Erased, literally. Two emotionless mentions aren’t enough for a 12 year old family member who pulled both brothers out of hell, who died for them more than once, who until 2 seasons ago he didn’t even feel like he belonged there ‘cause he was never told he was loved. No one ever told him “I love you” back. Not Jack, not Sam, not Dean, not Mary. No one. Ever. And still, he died for love. And with his death, he was erased from the finale, being that the first finale Castiel wasn’t in since his appearance on the show. He deserved better. 

All roads lead to Rome and you know what we got at the end of that road? a bottomless pit of NOTHING. The building up towards a different end isn’t just in s15. It’s been there for years and years. And if you watch the show, you see it at plain sight.

 

Sam Winchester hurried to die to reunite with his brother in heaven EVEN WHEN HE SPENT 30 MORE YEARS WITH A WIFE AND A KID he only wanted to die to go back to his brother? it’s insane, it’s ridiculous. That’s not what the show has been about for seasons now. SEASONS. The road was paved towards a healthy brotherly bond, each brother living their future the way they wanted, finally breaking free from the curse John dropped on Dean that Sam’s destiny was in his hands. No no. What was that? Did it ever happen? Was it a fever dream? They really destroyed everything in 38 minutes of the finale? 

Stupid. 

Representation is important, stories are important. They change lives. You know how it changed mine? After I saw Jonathan Van Ness coming out as non-binary, I started to realize how I never called myself "a woman, a girl" or anything like that, how my "female presenting" aesthetic changes drastically depending on how I feel when I wake up  how I always called myself a "person", no gender involved. I realized I was a non-binary person even after becoming a parent. Thanks to Jonathan Van Ness. Thanks to seeing a person like her being unapologetically herself. 

Representation matters. 

It matters. 

It helped my mom understand me when I was 13 and had a girlfriend. It helped my dad educate himself about trans identities. It helped my sister understand about her demisexuality. It helps break circles of ignorance and stereotypes. It helps people process what these characters wanna tell, and realize they're human beings above it all. We suffer, we laugh, we grieve. We love. We exist. 

Supernatural missed a chance to be a historical show in terms of representation. And it breaks my heart.  I cant believe they decided to erase Dean's sexuality, to erase Castiel after saying loud and proud he's in love with a man, to erase Eileen whose disability only was a disadvantage when they KILLED HER in the most ableistic way in s11, to never show Charlie and her girlfriend again, that they decided to make God bisexual AND a villain, thay they decided to turn the only regular non-binary character of color into the villain too (Billie).

I'm still grieving.

This is why "a stupid show" is so important for me, and for lot of people like me. Cause representation can change lives. Stories can change lives. It certainly changed mine, and I'm not the only one. 

Don't let anyone tell you you're just a butthurt fan because you're suffering this ending. Every one of us have a story and this is mine. All of us are valid, our feelings are valid. And we'll get through this eventually

[the-finch-address]

( ง `ω´ )۶ 🗡

SYNOPSIS:

A ruthless empire rises from the ashes centuries after the collapse of the old earth. In the midst of the resulting war, an underdog of society discovers that his lineage may be more cold-blooded than it appears, forcing him on a journey to question everything he knows.

GENRE AND TAGS:

YA Fiction /  Fantasy / Adventure / Post!dystopian / Found Family / LGBT

EXPANDED SUMMARY:

Few remained following the fall of humanity, forcing what is now regarded as the ‘Old Earth’ to lapse into a great silence.  Centuries later, history repeated itself and civilization began again as though time were rewound, and the earth with it.   The Drasjel, creatures once thought to be a myth, now rule the new earth under the guise of a theocratic empire, the Order of Gilded Eternals.  “Packs” between likeminded mortals form in place of what was once mighty nations, gathering not through bloodline or place of birth, but rather through shared morals and ideals, offering community beneath the empire’s unyielding gaze. Vestiel is the unwilling successor to the Mange, a pack of underdogs down on their luck and hiding in the shadow of greater packs.  When his predecessor and former leader vanishes overnight and the pack’s existence is threatened, Vestiel sets out to do what it takes to keep his family safe...and avoid his own demons in the process. CHARACTERS:

[ᴬʳᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿᵉᵈ / ᵏᵃᵗ⁻ᵉᵘⁿʰʸᵉᵒ] From left to right;  Vestiel: The Mange / He/him / 17 / 5′8 Stubborn, cheeky, and always skeptical, Vestiel plays the role of MC in this series.  He is doubtlessly loyal to Andi, the man who raised him and aspires to follow in his predecessor’s footsteps, but lacks any kind of personal motivations beyond this...until now. Andi: The Mange / He/him / 26 / 5′9 As former leader to the Mange, Andi had big shoes to fill.  He was witty, charismatic, and known to be a hard worker, never once placing unnecessary burden on others.  His disappearance brought many tears, and twice as many questions. Caprice: The Temper / He/him / 18 / 6′1 Son of the Great North and heir to the empire, Capri is an arrogant one at best (and a hostile foe at worst).  He’s been raised with gold at his fingertips and servants at his beck and call, naïve to much of the world, but aware of more than he lets on.  Signe: [Redacted] / She/they / 284 / 5′5  Not much is known about Signe, as she prefers to keep to herself, offering little companionship until you’ve earned her trust.  She held a special relationship with Andi that eventually extends to his successor.  She has been hiding away for the right moment, anticipating the repeat of past mistakes. Tupelo: The Rot / They/them / 15 / 6′3 Raised within an exiled Pack, Tupelo learned from an early age that the empire wasn’t to be trusted.  Despite their pack’s unfortunate past they remain steadfast in their patience with others, standing as a strong ally to those willing to look past the slander against their pack and trust them, instead. Fannar-Haise: The Hollow / She/her / 22 / 5′0 Being a part of her pack’s ruling council, and living within the Hollow’s walls, Haise is a beacon of ability.  Her aptitude for knowledge and mothering nature make her a valuable member of any team; despite the addition of the son she carries throughout their journey.

[ᴬʳᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿᵉᵈ / ˢᵗᵗᵐᵃʳᵗˢ]

THE PACKS + OTHER TITLES: [Note; Hundreds of Packs exist within the New Earth.  The few detailed here are only the ones that are featured in the series]

The Mange:

A small group of less than 100 members.  This pack is taunted for regularly taking in the ‘unwanted’, misfits and underdogs, those which were born or came into disadvantage.  Their reputation for this overrides any and all of the pack’s many successes.  Because of their small size within the empire, this pack is greatly close-knit with each other, considering themselves as a large family.

Their territory consists of a few miles around the Temper’s border.  The tundra here is along elevated hills with dry and often colorless plains.

The Temper:

Lead by Caprice of the North, this pack is considered one of the largest among the empire.  Its members boast an alarming prowess for strength and the creation of weaponry, though it’s their barbarous personality that earned the pack its name.  Largely considered only a ‘side project’ of the young heir, the pack quickly grew to immeasurable size beneath Caprice’s guiding hand, and the pack now stands as one to be feared.

Because of it’s size, The Temper’s territory expands over several biomes, though for the most part it remains consistent along the coast of the ocean.  

The Rot:

Before their exile, The Rot was considered a large and prosperous Pack.  They were entirely self sustained, a gathering content to work with the earth and what it provided them, and generous in their findings.  The Rot’s relationship with other Packs was swiftly severed after their exile, with rumors of unnecessary manslaughter and underhanded tricks, though no solid proof of these acts was ever found, the true reason behind their exile now thought to be the result of a disagreement between the Pack and the empire.

The Rot survives similarly to how they did before, though their resources are running out quick.  They live among the marshland and freshwater rivers, making-do with what little they have left.

The Hollow:

Despite being one of the larger packs, The Hollow is rarely seen or heard from.  They reside in the desolate arctic mountainside where the climate is rough and uninhabitable to outsiders.  The pack prides itself on its knowledge, home to the empire’s largest collection of books, research, and information once thought to be lost.  Much like The Rot, this pack holds many religious and cultural traditions of their own, allowed the freedom to pursue these traditions and ceremonies through a century-long agreement with the empire.

Their territory spans across ice topped mountains, snowy forests, and the frozen sea.

The Silence:

This nomadic pack is shrouded in mystery.  It’s members are never seen, but often heard, the soft chime of bells being their calling-card.  Cloaks shadow their faces, obscuring any identifiable feature from view, not a word from beneath their hoods ever spoken.  Because the pack does not remain in one area they do not have a personal territory, but are allowed the title of Pack nonetheless due to their large impact within the empire.  Despite this, many have yet to see a member of the Silence with their own eyes, and more believe the pack to only be a myth.

OTHER TITLES: [I’ll upload the full index soon.  For now, this is the main ones]

Villages:

Villages are small-to-medium sized encampments housing any individual that has elected to not join a Pack.  Unless directly affiliated under a Pack (for reasons of trade or safety) they abstain from interacting with packs or the resulting conflicts and wars.

The Eternals:

Elite members of the Order consisting of three powerful Drasjel, headed by the Great North herself.  They have ruled for as long as humanity can remember.

Deliverer:

Those directly below the Eternals.  They are considered nobles among the masses and feared by those lesser.  Though most Deliverers are of drasjel blood, a select few mortals can, and have earned the title.

Gold-Palmed:

Worshippers of The Gilded Eternals.  Though beneath the empire all are expected to obey and respect the Eternals, these followers take it a step further by pledging themselves to the drasjel in obsessive and often desperate measure, seeing nothing beyond the importance of the Eternals.

Scraphands:

Thieves and outcasts.  Scraphands are those with no where to go, and no one to turn to.  They lay claim to the dirty and unwanted land between packs, sometimes moving about and other times making an attempt at shelter where they’re at.  They make use of the polluted debris left behind from the Old World, acting like rats and ambushing travelers with reckless abandon, seeing themselves as having nothing left to lose.

Rooks:

Named after birds known for their sense of trade, these merchants travel throughout the lands carrying massive packs of oddities from medicines and potions down to useless knickknacks, and the occasional artifact.  They are few and far between, seeing as the occupation is a dangerous one, but this allows them to inflate their prices to painfully expensive heights.

MAP + IMPORTANT LOCATIONS

Coming soon! ______________________________________________________________ Have any questions about the world or characters? Drop me an ASK =)

[merakimelareloaded]

Beauty is the Beast : Chapter Two

Read on Ao3

2. A Prince in His Tower

When Nathalie had told him that he had a visitor, Adrien had been expecting to see Chloe. So, when he turned and found instead a young man he’d never seen before, he was beyond excited to be able to meet someone new. Was this a new friend that his father had approved of? Looking at the man’s face, he was delighted to find that he had a kind look to him. It’s not that he didn’t appreciate having a friend in Chloe, but on several occasions, he had found her cruel nature too much to handle. He knew she was only trying to be more like her mother, the queen, but it frustrated him to no end that the staff at Chloe’s palace avoided talking to him simply because of his association to the princess. As if he needed any more isolation in his life. Looking into the man’s beautiful molten-gold eyes, he immediately knew he’d be different. As he took in more of his appearance, confusion rose within him. While the man had the radiance of a prince from across the sea that he’d heard of in his books, his clothes were plain and worn, much closer to what the staff would wear than his own. There was no way he’d meet his father’s insane vetting to be his friend, so what was he doing here?

“This is Nino Lahiffe, he has just been hired as the court musician. He will also be assisting you when you are learning any duet pieces.” Nathalie informed. While disappointed that he wasn’t here as an approved friend, Adrien was still glad at the idea of spending time with someone new. Who knew? Maybe they could secretly become friends like he had done with Sir Kim. Jumping to his feet, he made his way to the newest member of his father’s staff and extended his hand towards him.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Monsieur Lahiffe.” Adrien greeted warmly, wanting to make a good impression. For a moment it seemed like the musician was surprised at the gesture, before his expression softened and he reached his own hand to meet Adrien’s, clasping it before shaking it briefly. He noticed Nathalie flinch the moment their hands touched, but he elected to ignore it. He wasn’t going to hurt the guy, for crying out loud. His father’s rules about human contact were ridiculous, even considering Adrien’s… condition. His father had it in his head that if he touched someone while human, it would leave his scent on them, marking them for the beast when it takes over. It was ridiculous, to use Chloe’s words. If that were accurate, he’d have killed Chloe by now, with the amount she drapes herself over him.

Nino’s hand was large and warm, the callouses on the tips of his fingers tickling Adrien’s skin slightly, sending a shiver up his arm and down his spine. If the guy hadn’t been wearing a lute strapped over his shoulder, that would have been the big give away to what instrument he played.

“I very much look forward to playing with you.” Adrien commented, offering a smile that he hoped conveyed his sincerity. Relief filled him when he saw a subtle tinge of pink grow in the musician’s cheeks and felt his pulse quicken under his finger. Surely such a modest reaction was a good sign. Adrien had to admit that he was surprised that a guy that was so handsome would be this meek, but with Sir Kim as his only reference point, perhaps this humility was more common than not. Either way, Adrien found it becoming. At the sound of Nathalie awkwardly clearing her throat, it dawned on Adrien that he still had the young bard’s hand clasped in his own. Quickly, he released the hand and stepped back a polite distance, giving an apologetic nod.

“Your first practise is scheduled for this afternoon. In the meantime, Monsieur Lahiffe will be learning his part of the piece and you will be attending your languages lesson.” Nathalie announced, giving a curt nod before turning to exit the balcony. For a moment, the bard stood there as if frozen, staring both at Adrien and seemingly nothing before he suddenly jolted back to attention and darted awkwardly after Nathalie. Before Adrien could ponder on what it meant, his focus was pulled by a dark but muffled cackling that was coming from his jacket.

“Plagg! What’s so funny?” Adrien whispered through his teeth, hoping that the musician and Nathalie were far away enough not to hear either of them. Phasing out of the jacket, the little demon’s cackling became clearer.

“Just you and your new courtesan, that’s all.” Plagg answered in a teasing tone. Adrien groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“Nathalie said court musician, not courtesan!” He hissed, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Judging by the increased level of maniacal laughter, Adrien was sure that the little demon was intentionally messing with him. Annoyed, he stomped back inside his bedroom without another word to his constant companion. Despite the fact that Plagg was a demon, Adrien for the most part enjoyed his company. That being said, moments like this one served only to remind him that Plagg was indeed part of a curse.

“Oh really? You could have fooled me with how fast your heart was beating when you were holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes.” Plagg quipped as he floated behind him. Adrien elected not to go for the demon’s bait and ignored the comment.

“She’s going to tell your father, you know.” The suddenly serious statement finally got Adrien to turn and face Plagg.

“What are you talking about? Did she see you?!” He asked, panic rising in his chest. Plagg rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I meant about your little hand holding incident.” Plagg clarified. Adrien narrowed his brow in irritation as he recalled the expression Nathalie had worn when he shook Nino’s hand.

“Ugh, probably. I wasn’t even touching him for that long, and it was just a handshake. I’ll never understand what my father thinks will happen if he lets me touch people.” He complained, dropping himself on top of his bed, stomach first.

“I don’t know. Maybe he thinks you’ll catch feelings off of them. You were certainly feeling something when that boy touched you.” Plagg teased, his mischievous smirk returning. Hiding a smile and rolling his eyes, Adrien pushed himself back up and stepped toward the door.

“Come on, I have a lesson to get to.”

After Plagg flew back into his pocket, Adrien knocked on the door and waited. After a moment, the sound of keys jangling and then turning in the door could be heard through the wood and before too long the door opened, revealing today’s guard and his language teacher. The security process was absolutely ridiculous, but there was no talking his father out of it. It wasn’t even completely because of the whole “turning into a wild beast at night” thing. His father was weirdly paranoid that if someone wanted to kidnap or kill him, taking the set of keys to his room off of one person would be too easy, so he insists that to open the door you need two sets of keys; one with the person watching the door, and the other with the person who was coming to collect him for his next lesson. It was an extremely unlikely possibility, so Adrien was pretty sure the real reason was so that he couldn’t pickpocket the keys and sneak out. It was a useless strategy considering he could easily escape by scaling the wall from his balcony, but he wasn’t about to tell his father that. It’s not like he snuck out often anyway. The only time people didn’t check on him regularly was during the night, and he didn’t want to sneak out then for obvious reasons. The idea of hurting anyone again made him feel sick to his stomach. It was better he locked himself away, no matter how much he wants to be out there.

A soft, calming purr emanated from his pocket, getting Adrien to snap out of his sad line of thinking. It would be better to focus on how he finally has someone beside a grumpy old teacher to play music with who might even want to be his friend! Also, his studies. He was definitely going to focus on his studies.

-

Despite his efforts to, Adrien found he couldn’t focus on what his teacher was saying. Not when he could hear the gentle strumming of Nino learning his part of their duet from down the hall. He was picking it up remarkably quickly and managed to find interesting ways to transform the piece with his own flair. Adrien liked to think that told him everything he needed to know about Nino. The young musician was clearly a creative person with a relaxed, yet playful personality. It excited Adrien to know that such a person was being let into his life.

“Now may be a good point to stop for today, my lord. I think you’ve taken in as much as you can.” The voice of his teacher cut through his thoughts and snapped his attention back. Looking at his face, the teacher looked like his patience was wearing thin behind his forced polite smile, causing Adrien to bow his head in shame.

“Sorry, sir. Please don’t take my lack of focus as a sign of a lack of respect for you.” Adrien apologised meekly. Daring a peek to gauge his teacher’s reaction, he was relieved to see the man had shifted to a more natural smile.

“Not at all, my lord. Why don’t we hurry along to your next activity, hmm?” At the suggestion, Adrien felt himself perk back up and buzz with excitement. He couldn't wait to see Nino again.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter (coming soon)

[petri808]

Hiding in Plain Sight

Art by @lucykirklandart @lucykirkland check it out! 💜 story Beta’d by @cashieeetime written as a reflection piece of the artwork for the @ftguildevents Fairy Tail Reverse Big Bang  -2k words

“Yeah sure,” Lucy taps out the text message on her phone, her manicured nails clicking away on the glass surface. “see ya at school 2morrow.”

She was groomed and cultivated from birth to appear perfect in every way. As the only child of prominent parents, she never dared to appear less than refined and above all obedient. She might’ve had a more peaceful existence if her mother had lived, but the woman died of cancer by the time she’d turned four-years-old. Left with a father more interested with their status in the community than for his daughter’s wellbeing.

Needless to say, it was a miserable existence for the young woman.

By the time she had entered high school Lucy was sickeningly proficient in making sure no one saw her true emotions. She was well educated and maintained honor roll level grades. Her beauty and poise attracted both awe and jealousy from those around her, despite never doing anything to attract too much attention. In public, Lucy fixed a smile on her face and always appeared to be sweet, caring, and helpful.

This attracted a slew of friends to her side. The young teen gravitated to a select group but was considered to be well-liked amongst the many student cliques around school. Anyone looking in would assume Lucy had the perfect life. It was an image Lucy maintained out of fear that someone would discover the darker tendrils of pain lurking just below her porcelain veneer.

It was like wearing a mask anytime someone else was around.

No one knew how deeply her mother’s death tore into her psyche because her father never bothered to make sure the young child wasn’t affected by it. But the emotions ran the gamut from sadness and loss to betrayal, of why would life deal a young girl such a painful blow in taking their mother away from them. It created a hole in her soul that in order to cope with the loss, Lucy had erected a wall around her heart. If someone she loved like her mother could be ripped away, it was best she not give anyone the opportunity to do it again.

She lets the phone slide from her fingers onto the couch beside her, curling up her body around a pillow, and wrapping her arms around her legs. The text was from one of her closest friends asking for help with his English homework after school the next day. She couldn’t tell him ‘no’—rarely ever told anyone ‘no’ because that’s part of her cover façade.

Dutiful obedience.

Not that she thought he was taking advantage of her, and maybe a part of her wanted to help this person in particular because he seemed to genuinely care about his friends; Lucy included. But this only served to escalate the conflict brewing inside of her. On the one hand, there is her desire to stay distant, but on the other, a human need for closeness. It was a double-edged balancing act-- Acquiesce to be helpful but letting them get too close would trigger her anxieties.

‘I hate my brain…’ Lucy buried her face into the pillow. She hated feeling so alone in this world, of having friends all around her but never truly feeling like she was a part of any group. Her brain could barely comprehend why she felt this way and her subconscious reminded her it was of her own making. Not a purposeful choice, but the results of walling off her heart. It was a constant conflict waged in her mind, and this conflict was the only consistency she’s really known.

Worst of all, she felt like a fraud. All the painted smiles, all of the lies told to keep her secrets, carefully woven like a spider’s web. Beautiful to the naked eye, yet deadly within… at least for herself. She justified every step she took in fear of everything coming unraveled and her life made bare to the world. All her so-called friends would probably hate her when they found out the truth, that’s what she believed with every fiber of her being. And so, she kept up the charade for them, for everyone, until fact and fiction were a universal confliction.

Lucy closes her eyes hoping to cast these images away, but they only burn brighter behind the lids. She didn’t want them to hate her. She wanted to be their friend. The teenage heart beating in her chest wanted what any young person wanted… to be loved. And yes, there was one person in particular who she’d sell her soul to love and be loved by, which in turn only sent her anxieties skyrocketing. Because what-if he felt the same way? But what-if it was for this shell named Lucy Heartfilia? If she were to show her true colors would he accept her for who she was?

And who was the real Lucy Heartfilia? When she was a young child, she shared a love of astronomy with her mother which smolders somewhere inside of her. She knows it’s still there, waiting for attention, that comes out whenever she notices a clear night sky. In her primary school days, literature caught her attention, especially the fiction stories. Being placed into advanced English classes in middle school opened that door even wider and provided a small escape from reality. But it never lasted because her father couldn’t see the importance of such skills for her future, so it was pushed to the side. Business was all that man cared about, and as his only heir, all the pressure of success was placed on Lucy’s shoulders. It was wholly unfair.

By the time Lucy had made it to high school, anything she loved or fancied was tossed to the side and a new persona born. Whatever interested those around her became her interests. Her life was destined to be miserable anyways, so why care about anything? At least if she was only pretending to enjoy the same things as others, it kept those people happy and at bay from delving too deeply into what and who she really was. That was the safest route in her broken mind.

She buries her face deeper into the soft throw pillow and quietly allows a few simpering tears to break free and soak into the fabric. There was no one around to hear them and blow her cover, but that only added to the weight of loneliness aching in her heart. Her father was away on a business deal, and the hired help only came by on a routine. The nights were the worst of all. An empty house save her, with only the ghosts of lives past haunting it’s walls. Lucy might as well be an orphan.

What good was she really? To keep existing as what, her father’s doll? Lucy knew he expected her to marry someone to his specifications and while she was to be of both good breeding and intellect, her place was in the shadows, silent and unheard. And no matter how much she loathed this design, she never fought back against it. ‘I’m really useless…’ What was the point of living knowing that she’d end up in a gilded cage? Too weak to stand up for herself. Foolish enough to be taken advantage of. Death would be a relief.

And even that scared her into staying silent. Lucy didn’t want to die she just didn’t want to live like this anymore. Was that too much to ask for?  

Worthless creature.

Go ahead and cry some more, her subconscious taunts back. Cry for the girl you could be and of the woman you never will become. She was caught in an endless loop of sadness and shame, with no light at the end of the tunnel.

The cell phone pings with a message, so she sweeps her eyes over the screen without moving her head.

“Goodnight Lucy :)”

It was a final message from the boy who needed help tomorrow. How polite of him.

“Goodnight Natsu”

She replies back out of courtesy, fingers hovering for a few seconds in hesitation. There was a strong pull to reach out for help too… but Lucy just couldn’t do it. Ugh! She silences the phones ringer.

Useless idiot.

There were three options Lucy could think of. End her life and become another statistic. Just give in and accept her life will never be her own. Or give up this façade and tell the truth. To be possibly disowned by her father and thrown out on the streets with nothing. Or stay quiet and obedient but with a roof over her head. Her father knew a lot of people and what’s to say if she did open up to someone, that it wouldn’t get back to him somehow? The man had never laid a hand on her, but she feared him greatly.

But she didn’t know how much longer she could keep up this façade. It was destroying her, literally and figuratively. If her life were a story book, her character would be the one who dies because they stupid enough to listen without thinking for themselves. ‘I hate myself and what I’ve turned into. I’ll never be worth anything, just a Heartfilia to carry on the legacy. To be used and exploited until there is no need for me anymore. Argh! I hate myself and yet I don’t even know who the hell that is! Why do I have to feel this way…’

If there were a way to turn off her emotions, Lucy would snap it up in a heartbeat. Just make her completely numb to everything. Truly become a doll who speaks with pre-programmed phrases. A robot who felt no love or sadness and only knew how to be a servant like in a sci-fi movie. She thought that by walling off her heart it would shield her from the pain, but it only caused a deeper one to take root. And frankly, even if she tried now to fix it, how do you erase 14 years of misery?

It would take years of therapy, hundreds of hours and dollars to do just that. Not to mention having to re-live all the painful experiences that drove her to become the way she did. So much for any chance of a solid relationship. She couldn’t subject anyone else to this, that would only make her feel worse.

An utter burden.

To ask someone to bear some of her weight upon their shoulders would be unfair, and if she truly believed this, how could she ever bring herself to open up to anyone, especially if she cared about them. Yet, she wanted to do it. At least a small part of her screaming from the depths of her mind, pleading selfishly to just tell someone! Screw it all! Who cares if they dump you as a friend afterward. Stop worrying about the what if’s because she can’t predict the future.

If only it were so easy.

A few minutes pass by as she sits there in silence, when the light from her phone illuminates the room for just a moment.

“Are you okay?”

Her breathing hitches, stopping short in her throat. Why would Natsu ask that question?! The screen goes black again bathing her in darkness, but the words had dealt their blow. Histories of conversations and interactions are replayed in her mind as Lucy searches for any justification for that message. Had she done something, said something to lead him to believe she wasn’t okay? Oh, no! She’d forgotten to add a happy face emoji or a blush emoji to her response. Is that what made him pick up on a problem.

“I’m fine, really *blush emoji*”

Okay, that should do it, right? Her response was simple yet positive, nothing to indicate the opposite turmoil festering in her mind. Ugh, she shouldn’t have let herself slip into a depressed state tonight. Perhaps her subliminal consciousness tripped up her perfect record of hiding things in plain sight because deep down she wanted to be caught.

“*frown face* I don’t believe that Lucy, somethings wrong I can feel it.”

More tears rise to the surface from the realization that her perfect house of cards were about to come crashing down over a text message of all things. Lucy could continue to lie. Should she continue to lie? Really, I’m fine just tired. Don’t worry about me. I was distracted with homework. All valid responses she could use to justify the slip up.

“Lucy? You know you can talk to me, right?”

Her chest constricts further as she chokes down a sob. How?! How does she know that to be true?! What if he laughs or ridicules her? What if? What if? What if?! ‘Stop it!’ Lucy screams in her head. Heaven help her, she couldn’t take it anymore! Natsu was her friend and in her heart of hearts, he would never knowingly hurt her.

Instead of answering the text, Lucy clicks the call button instead.

“Lucy?”

“Natsu… You’re right. I-I’m not okay…”

[longsightmyth]

OKAY SO. Here are my goodreads status updates from my first readthrough of ToD. These are from three years ago, some things are out of date, some aren’t fully fleshed out, and some problems I have this time around are absent from my notes the last time. I will eventually get back into this on my goodreads, but until then have these older updates to tide you over. Cut to save everybody’s dashes.

September 5, 2017 – page 12 

 1.82% "When will people realize that gold is an incredibly soft metal"

September 5, 2017 – page 18 

 2.73% ""The final blow hadn't been an act of brutality or hate" it sounds pretty brutal and hateful?"

September 5, 2017 – page 18 

 2.73% "Call me crazy, but attempted sneakymurder followed by screaming plunging into heart murder with the same knife, again, sounds pretty brutal and hateful to me"

September 5, 2017 – page 28 

 4.24% ""And then he'd ask that servant girl to comb every merchant ship for information about the attack."

First of all, the fragments are strong with this one. Second, that is a stupid idea. You don't know this servant girl, as evidenced by the fact that you don't even know her name. You don't know if she'll be good at extracting info. I mean, she could be. She could also be spying on you right now."

September 5, 2017 – page 28 

 4.24% "Why did Dorian send ambassadors without a retinue"

September 5, 2017 – page 28 

 4.24% "Why is the CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD being sent on a diplomatic mission?!"

September 5, 2017 – page 28 

 4.24% "Seriously how did these people not get conquered earlier? How did Adarlan stay in power all these years? How on EARTH has no one assassinated the king of Adarlan?!"

September 5, 2017 – page 48 

 7.27% "Okay for real though what are the responsibilities of the royal guard in this world because they seem significant in their scope and I question why a captain of the guard was commanding armies"

September 5, 2017 – page 53 

 8.03% "Idk man I feel like 'why did your previous king enslave and/or murder his own and various other peoples' to be a valid question"

September 5, 2017 – page 66 

 10.0% "I find it utterly ludicrous that a trained medical professional won't just say the word penis"

September 7, 2017 – page 85 

 12.88% "Okay look you've admitted that Kadja (the servant, who at last has a name)could be in the pay of someone but you're still trusting the information she gives you with no qualms whatsoever?"

September 7, 2017 – page 90 

 13.64% ""It will totes be a weakness if I mention that I'm looking for THE ONLY OTHER MEMBER OF MY DIPLOMATIC GROUP who has gone missing because it will reveal that I care about her"

I don't know what to do with these people I really don't"

September 7, 2017 – page 91 

 13.79% "I take back whatever points Chaol earned for bothering to learn Kadja's name. Stop yelling at Nesryn for unreasonable things. It's stupid, first of all, and weird, second"

September 16, 2017 – page 91 

 13.79% "I seem to have misplaced my copy but rest assured I will be back"

September 23, 2017 – page 30 

 4.55% "On the one hand I can understand a grieving sibling not thinking about every possibility, but on the other, "no one within our lands would be stupid enough to [murder a princess and make it look like a suicide]"

First, if they have successfully fooled everyone into thinking it was suicide, that argues for cleverness, no matter what nationality."

September 23, 2017 – page 30 

 4.55% "Second, this is a nation where apparently siblings are supposed to duke it out for the throne and murder the offspring of their less skilled or less lucky siblings. Why wouldn't you murder your siblings at that point? Look at the princess who's married and pregnant - maybe she doesn't like her odds if things proceeded on the up and up. Maybe her spouse doesn't. Maybe they just don't want to risk it."

September 23, 2017 – page 30 

 4.55% "Even if it wasn't a sibling directly, any of their supporters could have done it, or even somebody who just had a grudge and was particularly clever."

September 23, 2017 – page 30 

 4.55% "Third, someone trying to destabilize the current royal family could be murdering folks. It's not like you guys seem to actually DO anything about possible traitors."

September 23, 2017 – page 30 

 4.55% "All of these things Chaol, as the former captain of the royal guard, should be considering. Instead he takes Kashin's word for it, because no one in these books has the sense of a turnip."

September 23, 2017 – page 30 

 4.55% "Also, in case you couldn't tell, I found my book."

September 23, 2017 – page 30 

 4.55% "But seriously why are the leading suspects not her siblings"

September 25, 2017 – page 37 

 5.61% "These fragments keep getting weirder. I'm starting to truly believe this book was just never proofread. Example:

"There were two such vials on the desk now, clear orbs atop silver feet fashioned after ibis legs. Being purified by the endless sunshine within the tower."

Does that not read like someone accidentally hit the space bar twice while typing on an iPhone?"

October 5, 2017 – page 106 

 16.06% "I can't quite put my finger on why the new and strange veneration of Dorian's father bothers me as much as it does. Maybe the utter lack of foreshadowing? It could be that the man made more evil decisions pre-possession, or at least early possession when he ostensibly had enough control to try to make an eight year old..."

October 5, 2017 – page 106 

 16.06% "...lose control and burn him up, thus causing major political unrest and war. The eight year old was an awful child, true, but that's no reason to trick or trap a child into murder and causing a war."

October 5, 2017 – page 106 

 16.06% "Honestly he was a much more effective villain before the series started if you count extreme selfishness as a villainous trait.

 Which I do."

October 5, 2017 – page 107 

 16.21% "Why is everyone STILL fawning of Celaena she isn't even supposed to be in this book GIVE IT A REST"

October 5, 2017 – page 107 

 16.21% "Do we have to have every single POV character independently explain to us who Silba is? Is this a requirement? Is this author being paid by the word?"

October 5, 2017 – page 108 

 16.36% ""In that court of vipers" [footage not found] you can't tell me CONSTANTLY that a court is pretty and valid and useless and only show us the court once (where they are dancing and Dorian is thinking about how his mother and her court are pretty and vapid and useless) and then try to tell me that they were all Evil Politicians working to drag Dorian down. You just can't."

October 5, 2017 – page 109 

 16.52% "More Celaena worship. Should I stop noting this? I probably won't."

October 5, 2017 – page 109 

 16.52% ""I told you what happened," he simply said.

 I will go to my grave saying that if you add dialogue tags to something you want to be plain and simple you are doing it wrong. MY GRAVE."

October 5, 2017 – page 110 

 16.67% "Are these glass bells magical this seems like a bad plan to me"

October 5, 2017 – page 111 

 16.82% "Are only women healers? Why? Is it a magic thing or a cultural thing? Would a man be allowed to be a healer or would he be laughed out, magical healing ability or no? Would he be allowed but looked down on? Do men even get healing magic? Is there a stigma? TELL ME."

October 5, 2017 – page 111 

 16.82% "How does no one in this book have an ex they can just kinda nod at in the street why is it all Tragically Dead or evil past loves"

October 5, 2017 – page 117 

 17.73% ""How many times had he laid into his men for slouching, for chattering amongst themselves, and reassigned them to lesser watches?"

 I mean going by the way you dealt with two guard who literally just peaced out and went to hang out at a party (ie, ah well, this happens, try not to do it again, come back tomorrow) not that many times."

October 5, 2017 – page 123 

 18.64% "Baast cats. Sure, why not, I guess."

October 5, 2017 – page 125 

 18.94% "I guess we do have printing presses in this world somehow"

October 5, 2017 – page 126 

 19.09% "Wait she named one of the Valg kings Orcus? I'm going to laugh my way to my dnd group this weekend"

October 5, 2017 – page 128 

 19.39% "This MADWOMAN is stuffing scrolls that are CENTURIES OLD into her CLOAK POCKETS. I feel faint."

October 5, 2017 – page 130 

 19.7% "Why do so few people get names in this series? Why does nobody think about the fact that they don't know people's names?!"

October 5, 2017 – page 132 

 20.0% "The bell alarm would be super clever if you discount the fact that anyone who watched the library for any length of time would know it never closed, and would therefore know that there was no bell toll to signal the library closing, and would THEREFORE know that the jig, she is up"

October 5, 2017 – page 135 

 20.45% "This isn't quite as bad as Dorian letting Sorscha take the blame for the damage caused by his magical temper tantrum, but come on, Yrene. You want a servant to leave so you can talk to Chaol in private so you straight up say that she HARMED him?"

October 5, 2017 – page 135 

 20.45% "That is quite frankly despicable, even if we ignore the possible consequences to Kadja. You just told the woman she hurt somebody! You put that on her shoulders! You have officially become awful."

October 5, 2017 – page 136 

 20.61% "Wait wait wait Yrene KNOWS that she has made Kadja worry about her position and wellbeing by literally saying that she hurt Chaol, and Yrene doesn't even care? What the everloving FUCK."

October 5, 2017 – page 138 

 20.91% "Why would bodiless shadow entities care about what bodies they inhabited? Is there a reason they only take dude bodies? Did they study humans for a while and decide they should be aesthetically pleasing men to be most effective? WHY"

October 5, 2017 – page 145 

 21.97% ""Either your lack of consciousness during that initial healing kept you from feeling this sort of pain, or perhaps whatever this is had not... settled."

Aka, I needed a wordy way to explain this particular asspull plot device.

Sorry, true love device."

October 5, 2017 – page 148 

 22.42% "Are the ruks basically the eagles. Are they. (In fairness I was thinking of the seanchan flying lizard things whose name escapes me from Wheel of Time until this point)"

October 5, 2017 – page 150 

 22.73% "How are they having this conversation up in the air with the wind"

October 5, 2017 – page 151 

 22.88% ""[Celaena] and Dorian both possess considerable magic. But I would say it is their intelligence that is the stronger weapon."

Celaena and Dorian's intelligence: [footage not found]"

October 5, 2017 – page 153 

 23.18% "Does nobody suspect Yrene? She found the body, she sounded the alarm for something nobody else found, she has all those weird books about death magic and stuff, she has access to the royal family..."

October 5, 2017 – page 159 

 24.09% "You just told Kadja to add lots of honey Yrene don't fucking complain like it's her fault the tea is too sweet now. What the hell. Why are we hating on Kadja so much. She's doing her job as stated by the book.

It's because this is when the author decided that Yrene was going to be Chaol's new love interest isn't it"

October 5, 2017 – page 160 

 24.24% "Of course Chaol instinctively puts the right amount of honey into the tea. Because why not I guess."

October 5, 2017 – page 165 

 25.0% "WHY DOES THE GRAND EMPRESS NOT HAVE A NAME"

October 5, 2017 – page 175 

 26.52% "I'm not saying the idea with the horse is impossible or even ill-conceived, but did you train the horse to answer only to rein? Because it doesn't matter how patient the horse is, if Chaol doesn't have control over his legs they'll either swing a bit, giving the horse commands it has been trained to obey, or keep constant hard pressure, which would confuse the horse if it was trained traditionally."

October 5, 2017 – page 175 

 26.52% "In other words, this is actually a considerate idea. Unfortunately it lacks the knowledge of someone who knows about horses. And I'm not saying all horses are trained the same way, but that's another factor - is this horse trained to ignore legs, one of the main forms of signaling for riders - in favor of rein? Never mentioned."

October 5, 2017 – page 178 

 26.97% ""You have a good seat" he says, at which point Yrene promptly flails everywhere and slides back and forth in her saddle. That means she does not have a good seat. Do a teensy bit of research on horses and riding please"

October 5, 2017 – page 178 

 26.97% "Here's the thing. "No lady, beautiful or plain, young or old, deserved to be gawked at."

It's a great sentiment. It's a sentiment I applaud. It's a sentiment that is completely undermine by this appearing to happen only to Yrene as a tool to tell us how desirable she is, and don't try to tell me it's not."

October 5, 2017 – page 179 

 27.12% ""You encounter that [harassment] here?"

Chaol. Literally one page ago you were commenting on people ogling her creepily. Keep up."

October 5, 2017 – page 180 

 27.27% ""Dorian has long studied and admired the khaganate."

Uh-huh. That's why it was never mentioned before the beginning of this book as anything other than the mysterious southern continent where Nesryn was from. Makes total sense."

October 5, 2017 – page 185 

 28.03% "Look I'm no fan of Chaol these days but it doesn't matter - you're shouting about the man's disability that he is clearly insecure about to a crowd while he sits there after having agreed to help you with something entirely different. You don't have his permission. He didn't ask you to talk to other healers. Why are you being a dick?"

October 5, 2017 – page 185 

 28.03% "Also, the medical professionals still refuse to say the word penis. I don't know why manhood is better, but apparently euphemisms rule the day in this world."

October 5, 2017 – page 185 

 28.03% "Also, the medical professionals still refuse to say the word penis. I don't know why manhood is better, but apparently euphemisms rule the day in this world."

October 5, 2017 – page 186 

 28.18% "No nope nuh-uh this is actually nausea inducing my blind eye isn't even that big a deal but somebody shouting about it and giving my medical particulars to a giant crowd of people I wasn't even told about and pointing out (loudly) that it was rolling off to the side or something would be SO AWFUL. Jesus Christ, I didn't even know I could have this kind of reaction."

October 5, 2017 – page 186 

 28.18% "Fuck this book."

October 5, 2017 – page 186 

 28.18% "Fuck Yrene."

October 5, 2017 – page 186 

 28.18% "This is the WORST."

October 5, 2017 – page 186 

 28.18% "He's literally either strapped to a horse or being carried by these so called healers he can't even just LEAVE. Fuck."

October 5, 2017 – page 187 

 28.33% ""She means well, my Yrene."

I.

Don't.

Care."

October 6, 2017 – page 187 

 28.33% "Still not over it (she literally goes, as if it's a treat, "who would like to assist lord westfall from his mount to his chair?" Could that have even been PHRASED more insultingly?) but let's see what horrors come next."

October 6, 2017 – page 188 

 28.48% "It's a small thing but he keeps referring to them in his brain as 'these ladies' like way to be patronizing Chaol I'm trying to give you a pass because of the EXTREME AMOUNT OF DICKISHNESS that has recently been visited upon you but come on"

October 6, 2017 – page 188 

 28.48% "Stop with beheld.

Also, not to harp on this, but can YA in general get its facts straight in regards to self defense? Chaol has never trained non-soldiers. Chaol has never been trained BY non-soldiers. Chaol has never studied or considered the types of self-defense necessary for, say, a twelve year old girl who ha otherwise had no martial arts training and will probably not have other martial arts training."

October 6, 2017 – page 188 

 28.48% "The techniques involved are ENTIRELY DIFFERENT."

October 6, 2017 – page 190 

 28.79% "I ask again, what duties went with captain of the royal guard?!"

October 6, 2017 – page 195 

 29.55% "She gets mad at him when he makes a jibe about her getting the apprentices to haul him off his horse without asking him. She literally just walks away from him while he's still strapped to the horse. Now she's demanding if she DID something to him"

October 6, 2017 – page 195 

 29.55% ""Your piss-poor attitude helps no one and nothing"

Go fuck yourself Yrene"

October 6, 2017 – page 196 

 29.7% "But it's NESRYN who's the bad guy for expressing surprise that Chaol rode somewhere?!"

October 6, 2017 – page 199 

 30.15% "Okay, at least she apologized. Sorta? "I'm sorry. I should have considered your feelings on the matter."

Yeah. You should have. Or maybe, like, ASKED."

October 6, 2017 – page 203 

 30.76% "In my quest for fairness, that passage about Chaol feeling guilty for shit that went down in his past was significantly better done than most of the whole book. Unfortunately we've seen no sign of these things in Chaol's POV before, so it still comes out of left field."

October 6, 2017 – page 217 

 32.88% "Of course the princess' favorite story is about Celaena even if she doesn't know it's about Celaena"

October 6, 2017 – page 223 

 33.79% "It's possible I just like badass queer ladies, but Hassar is sounding cooler and cooler outside the weird jealousy thing with Renia. It's also possible that it's because the narrative doesn't try to tell me she's Good and Pure while she's talking about beheading folks."

October 6, 2017 – page 224 

 33.94% "I take it back. Why is everyone awful."

October 6, 2017 – page 233 

 35.3% "All of a sudden they're so attracted to each other that him saying her name 'made her toes curl'. It's not that I didn't see this coming, it just feels super abrupt."

October 6, 2017 – page 247 

 37.42% ""He hadn't quite realized how slim her waist was, how her hips flared beneath it. How her other assets swelled above."

I leave this for y'all without further comment."

October 6, 2017 – page 254 

 38.48% "Where are all the question marks?"

October 6, 2017 – page 256 

 38.79% "Apparently because Chaol is not cave-man jealous that Nesryn is talking to another dude, he and Nesryn aren't meant to be. Wow."

October 6, 2017 – page 271 

 41.06% ""But the scroll... it was too precious. Too ancient to treat so callously. Even flattening it out might harm the integrity of the paper, the ink."

Didn't stop you from SHOVING IT INTO YOUR POCKET EARLIER, YRENE"

October 25, 2017 – page 282 

 42.73% "I'm back to ask where all the question marks went"

January 5, 2018 – page 285 

 43.18% "That was a paragraph made almost entirely of fragments."

January 5, 2018 – page 293 

 44.39% ""The scent of lemon and lavender [from the Torre]" that is my perfume how did I never notice it before I AM SO MAD"

January 5, 2018 – page 299 

 45.3% "More retconning to make Dorian's still unnamed father a sort of antihero making hard decisions by murdering everybody who could maybe use magic."

January 5, 2018 – page 299 

 45.3% "I hate everything about this idea, and everything about how all evil men are redeemed or found to have not been under their own power while women who do something 'wrong' (like doubting Celaena) are given grisly punishments even when they are revealed to be misguided or whatever in the case of Kaltain."

January 5, 2018 – page 299 

 45.3% "I hate everything about this idea, and everything about how all evil men are redeemed or found to have not been under their own power while women who do something 'wrong' (like doubting Celaena) are given grisly punishments even when they are revealed to be misguided or whatever in the case of Kaltain."

January 5, 2018 – page 308 

 46.67% "I actually do appreciate this. The handling of Chaol's disability has been pretty crappy, but this guard (with a name!) has a prosthetic arm and he uses it and goes about his life. Props."

January 6, 2018 – page 317 

 48.03% "I actually do like this part. If Yrene were always like this I'd like this book, but the book can't seem to just let Yrene be this person who always wants to help people. I can't put my finger on why she seems so inconsistent to me. It could be the many mentions of Celaena are off-putting, or it could be that we rarely ever see Yrene helping the poor."

January 6, 2018 – page 317 

 48.03% "I won't say never because we have at least two examples. As always though, these books rely too heavily on telling while they show us something else."

January 6, 2018 – page 319 

 48.33% "This is part of the reason these books frustrate me so much. Every once no a while a line or a paragraph comes that makes me think that maybe the author Gets It, but then it's lost in a miasma of Celaena worship and males and females and all that nonsense."

January 6, 2018 – page 324 

 49.09% "Then we get "don't you waste one heartbeat being afraid of a coward who hunts women in the darkness."

First of all, that could be polished up to be a better line. Second, it's literally a demon hunting her. Third, she has the bare basics of self defense. Fourth, YES WE ARE AFRAID OF PEIPLE HUNTING WOMEN IN THE DARK, YOU DICK. That doesn't mean we can't do something about it. Fuck off."

January 6, 2018 – page 328 

 49.7% "Men are "silky, Court-trained liars" a la Black Jewels, but women are apparently "smooth, pretty" liars. Make of that what you will."

January 6, 2018 – page 338 

 51.21% "Nope we have spent five books and multiple short stories in Celaena's mind we never see any of this planning I will not be convinced by this toadying"

January 6, 2018 – page 340 

 51.52% "Why does no one seem to understand that being good at using a weapon does not immediately equate to being a good tactician or a good leader?!"

January 6, 2018 – page 347 

 52.58% ""But what is more unusual: that a Balruhni woman is their captain, or that a captain of Adarlan has ventured so far?"

Idk she's supposed to be running the military body responsible for the protection of a king so I'd think it would be unusual for her to leave said king but what do I know"

January 6, 2018 – page 347 

 52.58% ""The real question is... does she come as emissary or bride?"

That would not be my real question I have to admit. Also it's a stupid question. These books are written with a juvenile humor and juvenile character interactions while trying to give graphic adult content and I hate everything."

January 6, 2018 – page 349 

 52.88% ""Made sure he notes that the grace with which she moved was not some feminine gift"

Sorry do you think women just naturally move gracefully?"

January 6, 2018 – page 371 

 56.21% "Apparently the sentient southern spiders are not as civilized as the northern sentient spiders idk y'all"

January 6, 2018 – page 378 

 57.27% "Of course the fae brought 'civilizations to the southern continent of course they did"

January 6, 2018 – page 405 

 61.36% "Hang on can the giant birds talk now?"

January 6, 2018 – page 405 

 61.36% "Nope, sorry, pronoun confusion. All good."

January 6, 2018 – page 421 

 63.79% "I mean we all know my stance on Celaena, re: her supposed brilliance and/or that of her advisors, so it should surprise no one that it seems like all the royalty here are talking sense when it comes to not helping her."

January 6, 2018 – page 453 

 68.64% "Apparently love can make you walk again after a spine injury. I guess that's good to know. (What the hell)"

January 6, 2018 – page 470 

 71.21% "Remember girls if you win anything it's only because the boys you're competing with are worried you'll hurt your fragile feminine selves and let you win (unless you are Celaena Sardothien, in which case sometimes you are allowed to win on your own in the most obnoxious way possible)"

January 6, 2018 – page 471 

 71.36% "I think I'm supposed to find this cute but frankly everything about this fucking stinks, a dude had his father declare he was betrothed to a woman and she didn't know it was going to happen and because she hasn't outright told the dude to jump off a cliff everybody's like 'ah yes she really does want him' even as they talk about how the marriage might help a strained and grouchy alliance"

January 6, 2018 – page 481 

 72.88% "It's not a chestnut if it has a black mane it is a bay I swear to god it will be trivial horse details in YA lit that make me lose it in the end"

January 6, 2018 – page 483 

 73.18% "MY KINGDOM FOR A GELDING"

January 6, 2018 – page 486 

 73.64% "I'm getting the feeling that people don't understand how much leg muscle it takes to ride a horse successfully even if you don't use your legs to guide them. Is Chaol's tricked-out saddle being used and I missed it?"

January 6, 2018 – page 498 

 75.45% "Everything good is apparently fae, even healing magic. Watch Yrene turn out to be the long lost heir to the Magical Healing Fae Dynasty or something."

January 6, 2018 – page 498 

 75.45% "Still no word on why only women are healers"

January 6, 2018 – page 509 

 77.12% "Of course the gay princess is the high tempered murder-y brat princess. Of course."

January 6, 2018 – page 520 

 78.79% "It should be impossible to glorify Celaena without even knowing who she is AND YET"

January 6, 2018 – page 530 

 80.3% "I call bullshit. No foreshadowing, no nothing. This is yet another goddamn asspull for shock value and I am TIRED OF IT"

January 7, 2018 – page 563 

 85.3% "Once again there are parts of this that would be good if they made any sense at all in the narrative or had anything leading up to them or didn't DIRECTLY CONTRADICT other parts of the book"

January 7, 2018 – page 565 

 85.61% "Once again, abusive asshole dude given benefit of the doubt and apparently was actually trying to save his son I swear to god how many of these can there BE."

January 7, 2018 – page 567 

 85.91% "For the love of god how much more veneration of Celaena can one woman be expected to stand"

January 7, 2018 – page 570 

 86.36% ""He did not deserve to serve such a man. Such a king."

I am of the opinion that there are few people terrible enough to DESERVE serving Dorian, but here we are."

January 7, 2018 – page 575 

 87.12% "Of course he's fully healed of course he is love apparently heals spinal injuries so well it's as if they never were aside from an easily overlooked scar much like Celaena's three parallel whip scar marks on her back I swear to god"

January 7, 2018 – page 576 

 87.27% ""Then Sartaq clasped arms with Yeran, whine Borte pointedly ignored, which Nesryn supposed was an improvement on outright hostility"

Nah man dude decided he and Borte were engaged without even letting her know and made a FORMAL ANNOUNCEMENT ABOUT IT and she seems to feel that telling him to fuck off would endanger a precarious alliance"

January 7, 2018 – page 579 

 87.73% "Sorry the Borte quote was supposed to be 579"

January 7, 2018 – page 579 

 87.73% "Either way, why is everyone treating this like it's cute?"

January 7, 2018 – page 579 

 87.73% "It's creepy in the extreme and manipulative AT BEST"

January 7, 2018 – page 580 

 87.88% ""Yet as she left, Nesryn could have sworn Borte gave Yeran a secret, small smile"

No. Stop it. This isn't cute. This is creepy as fuck. Stop telling people that all you have to do is make the girl yours and she'll love you eventually. That's some Stockholm bullshit. I hate everything."

January 7, 2018 – page 580 

 87.88% ""She set a date. That's how she got my hearth-mother to approve."

Cool so Borte BARTERED HERSELF OFF to save her hearth-brother dude but we're just going to pretend this is cute I hate EVERYTHING"

January 7, 2018 – page 591 

 89.55% ""It would have been like Aelin, to shift the battle between her and Maeve to the shore. To minimize casualties, so she could unleash her full power without hesitation."

FOOTAGE NOT FUCKING FOUND Celaena has never given any sort of shits about innocent bystanders aside from useless lip service and has in fact BURNED ENTIRE SHIPS OF HER ALLIES ALIVE and been irritated that people were upset with her about it"

January 7, 2018 – page 591 

 89.55% "I am SO ANGRY"

January 7, 2018 – page 601 

 91.06% "Once again, no foreshadowing whatsoever."

January 7, 2018 – page 609 

 92.27% "No fucks given about Duva, it's all about the fetus now apparently"

January 7, 2018 – page 639 

 96.82% "I fail to see why the gender of a demon makes any difference at all. Why is this an OMG BIG REVEAL?"

January 7, 2018 – page 640 

 96.97% "God the book is trying it's trying SO HARD to make not all women terrible people unless they bow to Celaena but like. This is a complete reversal of Hassar. We've never seen her care about anybody but Renia."

January 7, 2018 – page 654 

 99.09% ""No longer Yrene Towers - but Yrene Westfall"

The Towers women have kept their last name through at least ten generations this is BULLSHIT it's a healer thing why can't she be Yrene Towers, Lady Westfall it's not without precedent irl and all it would do would keep character consistency and not immediately behold her to a man oh wait"

January 7, 2018 – page 656 

 99.39% "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MORE CELAENA VENERATION"

January 7, 2018 – page 659 

 99.85% ""A coffin built by an ancient queen to keep the sun inside"

The sun is Celaena/Aelin, in case you were curious."

January 7, 2018 – Shelved as: 1-5-stars

[siribear]

‘let glory take point,’ deacon says. ‘she’s the one with the armor.’ it’s true. glory’s the only one even remotely defended, her heavy jacket modified with metal plates stitched within the padding of the tan coat. she and deacon are only dressed in their plain shirts and jeans, for lack of any other armor available at hq.

‘after you, ma’am.’ whisper gestures, falling in line behind glory.

‘don’t call me ma’am,’ glory mutters, leading them through the metro.

thankfully, they only encounter raiders during their trek. the unorganized group doesn’t stand a chance against the three trained agents. glory draws all the attention while whisper and deacon sneak around to pick off the distracted raiders.

‘nice to see that even with your sneaky shit, you haven’t lost your touch, dee.’

deacon, almost in response, finishes off a raider with a clean shot to the head. ‘i aims to please.’

whisper slings an arm across his shoulders, now that the area’s cleared. ‘it’s why i keep him around.’

glory frowns and makes to flick at her glasses. whisper flinches backward, slinking behind deacon. ‘and he made you into a deacon 2.0.’

‘i have to admit, she’s the better looking between the two of us.’

whisper turns around to call the elevator and to hide her growing blush. only made worse when glory openly agrees. the elevator dings, and an automated voice announces its arrival to bzzt floor. ‘after you, miss glory.’

‘being pretty doesn’t make that any less annoying,’ she says, but still enters, and whisper can only smile.

down in the basement, they’re greeted by the haptic sounds of gunfire. immediately, deacon and whisper duck down and behind the minuscule cover the open elevator doors provide. glory ducks, winding up her minigun. no sudden gunfire slams into the elevator, but they can still hear the gunfire, followed by screaming. the only voices they hear are human, over the unmistakable sound of laser fire.

‘more synths,’ whisper says, low. ‘sorry, glory.’

glory sighs. ‘let’s just get this over with.’

glory takes point again as they slowly make their way forward, down a short hallway that ends in a left turn. slowly, at least, until glory charges forward, whisper and deacon on her heels. a handful of raiders, whatever’s left of the group that took over the metro, faces off against a squad of synths. unfortunately, the raiders are trapped behind their makeshift wooden structures, and even with the high ground granted by their constructed lofts, they’re no match for the synth’s lasers and glory’s minigun. the synths, on the other hand, have taken advantage of the stalled subway car, peering through broken windows and metal doors.

between the sharpshooters, the synths are picked off, sparks lighting the dim subway with every one that goes down. glory ends the remaining raiders in a bloody shower of red. all in all, they did well. no injuries on their side, but the carnage turns her stomach. they probably thought the trio could help them; everyone turned against the synths - but the raiders would have turned on them right after, no doubt. some dimming part of her feels - terribly guilty.

‘what’s going through your head, partner?’ deacon asks from his crouched position, hands deep in the pockets of a dead raider. he passes her a handful of pistol ammo, the bullets tinged red with blood.

‘idealism,’ she says, softly.

‘go on.’

she groans, frustrated. ‘just - wondering how many people we can prevent from turning to raiding, you know? no lack of food, water, safety. no need to turn to chems. that sort of thing.’

deacon stares at her for a moment, silent. then, ‘watch that bleeding heart of yours. most people are content to let you bleed out.’

‘yeah, i’m figuring out that much.’ the world pre-war was by no means perfect, but it still shocks her how bad things have gotten. but maybe it’s always been this way, just under the surface, the bombs blowing away the top level of society, peeling back the layers, leaving them with this. she doesn’t take part in the looting, this time.

when the scavenging is finished, glory stands near the door that will lead them back to the surface. ‘you know, this was actually a pretty good run. you two aren’t so bad. guess i can say it was good seeing you two, but i should report back to griswold.’ on the way up, whisper quickly runs her through the updates from the day’s earlier meeting. ‘hey, you find a way back into the institute, i want to be there.’ she cracks her neck. ‘storm the place, give my last fuck you to the assholes who created me.’

‘top of my list, glory, don’t worry.’

‘and keep an eye on the brotherhood,’ she says, motioning to the sky. ‘i’ve been seeing those vertibirds flying around. who knows what they’re looking for.’

‘duly noted, mademoiselle gloire,’ whisper says with a grin. deacon chuckles.

glory isn’t as amused - or not that she’d admit. there’s definitely a smile she’s fighting. ‘and you were doing so well.’

‘what was it? i aims to please.’

glory points between the two of them. ‘i’m getting out of this pair. right now. before i strangle the both of you.’

‘you know we’ll miss you terribly, gloria.’ deacon receives a friendly middle finger in glory’s wake.

-

whisper hardly needs his help maneuvering around the city these days. it almost makes him feel useless. almost. until he stops her from walking right into mutie territory; the mutants have moved further into the city, set up their favorite, bloody decorations along the buildings like christmas lights.

but his partner likes to walk the old roads, likes to wear away the poor, centuries old pavement. ‘save some road for future generations,’ he begs her, and, bless her, she takes to a sidewalk. leave it to her to think of the future.

so, maybe that’s why he appreciates her. it’s been far too long since he’s thought of the future. can’t appreciate the seeds you’ve sewn for the future if you don’t survive the day. she makes him think there might be an end to that.

whisper stops at the entrance to goodneighbor, hand stilled on the metal door.

‘take a hit to the head back in malden? forget how to use doors?’

she spins on her heel, puts her back to the door, and all deacon can think is: uh oh. he knows the look; she wants to talk. and he’ll talk, sure, but -

‘why didn’t you tell me about the tech you picked from kellogg’s brain?’

- deacon is, unfortunately, finding it more difficult to lie to her. she’s picked out enough of his bullshit, gone along with the rest of it. the act itself isn’t difficult - deacon’s been lying for years. but there’s a little part of him that whispers (ha) don’t lie to her.

‘didn’t seem important.’

she cants her head to the side. ‘try again. you can do better.’

see, he can. but he doesn’t want to. so he gives her the truth. part of it, anyway. ‘it might have been a waste of time. i figured, between tom and carrington, they’d find out if it was a lead worth pursuing.’

he notices the tension begin to drain from her shoulders. a leak, not a release. ‘so it wasn’t because you don’t trust me?’

so that’s what this is about. carrington must have gotten to her more than she let on. ‘of course not. i trust you.’ more than he probably should, but deacon still considers himself a good judge of character.

she catches her genuine smile, turns it into a grin, and he can hear the wink in her voice when she says, ‘thought you can’t trust anyone?’

he rolls his eyes even though she’s turned her back to him to push through to goodneighbor. ‘just you, partner,’ he mumbles, low enough that she can’t hear.

-

amari looks between the two of them before pulling away from her paperwork. the memory den is empty today, likely in preparation for what they’re about to do. though, irma had apparently been told who to look out for, because she had simply waved them on to the back.

‘do you have a geiger counter?’ the doctor asks.

‘mine is in the shop,’ whisper answers dutifully. the doctor’s hands return from under her desk and away from a pistol she no doubt has hidden. deacon has taught them all so well.

‘i recognize you.’ amari nods at deacon. ‘you’re the other one?’ when whisper introduces herself, amari’s eyes widen. ‘ah, i see. h2 mentioned you.’

‘he’s why we’re here. malden center is open again for one last run. desdemona is working on another route.’

amari closes her eyes and nods. ‘i thought as much. thank you. it was getting dangerous holding him here.’ she rises from her desk. ‘i’ve kept him the back room, but we’re going to need it if we’re going to go through with this procedure.’ she holds out a note with another shorthand - different from deacon’s own - scribbled in drummer boy’s handwriting. ‘your other friend isn’t here yet. i’ll go have h2 move to another room.’

‘no!’ whisper near-shouts. ‘i’ll get him, it’s no trouble.’

‘i don’t think that’s - ‘ amari begins, but whisper is already halfway to the back. ‘is this her first?’

deacon nods. ‘they got particularly close. she took a bullet for him.’ he remembers the look in her eyes when they were sitting in the lobby in ticon. like a mother looking at her son. how it didn’t hit him then that she’s a mother - ‘she’d find out one way or another.’

he can’t protect her from this.

‘he left this for her.’ amari pulls a holotape from her pocket. ‘that’s how i knew who she was.’

-

whisper is breathless, half-skipping down the stairs to where h2 waits. she takes in that mop of brown hair, his padded blue jacket, though he’s grown a beard since the last time she saw him. he sits on a couch at the edge of the room, staring down at his hands.

‘hey - ‘

‘whoa, lady.’ it’s h2′s face, but not his voice. this man’s voice is rougher, not the soft-spoken young man she met in the church. ‘doc said i’m in quarantine. i might be contagious or something. what’re you doin’ down here?’

there’s no recognition in his eyes when he looks at her. just confusion. ‘i, uh, i work with the doctor. she said you’re clear, and we’re moving you to another room. she’s - she’s upstairs.’

‘oh, hey, cool. i was gettin’ bored down here. only so many times you can count ceiling tiles, y’know? was tempted to take a little nap in one of those pods. anyway, upstairs, you said?’

whisper’s glad for the sunglasses when he comes closer. somehow, she keeps the tears out of her voice. ‘yeah, upstairs. she’ll get you set up to leave.’

‘thanks again, lady. nice meetin’ you.’

she doesn’t turn, just listens to the sound of his retreating footsteps. ‘yeah. nice to meet you.’

it’s where deacon and nick find her moments later, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the two memory pods in front of her. the former puts a hand between her shoulders, leans around her. ‘you okay? i should have warned you - ’

‘no, i needed to find out myself. i get it.’ she’s since dried her tears.

‘this is for you.’ he takes one of her hands in his, places something cold and metal in the center. ‘from h2. before.’ it’s a small holotape with her codename written on it.

she puts it in her pocket. ‘thank you.’

nick passes by the two of them and runs a leathery hand over the glass of one of the pods. ‘from what i understand, we’re jumping into kellogg’s memories. sounds crazy, but knowing the institute - ’ he looks to her. ‘you ready?’

the pod looks like the one she stepped into two hundred years ago, though cushioned and inclined. the top half is entirely glass, with a single monitor hanging from the top. static hums on the screen.

whisper takes one step toward it, then freezes. what if it doesn’t open when it’s over? what if she’s stuck again, two hundred years - she grabs deacon’s hand without thinking, grips it like she’s holding on for dear life.

maybe she is.

‘we’ll all be right here,’ he reassures her. ‘it’s just memories. kellogg can’t hurt you in there.’ he turns to someone walking by, and she sees dr. amari has joined them downstairs. ‘he can’t hurt her somehow, right? this is just routine memory viewing?’

dr. amari sighs. ‘routine is not the word i’d use. unorthodox, yes, but no more dangerous. mr. valentine here is the only one in danger of complications.’

‘nick - ‘

‘it’s all right, doll. i agreed to this.’

she sighs heavily. deacon leads her over to the pod and doesn’t let go of her hand until it begins to close. it hisses shut, the hinges clicking as it locks. locks.

‘your heartbeat spiked. i need you to calm down or the memory sync won’t work,’ comes dr. amari’s voice from a small speaker near her head.

calm. breathe in, breathe out. count to ten. breathe in - deacon taps on the glass next to her. the closed pod muffles the sound of him dragging a chair over next to her. i’m right here, she reads his lips.

‘that’s better. this is your first time, so i have to tell you: it might feel a little strange. the static on the monitor is white noise, that’s all. you will be viewing these memories, as if you’re there. but you will be viewing them from kellogg’s perspective. okay?’

‘okay,’ whisper croaks. her voice barely sounds like her own. like h2′s didn’t sound the same -

‘no, no, calm down. we’re almost there. mr. valentine is ready when you are. are you?’

breathe out. ‘i’m ready.’

‘good. sunglasses off, close your eyes, and - ‘

whisper feels a sharp shock at the base of her skull, and the world goes black.

-

deacon watches whisper through the glass, eyes closed like she’s sleeping, but her eyes move back and forth rapidly. her breathing is even, at least. he props his chin in the palm of his hand, and waits.

-

she’s in a bedroom, looking down at child drawings on a bed, worn out crayons spread across a threadbare blanket. a woman sits next to her, smelling of cigarette smoke and something - something else, something familiar, but she can’t place it. she wants to turn her head to look at her, see why she seems so familiar, but she can’t. instead, she flinches at a loud knock on her bedroom door and a louder, male voice screaming on the other side of it.

the woman slides a gun into view, the revolver she’ll come to know, and places a hand on hers. ‘connie,’ the woman says, and finally she looks up. mousy brown hair, bruises on her face, a split lip. ‘you can’t rely on anyone else, honey. this is the only thing you can trust.’

the gun is heavy in her small hands. the man bangs on the door again. she aims the revolver at the door, hands shaking. the man screams and yells, and she doesn’t pull the trigger.

i ran away from home, kellogg’s voice is soft in her mind. i think she wanted me to kill him, but i didn’t realize until i was older and it was too late. don’t know what happened to her. maybe she got out.

oh, whisper thinks.

‘that’s not it. we’ll move on to the next memory.’

-

she’s older now, a prominent scar on her face and leather jacket reflecting in the kitchen window. she watches her wife clean up after breakfast. she has a job to get to in the afternoon, but until then - she wraps her arms around the woman’s waist, presses a kiss to the top of her head. sarah, this she knows. she remembers her, because how could she possibly forget her? her face, the sound of her voice.

and then their daughter coos from her high chair, tosses around crumbs sarah will be finding around the kitchen for months. mary. almost two years old. thank god she’s got her mother’s face. don’t know what she’d do if mary inherited this mug.

surprised to find out i had a family, once upon a time? we aren’t so different, you and i.

‘another memory, then.’

-

she stalks down a hallway like death. she’s the reaper. she’s deliverance. justice. revenge. there will be no mercy when she finds them. the revolver fits perfectly in her hand. a voice calls to her overhead: ‘they died like dogs. and you weren’t there to protect them.’ she knows this voice. she hates this voice. she’s going to tear his throat out with her teeth. she kicks down a door and fires. one, two, three, four, five, six. one was enough. two through six were for sarah and mary. it doesn’t bring them back, but it feels fucking good.

not so different.

‘getting closer.’

-

she nurses a beer. or was it a whiskey? maybe it’s rum tonight. she doesn’t know the name of the bar, but it never matters. what does matter: there’s always a drink.

this was the start of it, she remembers. remaking a name for herself. answering to no one but herself. having someone else lord over her makes them think they own you. and, well, when you have something they can take away?

she takes the job from the drifters. kill some family upriver. names don’t matter. caps do. keeps the liquor flowing.

kellogg is quiet, contemplative. all she gets is the soft buzzing in the back of her mind, and then she’s shuffled off to the next memory.

-

she stands in front of a woman in a clean, white suit. not many people like that around here, anymore. and she’s got two robots flanking her with a third hovering just over her own shoulder. she’s already calculated every way to make it out of this alive if it goes bad.

institute. boogeyman. and apparently she’s gotten on their bad side. not her fault, really, if the institute’s been pissing off people with enough caps to buy her help to get back at them. the only solution she can see: the institute pays her more than that. no more problem.

so the scientist doesn’t believe her at first, that’s fine. she believes after she single handedly takes out three of their skeleton-looking synths before any of them can get a shot off.

minutemen for you, institute for me, kellogg says. how close we were to becoming the same person.

-

‘manual override initiated. cryogenic stasis suspended.’

no. no, no, no. please, she can’t watch this again.

she stares at the faces of the people as they begin to wake up. first, the confusion. then, the panic. they don’t need to open any of these pods. just one. a man wakes, a baby held in one arm. that’s the target. the man looks at her, then past her, and when she turns, she sees - herself. the back up. the pod hisses open, and the man coughs and sputters, never letting go of the child.

cruel. she wonders what the fuck she did to the institute to deserve this job. the old man could have done this himself. not hard to steal an infant from a man whose muscles have been held in stasis for two hundred years.

she raises her revolver when he won’t let go, though, and maybe that’s why she’s-he’s here. do the hard job no one else wants to do. she pulls the trigger, and the man slumps forward. the scientist with him takes the baby who cries loud, echoing off the vault walls. she wonders if that’s what mary sounded like when they took her. oh well. that was years ago and she was a different person, then.

she looks to the woman with murder in her eyes. she grins. this woman would be her justice. her deliverance. her reaper. if only they’d let her go. as it is, she’s the back up. the other scientist down the hall puts her back to sleep. the other poor suckers stay trapped in their pods, forced to suffocate until their end.

‘are you okay? your heart rate increased again.’

‘dr. amari,’ she whispers, throat laden with tears, ‘next memory.’

-

their little house in diamond city has started to become a home. shaun has started to pin his drawings everywhere. some of her, down to her distinct scar. some of his parents he can barely seem to remember. she hasn’t had the heart to tell him what she did. because she’s rather enjoyed - this. what she could have had. shaun’s got the floor covered with his comic books now, and he knows he’ll have to clean them up before dinner.

he’s a good kid. looks like a perfect mix between his mother and father. shaun laughs at travis rambling on the radio, or maybe it’s something he’s reading in his books. she’s busy cleaning her revolver, breathing in the moment.

it ends, though, as do all things. the institute’s courser steps through the door, and everything changes. shaun is to go to the institute, for good. and she’s to hunt down virgil, hiding out in the glowing sea. shaun looks up at her with confused, but understanding eyes. she doesn’t even get to say goodbye before he and the courser disappear in a flash of blue light, teleported back to the institute.

she spins the chambers on her revolver, listens to it click and whir. with a flick of her wrist, it’s done. she’ll set up in fort hagen for now. the old man will have her house cleaned out the moment she leaves, so she packs only what she needs. her guns, ammo, armor. her favorite cigars and booze, because if she’s going to the glowing sea, she’s going to enjoy herself before setting foot in that radiation bath.

she picks up shaun’s pile of comics and stacks them neatly on the desk. maybe whatever courser that cleans her place will take them back to shaun. she laughs, realizing how stupid that sounds. so she picks up the stack herself and throws the entire thing into the trash can.

she shoulders her bag and turns off the lights, locking the door behind her. at least she had the taste of her perfect little family.

good riddance.

now get out.

-

‘that’s it!’ amari shouts, but deacon isn’t listening.

he’s watching whisper wake up slowly, electrodes at the base of her skull falling as she pulls away from the chair. she touches her cheek, follows the trail of her tears from earlier. whatever she saw bothered her. a lot. she practically jumps when the pod clicks open, and he’s there in an instant, helping her out of it and steadying her shaking legs.

‘that’s why we could never find an entrance to the institute. there isn’t one. at least not an obvious one.’

‘teleportation - that’s,’ whisper starts slowly, tries to reform words. ‘how?’

‘i assume that scientist the courser - ‘ deacon stiffens. ‘ - mentioned, virgil, will know something. he’s your best bet. the glowing sea,’ amari says to him, the only one not privy to any of this, ‘that’s where you’ll find him.’

the glowing sea. a heavily irradiated expanse of land. great.

‘where’s nick?’ whisper asks.

‘he was up before you. i’m going to check on him, make sure there’s no side effects from that procedure. then i need to get ready to move h2. excuse me.’

amari leaves in a rush, but whisper stays where she is, looking dazed. he remembers the first time he used the memory pod, and he ended up much like this after it. though reliving the memories of an institute hitman couldn’t have been easy on her.

‘whisper,’ he tries, bringing her focus back to him, instead of the chair she’s burning a hole into. ‘you okay?’

‘deacon,’ she stares up at him, eyes wide. she opens her mouth to speak, cups his face like she’s trying to see if he’s real, and then her eyes shift down, and suddenly she’s kissing him.

his hands instinctively go to her hips, but the rest of his body is two steps behind his brain that is currently short circuiting. it’s over, as quick as it was unexpected, and he has a hell of an internal war trying to convince himself that he isn’t disappointed.

she pulls away slowly, eyes half-lidded, and she whispers, ‘thank you,’ against his lips, still so close he can trace out the syllables. whisper comes back to herself, eyes back to his, bright and hopeful. ‘thank you, thank you,’ she repeats.

‘wait. what?’

she’s still grinning when she bends down to pick up her sunglasses, fallen to the floor of the memory pod, and it doesn’t fade even as she drags him back upstairs to the main floor of the memory den.

[bicon-crange]

Greg’s Parents

Makin this small post because I keep seeing posts about Steven meeting his human grandparents and in them they are always great people- and I think you all forget that Andy was Gregs cousin? Who stayed closer to the family much longer than he did? And that Andy was awful? SO here’s a refresher! 

[WARNING: dialouge under cut is from Andy and from Gem Harvest so thinly veiled racism/xenophobia/sexism from that episode ect. ect. my point is the DeMayos probably aren’t good people]

On top of his literal first lines being to literally establish his bigotry:

[ Peridot: Hey! Don't you touch our things! Pilot: You're hobettes? A hobo is a man's job. Lapis: Who's the human and what's he yelling about? Peridot: The real question is: where are my attack drones? *repeatedly presses a button on a remote* Pilot: Wait a minute. Those mysterious constructions, your weird appearance, your strange jewels. I know what you are. You're hippies! I heard about you on AM radio. What are you doin', comin' in here, socializin' this fine, American barn?]

HE JUST... IS TERRIBLE. But another thing to note is that he is much more attatchted to the family than Greg is- which is why I assume his morals are more in line with Greg’s parents/family as a whole- considering when he talks about Greg leaving he says you thought you were so much better than US. Also he does get worse my god

[Greg: How was I supposed to? I haven't seen you in years! Andy: And whose fault is that? You thought you were so much better than us, you just got in your van and drove away. Greg: That was like two decades ago! Steven: Uncle Andy, can I get down now? Andy: Oh, sorry, Steven. *puts down Steven* I ain't used to holdin' nephews. *turns to Greg* 'Cause I didn't know I had one! So, uh, which one of these girls is the wife? I gotta give her my condolences, right? *elbows Greg and laughs* Hey, come on. What, I gotta guess, here? *points to Garnet* It's gotta be you. I bet this useless lump needs a big girl to keep him in line. You're not big, I'm just saying. You're tall, not, you know. ]

ON TOP OF THE.... BIG GIRL COMMENT WHICH IS JUST....

there’s still the implication that he is both close to the family and hurt by Gregs seemingly sudden and immidiate leave, implying that he also ignored Gregs obvious depression and unhappiness in the family.

HOWEVER this is also shown immidiately after when he expresses anger at Greg legally changing his last name, something else probably dear to these tradition-heavy people. ALSO GOING ALONG WITH THAT IS ANDYS XENOPHOBIA AND NOT SO THINLY VEILED RACISM... SO HEADS UP ON THAT IM SO SORRY MY FELLOW  LATINXS... I HATE THIS DUDE UNIRONICALLY NGL

[ Andy: *surprised* Andy Demayo. Greg DeMayo. Steven DeMayo. We're the DeMayos. Greg: Actually, we're, umm... the Universes, now. Andy: *gets angry* You space walnut! You didn't even keep the family name? But you're goin' around givin' family property out like candy on... some... kind of... candy-givin'-out holiday?! Steven: You're telling me Universe isn't a real last name?! Greg: It is a real name. I had it changed. Andy, look, they just really needed a place.  They're alien refugees from space and- Andy: They're illegal aliens!? Wha...? You couldn't even marry an American?! Greg: What does that matter?! Steven: DeMayo's a much cooler name than plain old Universe. Andy: You turned your back on your family just so you could get in with a bunch of weirdo, hippie, Martian immigrants!? *points at Peridot and Lapis* You two, get the heck off my planet, out of my country, and out of my barn! ]

SOOOOOOO YEAH... not saying Greg’s parents would react the same way especially in reference to Steven himself being half-gem but this is one of the only frame of references we have for how Gregs family was other than them condemning his interests and forcibly shaving his head. Which again, not good signs.

ANYWAYS THIS IS ALL BEFORE ANDY “CHANGES” for the better at the end of the episode so take this as you will, but he does mention that he stayed the way the family was for a long long time before they moved a bit further away for retirements sake/were too old to make the trip back. It’s likely they still hold these ideals and are just ... physically changed. SO THATS MY WHOLE POINT HOPE IT WAS CONCISE!!! good day to u!!

[dattebae]

Hi! I just came across your blog but I just wanted to say I think it’s hilarious how you mention how all your naruhina friends was shocked that narusaku wasn’t canon, and how I reacted the same way lolol (I’m also naruhina fan). But I also wanted to say as a naruhina fan I 100% agree with your anti naruhina part 1

Part 2 and why I hate kishimoto and naruto (it’s partially why I’m glad I never caught up to shippuden after the pein arc but I still lose because I suffered through the disrespect of naruhina and their character’s development). But tbh I never shipped narusaku b/c I never felt like Sakura was ever in love with him but I just figured they automatically end up to together because they’re the hero and heroine because that’s just how works (except w/ like anthem of the heart)

P 3 but I also thought it end up w/ the story completed with closure but w/ a cliff hanger canon ship too b/c naruto never came off as focus on romance at all & figured be like hey let’s call it a wrap. Tbh would’ve preferred it so there wouldn’t be so much hate amongst everyone in the fandom. Also sorry for bringing up naruhina but I just wanted to let you know you’re not alone on your view points b/c I feel the same way about the way ship was handled

P 4 so sorry for so many asks (this the last one I swear) but tbh even though I used be a NaruHina shipper I think and also ship SasuNaru and they should’ve been end game. But I also love SasuHina and SakuHina and a lot of ships also but since NaruSaku & NaruHina get all the hate I wanted to know how you feel about these two ships? (P.s I hope didn’t sound like I was anti NaruSaku b/c I’m not, I can’t really have an full opinion since I never finished Naruto lol)

P 5 Ok I’m super sorry but I was looking further into your blog and well now you don’t have to answer my SasuHina question lol (omg I can’t believe you’re a NaruSaku and a SasuSaku that ships SasuHina like every shipper of those two I’ve so far hate SasuHina but then again just hate Hinata period). But I saw a few other things you’ve said I’d like to comment on like I totally agree with that SasuSaku ask you answered about how Sakura becomes immature to Sasuke even after her development and etc

P 6 & when Sasuke is brought up is the only time when I really dislike Sakura b/c it ruins her character but other than that I love her & also I only half agree with you on Sakura being a relatable b/c i don’t see how Sakura being canonly labeled the most beautiful girl in Konoha & being top of her class & haveing tons of admirers is relatable at all

P 7 (I’m sorry but there’s a ask word limit) but I don’t see how Hinata was made to be so desirable when she gets so much hate for being plain looking & get called ugly for it. Like I know a lot people say it’s only b/c of her body she get attentions but not a lot of people actually like boobs or cares when it comes to attraction & the fact that she was given big boobs was just so people can even considered attractive is fucked up b/c even Kishi didn’t think she was

P 8 but yeah everything else you about Sakura’s character is true & it’s why I love her so much but at same time she’s not 100% relatable b/c everyone knows Sakura is pretty, & popular when it comes to boys but being pretty gives you privilege & is why Sakura got such great development & is the most loved female character. Ugly girls don’t get a happy story like her & unattractive girls never go as far as prettier one’s b/c they aren’t given the opportunities instead

oh god almighty . . . people still care about naruto???

basically i just wanna clarify that the things you are bringing up are a good 3-5 years old lmao so honestly i don’t care/stand for a lot of ship-related things you mentioned. I will however give you a brief respond regarding Sakura not being relatable. 

Sakura being the most beautiful and popular wasn’t exactly a narrative that was pushed to the viewers throughout the manga, nor was it something that defined her character. It might’ve been more relevant in the genin days when she cared about having long hair and being pretty, but that was something that she overcame in the forest of death when she cut her hair off to protect naruto and sasuke. After that she didn’t care much for her appearance if you ask me. I find Sakura to be incredibly relatable and good example in that sense, but also when it comes to her other flaws. She has a short temper, she misjudged people ( Lee and Naruto ) , she had to constantly compare herself to Naruto and Sasuke while training under Tsunade , she made a lot of mistakes , she’s not very likable amongst the fandom. In an interview Kishimoto even explained that Sakura and Lee are the most human characters out of the bunch. SO, Sakura is indeed relatable and she has a LOT of human flaws which can make viewers dislike her. Ironically, to me that’s what makes her interesting. Not to mention, the more people hate her because of double standards, the more it makes me like her lmao. One example is that people can praise Hinata for attempting to fight Neji or Pain despite failing, but they’ll call Sakura useless just for appearing on screen. See my point here?  I’m not trying to pit these characters against each other, i just find it quite irritating that people do. Hinata is definitely more likable to an audience because of her soft-spoken nature and her crush on naruto. She is also one of the characters that is easy to pity and sympathize with imo. Also, she certainly doesn’t have a bland or boring look to her? I find her very pretty! I think that’s just something they like to describe her as but not really portray her as lol

i didn’t wanna be a dick and ignore your messages because it really seemed like you put time into it, but tbh i really dont care about naruto related stuff these days. Thank you for writing to me though !

[twi-sight2020]

Chapter 10: My liver, Midnight Sun, and other things I don’t know about

So, first of all, HOLY HELL THERE ARE NOW 230 of you. Like damn, I’ve been a DC RPer for years and it took me eons to get that many people across a couple of blogs. Meanwhile, i come back to one of my old fandoms and BAM open arms. Cleary, i was wrong for ever leaving. So, once again, I’ve been sort of ...slow. and I mean, TBH, I am a slow moving creature with these updates anyway, but considering I had to have yet another test ran, and found out that my liver is still showing up enlarged so I have to have ANOTHER test this upcoming week...ehhh, i figure I’m allowed to be a bit useless.(Sidenote: Never get an autoimmune disease, they suck more than Victoria ever could) But then, fuck I saw that SMeyer may finally be granting everyones hopes and dreams with some new Twilight material, and I had the urge to jump back here and immediately cry about it and throw hand sup in the air  because...new content is A+. That being said, if you’re one of the five people i’ve seen who are hoping for a sequel to The Host or The Chemist...I still love you, but I will judge you....and blame you if this isn’t a full version of Midnight Sun or something in the verse....but i will blame with loooove and affection. Alright, on with the Interrogation of Bella Swan! First off, Edwards picks Bella up for school, and it’s...oddly adorable that he seems uncertain when asking if she wants a ride. Granted, Bella points out he hopes she’ll say no but...I find it adorable that he has these normal ,human fears, or rejection. He then tells her that he brought a jacket for her because he doesn’t want her getting sick. and this...this is the kinda overprotection that makes Edward loveable. Not the creepy shit he pulls in alter books, but things like this...it’s nice. He makes Jokes about her not doing 20 questions today, and we see how tongue tied Bella is. We also see that Edward finds Bella’s reactions almost..unnatural and too cool, something that I remarked on a lot in the last couple of chapters, though it seems that Edward is more disturbed by them because he is off balance not being able to read her, while I’m off balance because her mind is....rather unfathomable to me. Then again-and correct me  cause I could be wrong- but isn’t Edward supposed to have a psych degree? Just saying.... They arrive at school and discover the other Cullen’s have take Rosalie’s super expensive convertible to school since Edward is “breaking all the rules”  I also love that Bella calls him out that...no, they don’t blend in, even when trying. Like , come on guys, you’ve lived for a long ass time, you should know how people act by now. Jessica sees Edward and Bella come in together, and Edward let’s Bella know that Jessica will ambush her after class, wanting to know if they are dating...and how she feels about him. Edward tells Bella she can say yes to the first one if that’s ok because it’s the easiest explanation. JESUS EDWARD THAT’S SO DAMN UNROMANTIC. Like come on, at least a proper “Wanna go steady” would have been cute but...nooooooo. Idiot just lost one of the good points I gave him earlier. And...Jessica does just that, wanting to know if their meet up last night was planned, if they were going out again, and if he’d kissed her yet. And then She keeps pestering for details and Bella-being the exact opposite of me and my gossipy friends in every way- does not wanna go into it. Maybe it’s because Edward said he’d be listening, or maybe it’s just because she’s a very private person. Honestly, for a  book told from her POV, she’s still...pretty damn hard to read at times.  Anyway, she tells Jessica she likes Edward”too much, more than he likes me” and then evades more questions by brining up Jessica’s date with Mike from the other day.Since Jessica DOES like to gossip and be nosey and much as me and my friends, this distraction works perfectly, right up until after class when Edward is waiting for Bella. he seems  both amused, and irritated, no doubt from listening in on the conversation. he and Bella go through the lunch line, he buys a ton of food for her -and some for him for show. Bella ask if he an eat human food, and he compares it to eating dirt...which apparently Bella has done-on a dare. Bella, honey, I don’t know who dared you to do this but...babe you need better friends.  Edward sees Jessica watching him and gets pissy again, and reveals the source of his agitation is Bella’s belief that she likes him more than he does her. He wants to know why, and she has two main reasons, one being how “ordinary” she looks, and two being how sometimes it seems like he’s “trying to say goodbye. Edward quickly brushes past the “ordinary” comment with how he knew what the other guys were thinking on her first day. Bella....doesn’t believe it, which is..pretty damn stupid considering literally everyone kept trying to ask her to the dance. Like...Jesus, you may not be a supermodel, and you may be a super klutz, but you are definitely far from plain.  The next bit, Edward admits is true, sometimes he does want to say goodbye...because he wants to protect her. He thinks this means he cares more, because he’d hurt himself to keep her safe. This feels like it could dovetail into a very very important convo, but then Edward breaks it up with jokes about how  keeping her safe is a “full time occupation” and she...literally has the thought of how she could put herself in danger to keep him around. and just, fuck that. Like, listen up, if you ever EVER feel like you have to put yourself in danger to keep someone around, that’s...unhealthy, ok? It means you need to break ties with them, and maybe get a bit of therapy while your at it. Of course, Bella doesn’t have a Sassy Bi Bitch like me to tell her off for this so, you know, this will not be the last time she has some worrying thoughts.... Like about ten seconds later when Edward ask if-instead of going to Seattle- she’d like to spend the day alone with him. He tells her she should tell Charlie to give him some”incentive” to bring her back. Yea Bella, remember, he really wanted to kill you before? That danger is not completely gone. But Is Bella gonna tell her dad? Of course not. Edward is annoyed by this, but instead of, I dunno, dropping by their house and asking Bella to go with him in front of her dad or something he just.... acts pissy for a few minutes. Oh Edward.... She brings up the supposed camping trips they go on, and Edward informs her they are hunting bears. Which...goes over her head for a minute and she...literally sternly tells him bears are not in season. Wow, just.... Bella....honey...not only did that go waaaay over your head but also, you’re gonna be that person? God, this is why you didn’t have friends back home Bella, not the fact that you’re ordinary or clumsy...nope it’s definitely the  fact you went beyond being mom friend to being Cop friend. Edward, meanwhile, earns a bonus point again for talking about how they are careful to hunt in over populated areas because they don’t wanna impact the environment. Damn, that alone makes my teenage crush come back...whoops. What can i say? I’m a sucker for the environmentally conscious.  He tells Bella a ....minuscule amount about how they hunt, comparing how Emmet hunts like a bear(which is his favorite prayer) and how his on hunting mimics a lion(which he loves to hunt mountain lion). I dunno why Edward prefers that-except to make the Lion and Lamb analogy later, but considering what I know about Emmets life, I love that he just...kills angry grizzly for fun...even if my heart breaks for the bears because I’m a loser.  Bella REAAAAALLLLY wants to see Edward hunt and he is like “hell no” She thinks it’s just because it would be “too scary” for her and Edward...blatantly points out that she really could use some fear and if that were the case he’d take her out hunting tonight. And then he...says he’ll tell her way she can’t later, but right now they are running late and lunch is over. Annnnd, that it. Pretty much an more filler chapter, we don’t get much info and it passes pretty quick. Kinda short for a Twilight chapter to. I do love that Bella- who fucking dies at the sight of blood- wants to watch Edward hunt, bless child, I worry about you.  Anyway, lovelies, that it for tonight. Stay safe, AJ

[yourdeepestfathoms]

A Little Piece Of Heaven (part one)

[Tour!verse]

TW: Surprisingly not many...I guess mockery of religion, specifically Christianity and anything in that branch. Very minor mentions of self harm (like one time- if you blink you’ll miss it). But mainly this fic is just psychological.

———————

Lord of The Flies

Let’s get something clear really quickly: Joan Meutas was not religious. Did she used to be? Unfortunately, yes, but after seeing the world for what it really was, after getting an axe to her vagina from her beloved husband, she has realized that there was no merciful God who would save lost souls. It was all a hoax by crazy old folk from wherever Jerusalem was to herd people into one belief, thinking that it may make them more humane and friendly. But religion has done more harm than good- Christianity damns all non CIS heterosexuals to hell, Jews got murdered by the thousands, that one branch literally won’t eat anything besides fucking grain or some shit, Catholics are just rude as all hell, those fasting things literally cause people to STARVE TO DEATH, and for what? To appease some higher being? Do they truly think they will be saved? If God was so merciful and wonderful and kindhearted, why would he make things like murder and cancer and rape and torture?

Joan even once heard that the Bible stated that when a woman was on her period she had to leave her village and wasn’t allowed to come back UNLESS she had a turtle dove. She’s never read the Good Book before, so she doesn’t know if that was true or not, but it doesn’t sound unlikely given all the stupid rules she’s heard about.

So, no, Joan was not religious.

It’s strange, she thinks, how offended people get when she says it or simply hints at it. Their eyes will practically bug out of their skull and they probably pray for her “lost soul”, maybe even do that weird cross gesture on their chest when they think she isn’t looking. They look at her as if she was actually a demon spy loosed from hell and not just someone who has enough common sense to realize that an “all powerful father” was complete and utter bullshit.

That’s the thing- it’s like the word “atheist” was purposely made to seem like the most evil string of letters to ever be created. You know the words- those synonyms that just sound much worse than the actual root phrase (molest, slaughter, moist). Atheist just has this dark shade to it. Or so religious people say.

But enough of that! There’s a reason why such a taboo subject is being brought up.

Joan was going to contact Death.

As they say, desperate times calls for desperate measures. And desperate Joan was.

You see, her queen- Jane Seymour- used to be quite the woman. Sharp, beautiful, powerful, but also warm behind the closed court doors. Joan was very lucky to see this side of her as her youngest lady in waiting, often getting called gentle pet names and sometimes pats on her head if she was particularly lucky that day. As a touch-starved orphan servant, this was like a pot of gold to Joan- love and affection is something she’s craved long before reincarnation in the modern world. And, speaking of the resurrection, Joan thought she would get even more of Jane’s “Mum Treatment” since they had more time on their hands, but she was very, very wrong.

Jane...Jane was different. She changed. No longer was she the motherly, caring, strong woman from the past, but instead coming back as some reduced version of herself- slightly younger (24, 25, maybe even 23), more awkward and timid, and much less maternal. The way she now looked at Joan wasn’t with compassion, rather...plain curiosity, sometimes even aversion. Her memory of her young lady in waiting has waned- it was as if she didn’t remember that Joan had been at her side the whole time when she was bedridden after giving birth to Edward! Like she couldn’t conjure up the remembrance of a teenager literally watching her rot away and slowly die for days!

To say the least, Joan was not happy. Add in trauma, insomnia, hate on social media, constant stress and pressure from her profession, and a severe lack of friends and you can probably see why Joan was going to such extreme measures.

Now, she knew about the stories. She’s read The Monkey’s Paw. She knows about the consequences of one’s actions. Joan wasn’t going into this completely stupid- have some faith, will you?

Gambling with Death was a risk. A huge risk that could very well end with her soul being ripped out of her mouth or her flesh being worn by a supernatural being that then goes on to commit atrocities under her identity. And not only was it a massive risk to take, it was also very, very stupid.

If I have to spell it out for you, listen closely: Death knows things. A lot of things. They don’t call him the “Lord of The Flies” for nothing. Which is why he loves to play games for those desperate enough to contact him because he knows he is much smarter than whatever pathetic, miserable piece of useless garbage comes clawing at a mirror, begging him to reveal himself. And unless you have every secret of the universe, you’re probably going to get ass-blasted back to Tuesday.

Oh, what am I saying? You won’t get a second chance.

You’ll be long gone by then.

And whatever state the cops find your body in the next morning depends on whatever mood the beast was in.

However, in Joan’s case here, she is desperate and stupid enough to take the risk. In her eyes, she doesn’t have much to live for. She’s a slave to SIX- day and night she’s working endlessly over musical paperwork and the same songs over and over and OVER again. It doesn’t help that she isn’t the closest to the rest of the cast and is often left alone when everyone else goes out and has fun. The scars on her wrists are evident of how many nights she’s been alone.

Without Jane, she has nothing to live for. She needed her.

And that’s exactly why she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror propped against the wall in the dark theater surrounded by candles and a semicircle of salt.

Joan has done a lot of studying up to this point. She knows she has everything correctly, now she just has to get Death to appear...and hope he doesn’t immediately pull her small intestines out from her throat for bothering him.

Joan stares into the mirror as hard as she can, closes her eyes, then counted to ten. Her eyelids lingered shut for longer than she would like to admit after she hit the number one, but she eventually pried them open.

It was not her reflection staring back at her.

To be honest, Joan wasn’t exactly sure of what she was expecting to see. Some parts of her believed nothing would happen, other parts convinced itself that a grim reaper-like figure or a horned, goat-legged demon would be kneeling on the other side of the glass wielding a scythe or pitchfork. However, a suit-wearing young man was not really something that crossed her mind in her theories.

If Joan wasn’t a lesbian, she might have found him attractive, but he definitely was at a straight woman’s perspective. Perfect smile, the most amazing cheekbone structure, unflawed olive skin, neatly combed brown-blonde hair, a broad chest, phenomenal shape- if it weren’t for his yellow eyes with slit pupils, he might have been the perfect lady’s man (although, knowing straight women, they probably wouldn’t care for his demon eyes- after all, you don’t need to see someone’s peepers to suck cock!).

Joan sat completely bewildered, all of her confidence draining and being replaced with dread that drenches her like a thick, dark oil spill. She can feel her hands, which are lying in her lap, starting to tremble and clenching her fingers doesn’t help at all. The ability to form a coherent sentence slips from her mind, so Death speaks first.

“Hello, Joan Meutas.”

This guy is the real deal. He pronounced her last name correctly!

Joan opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water and Death is thoroughly amused by her sardine impression. He watches her through the glass, waiting patiently for her to learn how to enunciate again.

“H-h-hello-”

“Yes, yes, h-h-hello to you to,” Death laughed. He wasn’t directly trying to be cruel, but Joan’s self esteem was far enough into the ground to hear his jibe as a mockery of her understanding of the English language. “If I let you speak the whole time we are going to get nowhere! Pull yourself together, kid. You should see the look on your face! You look like you just got caught making out with the family goat!”

Joan’s expression remained one of fright.

“What? Didn’t you own a goat back in- god, what year were you born? 1517 or 1525? Historians paint it as both! But I thought a family farm animal was the big rave back then! I apologize- I need to catch up on the modern slang. Say, would you be considered a ‘boomer’? Because I have been DYING to use that phrase on someone who contacts me. Could you imagine it?” He warps his voice into one of a pruny old woman, “‘I wish for great fortune!’ ‘Okay Boomer.’” Death bursts into fits of maniacal laughter that sounded as if a thousand lost souls were chortling together at once.

Joan is still silent, but during Death’s monologue she was able to wire her brain back to functionality. She sits up a little bit straighter and Death notices, so he containers himself instantly, also fixing his posture.

“Ready to talk now?” He asked.

“Yes.” Joan answered.

“Wonderful,” There’s a glint in his piercing yellow eyes, “What is it that you desire of me?”

Joan gathers up all her courage, sits up a little taller, and says, “I desire to challenge you to a game of question-and-answer.”

The glint flares into a blaze of confidence. If Joan stares hard enough, she swore she could almost see the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.

“How fun,” The words ooze out from Death’s pale lips, soaked in liquid menace. “Shall I go over the rules?”

Joan nodded. She knew them, she knew she did, but it would be good to hear them one last time.

“Very well,” Death said. He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he were reading off of a manual, “Death’s Gambit: A two-player game between the Lord of The Flies himself and a human. After being conjured- just gonna skip over that process, you’ve clearly got it down, kid- and initiating the game, both parties will have sixty-six minutes and six seconds to answer as many questions correctly as possible. Anything can be asked- trivia, personal inquiries, riddles, even dares, as long as the salt circle is not exited. The catch of the whole thing is this: The Prince of Darkness is obligated to tell the truth only if the human answers correctly to his question or does a requested dare or the human manages to stump him. However, if he answers correctly or the human answers incorrectly to HIS question, he may lie about whichever question he wants. The score will not be revealed until the very end once the time is over. If the human wins, the Keeper of Souls MUST grant any one wish they have. If He-Who-Lies wins, the human will be the victim to whatever losing punishment he comes up with. Remaining rules include: The salt circle cannot be left- you may find yourself no longer in your dimension-, the game cannot be quit until the time is over, items like watches or phones are not permitted to be used to look up answers or keep track of the time. Good luck and Beelzebub be with you.”

Despite knowing this all already, hearing it out loud, spoken by the beast himself, made it all hit home for Joan. She was really doing this; she was gambling with Death.

She had to be the stupidest fuck to ever grace God’s green earth.

“Are you ready to begin?” Death asked.

Joan took a deep death and answered, “Yes.”

A wicked smile curled on Death’s lips. The candles around Joan blaze.

“The game is on.”

A dark feeling weighed down on Joan after that was spoken. The air around her seemed to shift. Her gut was screaming at her to run away, to hide, to do something other than just sit there, but she couldn’t move. Not from fear, but from sheer will. She couldn’t be stupid. Who knows what lurked outside her thin salt circle....

As he usually did, Death initiates the game and asked his first question.

“What was the name of Catherine Parr’s true love?”

Like that, a cold stone drops deep into the pit of Joan’s stomach. Of all the questions she expected him to start off with, Tudor history was not one of them. It startles her, takes her by surprise, and she realizes very quickly that that’s exactly why Death asked it. He’s trying to disorientate her right off the bat and weaken her before she has the chance to get some points in.

She could not let that happen.

It’s just that- she didn’t know Tudor history outside of knowledge on her queen and whatever is said in the show. The others certainly did talk about their past lives, but Joan- she-

It stung, to say the least, when she realized that Death knew about her nonexistence friendships with the queens. And that he was targeting that.

“Thomas Seymour.” Joan finally said.

She was pretty sure that was the right answer...but not completely positive. And, because of that, her worried mind began to scream doubts inside of her brain.

Was that a trick question? He’s supposed to be the embodiment of pure evil- wouldn’t he think Henry is Parr’s true love? Was Henry the right answer?

“Your turn.” Death said, not reacting to Joan’s answer, which scares her even more.

“What’s- why did you choose to show up in that body?”

“Oooh, you’re starting with a personal inquiry!” Death said, laughing, “How fun! And I hope you’re not flattering yourself, Joan- I don’t look like this to make your pussy wet. Trust me, I could look way more attractive, but I know you.” Those three words slither into Joan’s ears and made her shudder. “Isn’t the whole point of being a lesbian to not be attracted to men?” Death laughed again, “But I look like this because I want to. I can take whatever shape I want! Remember that one time I was a snake? That was weird. Although, peeping at a naked chick was pretty damn fun. As a lesbian, you could probably appreciate the sight.”

For just a moment, the image of Death disappears, the mirror hazes to white, and Eve appears. Not the paintings you always see- THE Eve, bare breasts and vagina and all, and if Joan weren’t also asexual, her own genitals may have been burning with desperate pleasure.

“She was a sight.” Death said, returning to view. He chuckles, then immediately goes to his next question, “What was the exact height of Mount Everest in the year 1666?”

Joan’s heart just about stopped.

How in the holy hell was she supposed to know that? Then again, that was probably the point of asking such a thing.

“Three...hundred feet?” It came out as a question, but it’s taken as an answer and Death doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his nose. “What...is the hardest piece to learn on the piano?”

“Liszt.” Death answered smoothly. “What animal can see the most amount of colors?”

“A...dolphin.” Joan physically cringed at her answer. “Who wrote Liszt?”

Is this what she was going to be doing the whole time? Asking the King of Hell fucking piano trivia?

“La Campanella.” Death once again answered perfectly. “What is the full chemical name for the antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication, Zoloft?”

Wasn’t that the medicine Joan was supposed to take for her anxiety?

“I- I don’t know.”

Death just hummed and awaited his next question. He didn’t laugh at her like she expected him to, which slightly lightened the blow of her stupidity.

“What’s my favorite song in SIX?”

“None of them. Why did you stop taking your Zoloft pills?”

The answer followed by such a question felt like Joan was just punched in the stomach with a spiked gauntlet. She swore she was winded by some unseen force (probably shock). Her breath hitched in her throat and she seemed like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I-” She hunched her shoulders around her neck. Death is giving her a curious look, which was at least better than worry or concern. “They- they weren’t helping me...so I didn’t think there was a point taking them if they weren’t going to fix me.”

Death hummed once more, this time louder and more enthusiastic. He clearly liked her answer.

“Interesting,” He mused, then quiets himself for the next question.

“What’s standing behind me?”

Ever since the game began, Joan picked up on the presence of something staring at the back of her head. She could feel their eyes burning into her skull, sometimes even breathing on the back of her neck.

Death smiled. “See for yourself.”

Joan saw nothing in the reflection, just darkness beyond the candles and Death, and she was not about to go and look away. She was scared about what would happen if she turned her gaze away from the mirror for even a second.

When Death realized Joan wasn’t going to fall for his tricks that easily, he quirked an impressed eyebrow and moved on.

“Will you greet the worker who just came in?”

Joan glanced fearfully to the corner of the room. A figure is hunched there. The glow from the candles just barely licks at their claws.

“What was their name? Terrance?” Death said, “Doesn’t he work in lightning?”

“That’s not Terrance,” Joan murmured.

Death took it as an answer, it seems. He leans in close to the glass and when he whispers, his hushed tone is right at the back of Joan’s ear.

“You don’t want to know what he really is.”

Joan can feel a panic attack rising in her chest. Death is trying to scare her, stray her from answering coherently or correctly and get her to waste time by freaking out. She had to steer the game back into calmness.

Or, rather, however calm a Devil game could get.

“What do I have in my pocket right now?”

Death seems a little bothered that the cryptic theme was interrupted, but he gets over it.

“One black pen that’s almost out of ink, a granola bar you promised yourself you would eat, and a rosary you stole from Aragon.” He said, “Oh and, by the way, that isn’t going to protect you from me. So return it as soon as possible or Aragon is gonna be PISSED!” He laughed, imagining the storm the golden queen would cause if she caught Joan with such a precious belonging.

Joan swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to check her pockets. She didn’t want to know that he was right.

“What is the color of the sky?”

It seemed like an easy enough question, but Joan, believe it or not, knew better than to fall for such a simple trick. She wracked her brain for a moment, then answered, “Black.”

Death doesn’t react aside from licking over his dried lips. His tongue is too pointy. Joan moves on.

“Does Jane care about me?”

Honestly, the question kind of surprised her. It bubbled up from her throat from out of nowhere- yes, she had been wanting to ask it so badly, but she didn’t actually expect it to come out.

“Yes.” Says Death.

For a moment, joy bursts through Joan, but the metaphorical, celebratory confetti is sucked up by the vacuum of doubt.

Is he lying? Is he giving me false hope? Or is he telling the truth?

“What’s your blood type?” Death asked.

“A...AB.”

Like Joan fucking knew that.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.” Death smiled, “Because the blue sky would always remind you of opportunities for a better life.”

A shiver runs down Joan’s spine. She didn’t like how he knew that.

“What’s something that you can’t eat for lunch or dinner?”

He’s asking a riddle. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.

It couldn’t be a food. That was too easy.

Think, Joan, think!

“...Breakfast.”

Death chuckles. Joan doesn’t know what to think of that.

Twenty minutes pass by in a blur. Cold sweat soaks Joan’s brow, dripping down her face, but she’s too scared to move from her stiff position. Her back muscles hurt from sitting like a statue for so long- how the hell does Death look so relaxed? Then again, he doesn’t really have much to worry about.

He doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of being mutilated or dragged to Hell or that that figure in the corner has been getting closer and closer as the minutes passed by.

“Do you think every human deserves to live?”

The question came out of nowhere, really. Death had been asking mostly trivia up until that point. He tittered at Joan’s stunned expression, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Well?”

“No.”

Joan didn’t hesitate because she knew it was the truth. Not everyone deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers, racists, homophobes, terrorists, abusers- they didn’t deserve life. People like them deserved to die.

And anyone who doesn’t believe that is a fucking idiot.

“Do YOU think every human deserves to live?”

Death scoffed. “Of course not.” He peered at Joan, really analyzing her for the first time. His yellow slit eyes raked over the girl, making her feel uncomfortable and violated. “You know, you and I think a lot alike. Not many humans give ‘no’ as their answer. They think optimism will make them seem like a good person. It’s pathetic.”

Joan just nodded silently.

“Now...where were we? Oh, yes.” Death leaned in, “Which queen suffered the most?”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows. The whole point of the show was to not compare, especially traumas, but...

“Katherine Howard.”

Come on- clearly K Howard had it the worst. The girl was violated by four different men before she was an adult! None of the other five stories combined could possibly rank to the fifth queen’s suffering.

“Honestly, I think the same!” Death said, “I mean- what is UP with the whole ‘one of a kind, no category’ gimmick? How stupid! Last time I checked, being a victim of sexual abuse doesn’t make you ‘one of a kind.’ Why would you even think of it that way?“

Joan nodded slowly.

“I agree,” She said, “Um- here’s my next question: Is this question false?”

Death raised his eyebrows and cooed in obvious interest.

“True.” He said, smirking. “My turn. Do you resent the queens?”

Joan actually recoils. Death laughed.

“I-”

Did she? Did she resent the queens? Surely she didn’t... She couldn’t! The queens were perfect! How could anyone ever hate them?

“No.”

Death almost looks disappointed.

“What’s worse than death?”

“You’re living it.”

Cold sweat drips down Joan’s face. It stings her eyes and is salty on her tongue. She hears noises all around her, but doesn’t dare to look. She already knows “Terrance” is on his knees beside the salt circle and his leaning his face in right next to hers. She can smell the rot on him.

“Have you ever wanted to hurt the queens?”

Death’s questions are definitely ramping up in darkness. Was the time close to ending? Is that why he’s getting deeper?

Joan shut her eyes tightly for a moment, but opened them quickly when the fear of losing sight of Death nagged at the back of her mind. Before her, on the other side of the mirror, the being is waiting patiently, eagerly for her answer.

“Sometimes,” Joan breathed, “Yes.”

Death smiles a wicked smile.

“How interesting,” He purred, then gestured for Joan to ask her question.

“Does God exist?”

“Unfortunately.” Death groaned, then laughed. He inspected Joan again. “How would you hurt the queens?”

Joan felt her stomach ache. She didn’t like that question. She didn’t want to think about actually hurting the queens, even if she’s considered it one or two times before.

“I- I haven’t really given it any thought.” She answered, then quickly sputtered out her next question before Death could comment, “Does the Bible speak the truth?”

“Of course not.” Death said. “My next question is this: If I were to give you a task, would you do it?”

“Depends,” Joan said, “What would the task be?”

Death held up both arms in a shrugging motion. “I don’t know! Pick up my dry cleaning? It depends! Don’t put me on the spot like that!” He then laughed that horrible laugh again. Once he contains himself, he says, “Time is ticking. The game is almost over. I want to switch things up before we end. I have a dare for you.”

Joan nods.

“Stab yourself in the hand.”

That flush of icy cold dread floods through Joan’s system again. Every part of her being screamed at her to refuse, there will be other offers or questions she could make up for, but she knew that was just false hope. Like Death said: time was almost up. She couldn’t risk refusing and docking more points (if she isn’t in the negatives already, that is).

“Fine.” She forced out through her teeth.

She reached for the pen in her pocket, but Death held up a hand.

“Don’t use that inky thing,” He said. “It won’t get the job done. Please- allow me.”

He flicked his wrist and a large carving knife appears out of thin air and clatters to the floor in front of Joan. She stares at it for a moment, then picked it up, setting her left hand down in its place. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and plunged the blade down.

Joan couldn’t choke back the scream that burst from her lips. She cried at the pain, sobbing in horror when she looked down to see the knife practically pinning her hand to the floor. Dark red blood pools around her fingers, gushing and spurting like spigot from the wound when she pulls the blade free. She cradled her wounded hand close to her chest, weeping weakly.

“Very good,” Death cooed, clapping.

Joan raised her eyes slowly and Death smirked at how lit up they were, almost like hot coals.

“I have a dare for you.” Joan growled, her voice low and dangerous.

“I accept.”

“Change your eye color to blue.”

For a moment, Joan swore she saw the slightly twitch on Death’s features. She watched him close his eyes, sit their silently for a moment, then open them again.

They were still yellow and slit.

“I cannot.” He said. However, he wasn’t angry or irritated at being stumped, rather amused. “Next...what is the flying speed of a swallow?”

Joan ripped off of a strip of her shirt and wrapped it around her bloody hand, hoping it would be a good enough substitute for real bandages for now.

“African or European?”

Death grinned. And that grin only grew wider as the candles around Joan went out until only the one behind her remained lit.

"̸̡̢̢̣͓͚͖̪̼̪͑͊̈́͋̀́̾͗͘ͅT̷̼̺͈̮̜͔̙͂̋̉͋͛̈̿̀̕͜͠͝i̸̢̹̙̼̠͓͚̖̗͔̮̔̌͂̓̐̊̈́̔̃̕m̸̡̱̤̱͙͎̦̱͙̪̻̓̅͌̉̀̈́̐̄͒̌̕͘͝e̸̟̳͒'̸̗͎̞̙̋̎̓́́͑̉͐͑̈́s̷̰̬̙͖̲̩͚̥͈̝̩̻̻̮̭͂̀̐̓̑̓͌̓̀́̐̐ ̷̡̳͍̗͉̝͔̃̑͛̀͊͌͆̌̒̃̔͘̚͠ͅû̵̞̠̣͉̻̖̅̓̄̏͝p̷̛͖͎̮̖͇̬̮͉̥̲͈̟͊̃́̃̏̇̇͛͗̅̕͘,̷̢̧̧̹͈̗̝͙̪͉̖̆̈́ͅ ̸̲̩̥̇͂̓͌̀̋͗̀͛̚J̵̼̣̋ö̴̡͕̺̪̠͓̹͔̂͝ą̶̡̜̭̤͖̭̫̝̘̆̂̾̐͊̾̒̂̏n̶̛̛̬̦̥̠̮̐̓̃̋̍̒̂͐̂̽ͅ.̴̪̰̩̀͊̑̐́̂͗̍̐̈́̚"̴͍͆͛́̈́̈́̍͆̀͗͘͝͝

It was almost impossible to breathe. Joan can barely hold herself together- the tears are flowing freely and she can’t get them to stop. She would say a prayer for her damned soul if it weren’t for the whole atheist thing, and she worried that Death would get angry at her for it, even if it was said in her mind, which he couldn’t possible read (or, at least, she hoped he couldn’t).

Still, she bowed at the waist and thanked Death for the game.

“Let’s tally up the score, shall we?”

Joan first saw blood start to spread across Death’s midsection, then a sharp sting struck her in the stomach. She hissed in pain and lifted her shirt slightly, as did Death, and they both saw tally marks upon their flesh.

Death had twenty-three.

And Joan watched in shock as a twenty-fourth tally carved down through her skin right before her eyes.

“Congratulations, Joan Meutas,” Death says, “You’ve won. What is it that you wish for?”