#i'm not saying that's morally right but i am saying as an audience member yeah: horrify the shit out of me and do it with style

[indelicateink]

Hi I love reading your tags on iwtv post! What would make season 2 perfect in your eyes re: louis/armand/lestat?

thanks! (i'm taking that as in general, lmk if I misunderstood/there's one in particular that pertains to your question.)

i need s2 to be fucked-up-shit o'clock on our fucked-up-shit show (affectionate). my total emotional annihilation would make it perfect for me re: our guys.

armand has done some seriously naughty shit that's going to put a major dent in their lives for the next century, and i'm hopeful we get to explore that in a no-holds-barred dicks-out blood-tears abject-humiliation existential-horror love letter to the fans.

i want sam reid to get to have the juiciest time portraying the agonizing devastation that is visited upon lestat this season (affectionate)

i want assad zaman to seduce us utterly with armand's beauty and outrageous horror (affectionate)

i want jacob anderson to melt our fucking minds as louis goes through the most traumatizing events of his life (concerned)

that would be perfect for me, for them

[vivwritesfics]

Military Flyover

The dagger squad don't want to do a military flyover of the Las Vegas grand Prix. None of them really knew much about and, those that did only really knew about Nascar.

She hated the Vegas Grand Prix as much as those doing the military flyover. But the cute WSO there to support his friends was making it bearable.

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F1 driver!reader

5.6K

a/n: yes a military flyover doesn't make sense for vegas buuuut let a girl dream lol - i'm hoping I've managed to write this for an audience that might not really know f1 but idk how confident i am in my abilities lol

Bob couldn't quite believe what the two time Top Gun graduates were having to do. They had completed an insanely dangerous mission and returned to be permanently stationed in San Diego, except from when they were called away for deployment.

They were a part of the military, why were they doing this?

Well, at least Bob didn't have to actually fly. He was a Weapon Systems Officer, he didn't have to take part in this. But he still went, more to morally support his squad.

Nat wasn't happy about have to do a military flyover of the Las Vegas Grand Prix. She, Bradley and Jake were constantly complaining. None of them knew anything about Formula One, not enough to appreciate doing the flyover.

(May I just say, even if they did know about F1, they still wouldn't appreciate it. They'd train for years to be in the navy and now they were having to waste their time on this.)

The flyover was on the Sunday. Only Natasha, Jake and Bradley were taking part. Bob didn't have to go, didn't have to visit the track on the Friday and the Saturday with the three of them.

But Natasha had begged him. "Drive up with me," she'd said to him. "It's five hours and I could use the company."

So, Bob agreed. His dad had sometimes watched Nascar while he was growing up. He didn't know much of anything about motorsport but, if Nat wanted him there, he'd go.

The navy pilots didn't know they'd been invited to meet the drivers. Bob followed Natasha through the paddock. "Getting to meet the drivers might be the only good thing thing to come from this," Nat mumbled as she led the way.

The paddock was buzzing with life. There were cameras following people around, interviews happening as they walked through the paddock. Fans stopped men in team shirts and hats for pictures before letting them continue.

There was a familiar whistle, just loud enough for Natasha and Bob to hear over the crowd around them. They turned and saw Rooster and Hangman striding towards them.

"Where are we meant to be?" Asked Hangman as Rooster pulled off his aviators and looked around. The three of them (Natasha, Jake and Bradley) were in their overalls, looking proper in their uniform. Bob, though. He was dressed down, wearing jeans and a sweater (Vegas really wasn't that warm this time of year), his military issued glasses sitting on his nose. He looked cute, even if he didn't know it.

"Cyclone said the Ferrari garage, right?" She said as she looked between the other aviators. Bob, who had studied the itinerary, nodded his head and the four of them set off towards the red garage.

***

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a joke. All of the drivers thought so.

The Ferrari drivers weren't happy about it (just like the rest of the grid). They had spent the season struggling behind the Red Bulls and driving on an unknown track wasn't going to help that.

She needed a lot of mental preparation for this one. Just like the other drivers, before the first practice session her only experience on the track had been through sim racing. She was nervous in a way she hadn't been before.

She donned her red fireproofs, the overalls hanging from from her hips. She pulled her cap onto her head when there was a knock on her driver room door. "Yeah?" She called and the member of Ferrari staff walked in.

"The navy pilots are on their way," she said and went to back out of the drivers room.

"What?" The Ferrari driver called suddenly, her brows furrowed. "What navy pilots?"

The member of staff gulped. "They're doing a military flyover before the Grand Prix," she said. "They're on their way here to meet you and Charles," she said.

The driver let out a huff. She grabbed her drinks bottle and marched out of her drivers room, heading to find her teammate.

Charles was doing an interview for Sky Sports when she walked through the garage. She didn't much care, though. She powered on, her hand on Charles's shoulder as she stood at his side. "Chuck," she said, looking at her teammate.

Lawrence Barretto moved his microphone back to his mouth. "Is that his official name for the Vegas Grand Prix?" He asked and moved the microphone towards her.

"Yes," she said as Charles shook his head, repeatedly saying 'no'.

She stood beside him until the interview was over, answering any question Lawrence sent her way. As soon as they were done she grabbed Charles and pulled him away, pulling him further into the Ferrari garage.

"What's up?" Charles asked. He was a brilliant teammate, one of her best friends. They'd known each other for yeas and were close enough for people to think they were together at one point. Brocedes 2.0, many commented on the pictures of the two of them posted on the Scuderia Ferrari Instagram account, as if they were a disaster waiting to happen.

"Did you know we're having to meet the navy pilots doing the military flyover?" She asked, hands on her hips.

Charles furrowed his brows. And then his face relaxed as he shook his head at her. "Start checking your emails, please," he said.

She gently pushed him as a member of the Ferrari staff, the same girl from before, approached them. "They're here," she said and left them to it.

Charles led the way back through the garage, heading to where the navy pilots were standing around his car. Three of them, the three that looked the part, chatted with Fred while one, one that was dressed down, stood to the side.

Suddenly, she pulled Charles out of sight. "What is it?" He asked quickly, concern written on his face.

She looked back around the corner at the pilots for just a second. "Holy shit, Cha, I think I'm in love," she said and Charles just laughed.

"Do you need a wingman?"

She furiously shook her head. "Don't you bloody dare."

She steadied herself and followed Charles over to the navy pilots. Fred spotted his drivers first. He gestured over to them as he back away from the pilots, letting the drivers take over.

Charles held his hand out towards them introducing himself first. She went next, giving them her name as she reached out to shake the woman's hand.

"Natasha Trace," she said with a smile as she shook her hand. "Callsign Phoenix."

She moved on to the man with the moustache. "Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster," he said and shook her hand, his grip firm. He wore a smile, but it was respectful.

Unlike the man next to him. She could tell who he was from the moment she looked at him, wearing that flirty smile. "Jake Seresin," he said, pulling her hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. "You can call me Hangman."

The smile dropped from her face and she pulled her hand away, clearly unimpressed. She looked past him, at the guy in the sweater and the glasses. "How about you?" She asked, completely ignoring Hangman. "Are you in the navy too?"

Bob blushed bright red as he stepped forward. "Robert Floyd," he said and shook her hand. "I'm a weapon systems officer."

"Oh," she said. Just that one word and she sounded incredibly fascinated. "Do tell me more."

She'd asked Charles not to wing man her, but he did it anyway. She might not have been aware as Charles spoke to the other navy pilots, doing the job for both of them. (Charles didn't know if Bob was the one she had fancied, but it was easy to guess. He looked like her type).

They spoke for a good twenty minutes before the drivers were told to wrap up the conversation. "You got a call sign?" She asked Bob as she crossed her arms over her chest and leant against the wall.

Jake had been wrapped up in the conversation he, Rooster and Phoenix were having with Charles until that point. Upon hearing her question, he placed his arm around the WSO's shoulders and grinned at the driver. "This is Baby On Board," he said with a grin, going to pinch Bob's cheeks.

Again, his cheeks were flaming as he stepped away from Jake. "It's Bob," he said. "Just Bob."

"Just Bob," she repeated as she smiled at him, completely ignoring everything Jake had said (something that Bob was grateful for). "It's simple, I like it."

Her engineer called for her. She turned and put her thumbs up before turning back to Bob. "Are you staying for the free practice?" She asked and Charles couldn't stop himself from answering.

"Sorry," he said to the pilots. "She doesn't read her emails."

She sent a glare in Charles's direction. The drivers said a quick goodbye to the navy pilots (although she hoped it wasn't for the last time), and got themselves ready for the first practice session in Las Vegas. They pulled up the red and white overalls and placed the balaclavas over their faces.

Bob watched as she pulled her helmet on, hiding her undeniably pretty face. He really did think she was beautiful, and she seemed interested in him, but he wasn't going to read too much into that.

He couldn't see as she gave him a smile from beneath her helmet. When she climbed into the red car with the number 53 on it, Bob knew which one he had to look out for.

The track wasn't ready, everybody knew it. But they didn't know how bad it was until they shower of sparks coming out the back of her car. "What the fuck was that?" She said to her engineer down the radio. "I just hit a fucking manhole cover."

The pilots were leaning forward as she stopped the car. The session was stopped, the other drivers coming into the pits. She jumped out of the car, waiting for it to be lifted onto the truck so that she could look at the extent of the damage beneath.

As the car was taken back to the garage and workers surrounded the manhole cover, she climbed into the medical car and was taken back to the pitlane.

Bob watched as she stormed into the garage, pulling off her helmet and balaclava. "Nine fucking minutes!" She heard her say to somebody in a Ferrari shirt. "I officially hate the Vegas Grand Prix."

She looked around the garage, eyes focusing in on the pilots. They were watching her, too, and she forced her expression to soften as she walked over. "Sorry you had to see that," she said, unzipping her race suit.

Bob shook his head. "'s no worries, ma'am," he said before he could stop himself. When his fellow aviators looked at him, his cheeks flushed red.

"We're just glad to know you're okay," Natasha said for him.

The driver smiled at them. But the interaction was short lived as she was called over to her wrecked car. (It looked fine on the top, but everybody knew the damage was beneath, invisible).

The nine minutes of practice wasn't enough to help the aviators get into F1. Rooster, Hangman and Phoenix wanted to head back to their hotels, but Bob wanted to stick around.

"My dad was into Nascar," he explained as the others left. They nodded, but they knew better. Their Baby On Board had a crush.

She hadn't expect him to stay, that much was clear. She'd seen the other aviators leave and had gotten on with what she needed to do, speaking to the mechanics about the parts they needed to replace and speaking to Fred about the potential consequences.

"Oh!" She said when she saw Bob still sitting there. "I thought you would have left."

Bob gave a polite smile and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to learn more."

The smile she gave him matched his own. "Well, you're not gonna learn much here," she said. "Let me get changed and we can get dinner."

Bob didn't expect dinner to be in the Ferrari hospitality suite. He'd didn't exactly think he'd be going out to dinner with her, but he didn't expect this.

She sat Bob down at a table and got a selection of food for them to share. "I can't exactly go crazy," she'd said as she sat down opposite him, placing the single plate in between them. "I still have a car to drive later."

Bob grabbed something from the plate. "Why does that mean you can't go crazy?" He asked curiously, innocently.

Every question Bob had, she answered. He told her that his dad watched Nascar while he was going up but he couldn't get into it. Didn't have the time once he joined the navy.

She asked him all about that, just as curious as he was about her job. Bob knew she was meant to be this big celebrity, but she was normal with him, and he really appreciated it.

He hadn't known who she was going into this weekend, but he heard the way the fans screamed her name. She was so famous, and he was just a boy from Montana.

"Are you and your friends watching anything else of the Grand Prix weekend?" She asked as she ate a piece of lettuce (literally just holding a big piece of lettuce to her lips and crunching on it).

Bob shook his head as he looked down at the table in front of him. "'Friad not, ma'am," he said, looking at her over the top of his glasses. Bob didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he took them off.

"Aw," she said with a pout. "I liked them."

"Really?" Bob couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. "I used to have ones with slightly thicker frames, but these are military issued," he explained, putting them back on his face.

She grinned at him. "They're cute," she said, resting her cheek in her hand. It was undeniably flirty, and her grin was only making it worse. Well, that would have been if Bob could have allowed himself to believe that was flirting with him.

"I could get you tickets, if you'd like," she said. "You and your pilot friends. You can come back back to the Ferrari garage, support us for the rest of the weekend."

Bob gave her a gentle smile. "I'd like that," he said.

They continued chatting until she had to head back to the garage. Bob followed her, walking behind her.

She took him back to the garage, leaving him to stand with the rest of the Ferrari guests while she disappeared into her drivers room. Bob couldn't help but think of her as she got herself ready, getting dressed into her fireproofs and race suit. If Nat was here, he could ask her for advice.

Ten minutes before the start of FP2, she walked over to Bob. He'd seen her dressed down in a Ferrari hoodie and cute cargos, seen her in her race suit, and seen her in her fire proofs, race suit sitting low on her hips.

That was how she walked towards him. He'd seen so little of her, but this was his favourite (and he certainly wanted to see more). "Want to sit in the car?" She asked, hands on her hips.

***

The first thing she did after FP2 was give Bob her phone number. He couldn't quite believe it, and made a mental note to recount everything to Natasha as soon as he got back to the hotel.

"Have you got a way back to your hotel?" She asked, her helmet tucked beneath her arm.

"I, uh..." No, he and Natasha had gotten a cab together.

She waved him off before he could give her a proper answer. "I can drive you, if you'd like," she offered.

That was how Bob found himself sitting in an F1 drivers car, telling her about his childhood as she took him back to his hotel. He told her about his big family and the mountains he grew up around. He told her about when he joined the military, about his first time in Top Gun and his permanent stationing in Coronado.

Before very long they were pulling up outside of his hotel. "Well, here we are," he said, patting his legs. He didn't move to leave the car, but she didn't much mind.

"I really liked meeting you today, Bob," she said as she tapped the heel of her hand against the steering wheel.

"It was lovely to meet you, too," he said.

"Promise you'll text me?"

"Promise."

She held out her pinky finger and Bob wrapped his own around it, sealing the deal. He looked at her one last time and climbed out of the car, heading into the hotel.

Bob couldn't hide his smile as he walked through the lobby and into the elevator. Just days ago he'd hated the thought of a military flyover for the Las Vegas Grand Prix. Now, he couldn't wait to get back to the track, back to the Ferrari garage.

Nat noticed it the minute he walked through the door of the hotel room they were sharing. "Had a good time watching the rest of it?" She asked as she pushed away from the desk in the room.

Bob nodded as he pulled out his phone, clicking on her contact. But, the moment he was there, he didn't know what to say to her. "Nat," he called, looking up at her. "I need your help."

He only needed Nat's help to get the ball rolling. But soon, she and Bob were sending messages back and forth with just a second long gap between. Sometimes Bob took a little longer to reply, but only because Nat was reading the messages over his shoulder and assuring him that she was flirting.

Bob couldn't believe it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," Nat said as she climbed into her bed. It was incredibly late and Bob was hyper-aware that they were still texting. "Find out if she really is flirting with you."

"Nat..."

"Goodnight, Bob."

Natasha went to sleep, but Bob stayed up. She was still replying to his messages, and he couldn't bring himself to not respond. At least until she turned around and wished him goodnight.

When Bob woke up, she had already texted him. I don't have to be on track until later - wanna get food?

Who was Bob to say no? Natasha grinned as he got himself ready, including his glasses. (He had brought his contacts to Vegas because of how much he hated wearing his glasses. He didn't have time to put them in before they headed to the track the day before, but Nat didn't expect him to wear them now).

He walked out of the hotel, ignoring Hangman and Rooster as they called after him. They sat in the lobby, do doubt waiting for Natasha as they whistled at him.

Bob kept going. He saw her car before he walked out of the glass doors, and had to stop himself from breaking into a small jog. As he approached, she pushed open the passenger side door. "Hey, Robby!" She called, wearing a grin.

"Hey," Bob said, wearing a smile as he climbed into the passenger side.

As soon as he was buckled in, she began driving. "Have you ever been to Vegas before?" She asked as she headed towards the strip.

Bob shook his head. "No, ma'am," he said. It wasn't in the same way he'd said 'ma'am' before. No, those time he had been nervous saying it. This time, it was so fucking cute and she loved it. "I don't get enough leave for that."

"Why do you call me ma'am?" She asked, but she never wanted it to stop.

Bob couldn't stop his smile. "My momma raised me right."

That much she could tell. She parked the car and climbed out as Bob did the same. "Come on," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

They went to a restaurant. Bob didn't catch the name of it as she pulled him through the doors. Even when sat gave the waiter her name, she was still holding his hand.

They sat down at a table for two. It felt far too intimate, almost like a date. She couldn't order a drink, but insisted that Bob did. He ordered one beer and made sure to make it last through their entire lunch.

She ordered a salad. Bob wanted to do the same, but she could see how conflicted he was. "Have whatever you want," she said, lowering her menu.

So, he did just that. Bob got himself a burger, the cheapest one on the menu (which was still incredibly expensive).

While they ate, Bob couldn't ignore the way her foot touched his knee beneath the table. He gulped as he reached for his beer.

While they waited, she told Bob about how she had grown up. Karting from a young age before moving onto single seaters.

The more she spoke, the more Bob could imagine getting into F1. Watching races, coming to see her in Vegas when he wasn't deployed. He just had to hope she still liked him enough to keep in contact with him.

They spent the entire afternoon together, until she was taking Bob to the track with her. Pictures of the two of them were taken as they walked through the paddock, too close to just be friends.

Once again, Bob stood in the garage while she completed the last practice session. She led, the fastest car until the Red Bulls were released onto the track.

But still, Bob couldn't stop watching the number 53 car. She came into the pits, had her tyres changed and went out a few minutes later.

Bob couldn't help but smile as he watched her climb the leaderboard. When practice ended, she didn't come in right away, doing a practice start with the other drivers.

When she got out of her car, she pulled off her helmet and balaclava, and spoke to her engineers. She had looked so happy when she climbed out of the car, but Bob watched as her face fell.

She walked over to him, unable to keep herself from sighing. The anger dropped from her face, replaced by sadness. "Wanna come sit in my drivers room?"

So, Bob followed her to her drivers room. She led him inside and shut the door behind him, letting out a breath as she leaned against it.

"Everything okay?" Asked Bob as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

She unzipped her overalls and let them fall to her hips. Bob shuffled over on the couch, giving her space. She sat beside him, shutting her eyes as she leaned back. "Because of the parts they'd had to replace in my car, I'm probably going to get a penalty later," she mumbled.

Her head fell onto his shoulder and Bob didn't move. He hesitated before wrapping his arm around her shoulder. That that, she shuffled slightly closer, which Bob didn't mind one bit.

Suddenly, she let out a weak laugh. "You're kinda making me want to stay in the states a little longer, Robby," she mumbled.

He looked down at her. "Would you? Seriously?" Bob could imagine it then, taking her to stay with him in San Diego, taking her to Montana to meet his mom at Christmas.

She shook her head. "I can't," she said and sighed through her nose. "There's one last race before the end of the season."

After that, Bob wanted to say. But he squeezed her shoulder instead.

When her trainer came in, Bob wished her good luck and headed back out to the garage. While he waited, he pulled out his phone and sent Natasha a text. She hadn't gone to the track with him, instead going with Bradley and Jake to the hangar they would be flying from.

If Nat showed Rooster and Hangman his texts, he'd never hear the end of it. But Bob realised he didn't mind. Let them talk, he was here with her.

The first round of the qualifying session was about to start. Bob sort of knew what to expect, she'd explained it to him while they sat in her drivers room, her head on his shoulder. He watched as she walked towards the car, her red, gold, black and white helmet on her head.

She climbed into the car and somebody strapped her in as somebody else spoke to her. She nodded at whatever they were saying and put her thumbs up.

Admittedly, Bob couldn't tell the difference between the practice sessions and the qualifying session. He watched as she went from having no time on the board to being the quickest car on track. But then she was knocked out of the top spot, down in eighth by the end of that session.

Bob had assumed that she was starting the race in eighth position after the eighteen minute long qualifying session. But then she and fourteen other drivers were going back out onto track.

Again she was at the top of the board, knocked out by the same driver. But she stayed in fourth, unable to get a quicker time in before the end of the session.

She went out for a third and final time. Bob heard her calling down the radio as somebody got in her way. But she put an impressive time on the board, finishing third.

It may have been obvious to everybody else in the garage, but Bob had to ask the girl standing next to him. She pushed her dark hair behind her ear and answered with a thick French accent. Bob thanked her and watched as the 53 car came into the garage.

She hopped out, did what she needed to do and came to find Bob.

It was near midnight and she couldn't quite believe he was still there, watching her. They'd spent the entire day together, and she'd loved every minute of it.

"Want me to drive you home?" She asked and Bob nodded his head.

She did just that, driving Bob back to his hotel. "They haven't confirmed if I've got a penalty or not," she said as she drove him. "So, for now I'm starting in P3." She quickly glanced at him and then looked back at the road. "Think you might be my good luck charm, Robby," she said and he blushed a deep shade of red.

She pulled up outside of the hotel, just as she had done the day before. And, like the day before, Bob was hesitant to climb out of the car.

As Bob reached for the handle of the door, she opened her mouth, ready to say something, and he stopped. But she closed her mouth. Still, Bob didn't move.

She sucked in a breath and tried again. This time, words came out. "Can I come up?"

Bob knew what that meant. How could he not? Some part of him had been wanting her to ask something like this for the last few hours. But still, he shook his head. "I, uh, I can't. I'm sharing my room with Nat."

"Oh," she said and looked down at the centre console between them. "Oh, shit. Are you and Nat- I didn't mean to overstep... I-"

Bob quickly shook his head. "No. No, Nat's my best friend, but only my best friend," he said. "But, her bed is a couple feet away from mine, so..."

She couldn't help but let a smile cross her face at that. "Can I kiss you, Robby?" She asked.

He leaned over the centre console. Her arms went around his neck, fingers playing with the short hair at the back of his neck.

Bob kissed her. He closed the gap between them, his arm awkwardly resting on her shoulders as his lips moved against her own. Her nose bumped the lens of his glasses, but neither of them minded.

If the expensive car left room for it, he would have moved her onto his lap. But he couldn't. He pulled away, staring at her as his eyes opened again. "Holy shit," he whispered and she grinned at him.

"I'll come and get you before the race," she said and Bob climbed out of the car.

***

He didn't wake up to a text from her. Immediately Bob's mind played tricks on him, telling him that, after they had kissed, she didn't want him.

He sat in the hotel for half of the day, in a perpetual state of anxiousness. Part of him didn't want to move until he heard from her, until he knew that everything was okay.

"You coming?" Nat asked him. He checked his phone one last time before following her out of the hotel room.

He didn't know what she was currently dealing with, that she had just found out about her grid place penalty. "This is such shit!" She cried as she and Charles walked through the paddock. She'd woken up to the news and hadn't had time to message Bob.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," Charles said, stopping to sign things for fans (signs, hats, and even a packet of oreos). "How are things going with the navy guy?"

She grinned as they kept walking through the paddock. "We kissed, Cha," she said, suddenly much happier.

"Kissed and..." Charles tried to push.

She shook her head. "Just kissed."

Charles nodded as they walked into the garage. "Just kissed, but you wanted more," he said. "Are you gonna see him before we leave?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I'm gonna go and pick him up before the race."

Through the evening, she and Charles did what they needed to do for the race. When she got a minute, she texted Bob, but she didn't have many opportunities to check her phone.

As soon as she had a chance, she ran out of the paddock. She held her phone to her ear as she went, making her way to her car. Bob picked up on the third ring. "Hey," she said, opening the door of her car. "I'm on my way."

Bob hesitated before he answered. "I'm not at the hotel right now."

"Do you still want to come to the race?" She asked quickly.

"Do you still want me there?"

She let out a laugh. "Of course I do, Robby. Give me the address and I'll pick you up."

That was just what happened. She picked Bob up and took him to the track. She promised the other aviators that she would get him there to watch the military flyover and drove off with him in the passenger seat.

"Have you ever been to San Diego?" Bob asked as she drove. It had been playing on his mind a lot since they kissed, his best case scenario (which was currently happening. He could have laughed at himself for being so worried).

She shook her head. "I haven't had a chance to explore outside of the places we have Grand Prix," she answered.

"So, you haven't been to Montana?"

"Nope."

Bob couldn't help but smile. He sucked in a breath, steadying himself. "I don't know when you're gonna have time off, but I could show you Montana, if you'd like."

She grinned at him as she parked the car. "I'd love that, Robby," she said and climbed out of the car.

She checked the time on her watch, grabbed her hand and began running. "I'm late!" She cried. Bob was only happy to run beside her, heading into the Ferrari garage. He slowed to a walk, but she kept going, running to her drivers room to pull on her fireproofs and overalls.

Bob watched it all. He watched as she stood for the national anthem with her fellow drivers, watched as she completed the formation lap from the back of the grid (something he had to ask about), and watched as she raced.

Bob couldn't help but be impressed as she fought her way across the track, racing past most of the grid. She overtook ten other cars, finishing in 5th.

When she climbed out of the car, Bob could see just how happy she was from her body language alone. She did what she had to do, spoke to the team and was interviewed, before she ran over to Bob and threw her arms around him.

"That was incredible!" He cried, smiling down at her. "I didn't realise racing was so exciting."

She grinned and kissed his cheek. "Think you'll watch next weeks race?"

"Definitely," he said.

He hadn't expected her to kiss him in front of all of the cameras. But Bob didn't mind. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close until she pulled away.

"I leave in the morning," she whispered in his ear. "Stay with me, in my hotel. One last night."

"Until Montana?" Bob asked, his forehead against her own.

"Until Montana."

a/n: ok i loved this and it may need a part two lol

[positivelybeastly]

How do you feel about the X-Men just slaughtering human members of orchis?

"It pleases me more than you can imagine to see the others finally coming to their senses. Only so much can be accomplished with the spoken and written word - at some point, you eventually have to get your hands dirty. We have to strike first. If the humans are given the chance, there will be no first strike, only the last strike. It's what I'd do in their place."

Yeah, I don't love it, tbh.

Like, I get why it exists, I get why we got all those panels of Shadowkat jamming guns into people's heads with her phasing powers and all, but, like . . . okay, let me pull this stuff up.

So, like, I get it.

Something awful has happened to mutantkind, and everyone has their way of responding to that trauma. I get that. In-universe, it makes absolute sense that Kate would react like this. It's not like she hasn't killed before. And let's be real here, all the same logic arguments about killing vs. not killing in comic books apply here - if you let them go, they'll only hurt someone later; it sends a message that if you hurt mutants, you get hurt in return; Xavier's dream has been proven to be a load of old shit, Magneto had the right idea all along.

That's sure an argument that you can make.

In-universe, I get it.

But out of universe?

This is cheap. This has no bite, this has no weight to it, it's empty calories in my opinion. Why? Because it betrays a fundamental lack of imagination about ways to tell the X-Men story, and the fundamental limits of Western comic books, if you think about what it actually means.

Comic book heroes generally aren't meant to kill because they're paragons of moral behaviour. They exemplify a moral standard that we should all ascribe to. That's the Golden Age logic, right?

Except that the Joker. Right? So, this is a conversation to be had, and I think trying to apply a baseline logic to it is kinda pointless, because the morals and ethics of killing in a Batman story are so much more important and meaningful to the themes of that story than, say, in an X-Men story. Sometimes you need to kill the giant fucking robot, sometimes Trask just needs to fucking die, sometimes you gotta snap Cassandra Nova's neck.

That's - kind of a whole other argument, and not the one I'm interested in talking about right now. This isn't really about whether it's right or wrong for heroes to kill, I only bring this up as context to what I'm about to say, which IS.

This is cheap parlour tricks to get a FUCK YEAH moment out of the reader by Gerry Duggan because gratuitous violence is an easy way to get a pop out of a comic book audience.

There's some real great exchanges from Star Trek that I'm just going to shamelessly crib here, because I think they really exemplify my point, so here goes:

PICARD: Six years ago, they assimilated me into their collective. I had their cybernetic devices implanted throughout my body. I was linked to the hive mind, every trace of individuality erased. I was one of them. So you can imagine, my dear, I have a somewhat unique perspective on the Borg and I know how to fight them. Now if you will excuse me I have work to do. LILY: I am such an idiot. It's so simple. The Borg hurt you, and now you're going to hurt them back. PICARD: In my century we don't succumb to revenge. We have a more evolved sensibility. LILY: Bullshit! I saw the look on your face when you shot those Borg on the holodeck. You were almost enjoying it! PICARD: How dare you! LILY: Oh, come on, Captain. You're not the first man to get a thrill from murdering someone. I see it all the time! PICARD: Get out! LILY: Or what? You'll kill me, like you killed Ensign Lynch?! PICARD: There was no way to save him. LILY: You didn't even try. Where was your evolved sensibility then?!

I love that scene.

"It's so simple. The Borg hurt you, and now you're going to hurt them back."

It's that simple, huh?

O'BRIEN: Captain. PICARD: Chief. I wanted to talk to you. O'BRIEN: Anything I can do, sir, you know that. PICARD: Ben Maxwell. He must be quite a man. O'BRIEN: He's a rare one, all right. I count myself lucky, sir. I've served with the two finest Captains in Starfleet. PICARD: From your knowledge of the man, what has gone wrong? O'BRIEN: There's a reason for what he's doing. Those Cardassians were up to something, I'm sure of it. PICARD: When his family was killed, how did he take it? O'BRIEN: I'd say he took it well. Oh, I know he was broken up inside, who wouldn't be? But you'd never know it to see him. He never missed a minute's duty, always had a smile, a joke. PICARD: I see. O'BRIEN: He would never retaliate out of vengeance, no matter what that Cardassian says. They're up to something, sir. They're the ones you should be investigating, not Captain Maxwell. PICARD: You don't care for the Cardassians? O'BRIEN: I like them fine. It's just, well, I know them. You learn to watch your back when you're around those people. PICARD: Ben Maxwell has just sent more than six hundred of them to their deaths. O'BRIEN: I don't know what to say, sir, but he must have had his reasons. PICARD: I think when one has been angry for a very long time, one gets used to it. And it becomes comfortable, like old leather. And, finally, it becomes so familiar that one can't ever remember feeling any other way.

The Hellfire Gala Massacre was a cheap emotional trick to make X-fans mad, and an easy way to get easy pops whenever another X-Man kills a rando Orchis thug, because FUCK YEAH, FOR KRAKOA, and it's like . . . okay?

Is this not a betrayal of - and I'm going to stop you right there, because I'm not about to say what you think I'm going to say.

No, I'm not about to talk about the betrayal of ideals, or the betrayal of moral standards, or the betrayal of what Krakoa stood for.

Is this not a betrayal of the entire point of what made Orchis even remotely different as an X-Men enemy?

They were a scientific, sociologically active, legal avenue exploiting think tank that attacked on all fronts, and now, they're reduced to a wisecracking robot from the future and an army of disposable goons who might as well be wearing Hydra green or AIM yellow beekeeper suits.

Why?

Because that's easier to write. It's so much easier to write Shadowkat murdering a group of Orchis goons than it is to engage with Orchis on a higher level and deconstruct what prejudice looks like on a systematic, sociological level. This turns the so-called social conflict aspect of X-Men comics into just boring normal conflict.

Shadowkat killed a lot of Orchis, so now racism is over with! And, like, I get it, it's not a ton of fun to sit around and watch X-Men debate a load of racists, it's a superhero comic, you wanna see a guy hit another guy at some point, but it just feels like such a dumbing down of the more interesting, multi-faceted organisation that Orchis were presented to be.

There are so many instances of really thoughtful, socially minded commentary in Krakoan era, from Hellions to New Ayala's New Mutants to Unlimited, but this stuff, in the comic literally just called X-Men, which would make you think it's the most definitive statement of what the line of books is meant to be, it's just the most watered down, basic bitch, boring version of the conflict.

And it's not like I'm asking for Hickman or Morrison, I know that's not the wheelhouse we're operating in here, but it just feels kinda . . . lame, that the best imagery and way of showing oppression in 2024 is Sentinels flying through the sky with searchlights on their chests and comic book villains posturing over our heroes. I was hoping for something more intelligent and interesting.

But it is what it is.

[itsclydebitches]

It sure was a Choice by Miles to include a cognihazard designed to obliterate the brains of anyone slightly critical of the show in episode 4. I'm just so curious whether he genuinely thought it would be funny or it was some weird malicious bent. I assume former given how the cat was otherwise treated, though none of the comedy worked for me.

I think it was meant to function both as comedy and an argument. We already have a ton of humor in Volume 9 that in no way breaks the 4th wall by acknowledging critics' (supposed) complaints, but even beyond that you don't just stumble into the "joke" of addressing the disappointed members of a fanbase... and you don't include that "joke" unless you intend to disagree with them.

So yeah, I think Miles assumed it would be funny with the humor stemming from the expected response of, "Oh my god that's ridiculous. Who's upset about that??"

The actual answer "No one." If we read the scene as a kind of argument from the writers, it's a strawman's argument: exaggerated and simplified to make it easier to refute. Notably, everything the Cat mentions are things that critics aren't concerned with. Or, to be more careful with my words because it's a big Internet and I'm sure someone, somewhere has brought these issues up, these examples are by no means representative of critics' primary concerns. We don't care that Ozpin is sharing a body with Oscar (that lives in the realm of other suspension of disbelief questions like, "When are the characters going to the bathroom?"), but rather that they're at the center of the cosmic narrative instead of the girls, the merge still isn't explained, Oscar's development has mostly happened off screen, etc. No one cares that Remnant had a floating city - to my mind that's a good idea to avoid the majority of the grimm - but rather that it was used as the symbol for a shoddily written classism arc and then plowed into the city below with our heroes now barely acknowledging that. Few fans care about Ciel specifically (beyond those individuals who understandably thought she might show up in the Atlas arc), they care about what she represents: a bloated cast where, as the Cat themselves say, characters rarely come back in a notable way.

The point of this scene is to make up/simplify/distort criticism until you have a list of ridiculous complaints and then go, "See how ridiculous they are? People upset with the show are so funny." Note that one of the REAL concerns acknowledged in the episode - the question of whether our protagonists are good huntresses - is immediately answered with a firm, unambiguous "Yes." Blake, Yang, and Weiss all speed-run a self-reflection arc in a matter of literal seconds, going, "You're questioning whether we're the heroes? Of course we are! I know exactly who I am, I have no doubts, and you are wrong to question our role as huntresses." The exception to this is Ruby who starts to take the question seriously... only for the Cat to interrupt, "saving" her, and painting the Caterpillar as the bad guy in the process.

Seriously, the ending of that scene frames someone making the girls reflect on their actions for once as an attack that needs to be stopped and that right there highlights the "protagonist centered morality" problem of Volume 6 onward.

Now, some otherwise well-written shows can get away with a scene like the Cat's and it comes across as the writers being playfully self-reproachful. "Yeah, we know we messed that up. Our bad. Let's laugh about it together and move on, yeah?" and the audience agrees because no story is perfect and you've done a good job on the whole. RWBY doesn't have that leeway though and, given the rest of the episode scoffing at one of the biggest concerns of Volume 8, the implication is not that the writers are humbly aware of their own inevitable mistakes, but that they just thoroughly disagree that they've made them. Anything they have kinda messed up - Ozpin-Oscar body, floating Altas, Ciel - is so minor and silly as to hardly be worth mentioning outside of a joke.

[ashyronfire]

Red Sky at Morning || Chapter 29: Tell Me No More Stories

Title: Chapter 29 - Tell Me No More Stories Rating: M Characters: Grimm, The Grimm Troupe (including OCs), The Radiance

Warnings: Introspect-Heavy, Found Family, Pre-Canon, Time Travel Fix-It Adjacent, Grey-and-Grey Morality, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Dismemberment, Graphic Depictions of Violence, The Author Likes Gore

Summary:

“Atlas says you’ve improved.” She looked at Pyre, then turned back to say, “Greatly. He keeps talking about wanting to fight you in the Nightmare. He says he feels like you are crippled here, even with your magic.”

Author’s Notes: In the interest of making this available to more people after AO3 crashed, I'm gonna put the chapter itself under a cut as well. Right now AO3 is up and probably fine -- but just in case. :>

CURRENT CHAPTER || READ FROM THE BEGINNING

The Second Cycle - Mulake

Grimm shared in the child’s memories.

There was more to it than just seeing. While he did look through its eyes, he could not describe it as simply viewing. Whenever Pyre brought the child back to the camp, its experiences came flooding back to him like a tidal wave. Every little scratch, every touch, the whispered words, the affection. The spell that bound the child to the charm also bound the charm to Pyre.

Their lives were woven together, kindling to flame and the ash that remained in their wake. He was terribly attached to the hybrid already. Sparring with him was going to be… an experience.

And they had an audience.

Pyre did not seem to mind. He looked very calm as he stepped into the makeshift arena. It was a particularly large grassy field that the Troupe had helped clear out the night before at Grimm’s suggestion, so that the grass was shorn short for ease of viewing and any rocks lingering around were removed to avoid unintentional injury. Pyre had shed his usual cloak in favor of bracers that protected his arms and legs, and a chestplate in crimson that matched Grimm’s own natural coloration. He’d brought with him an elegant nail inlaid with a webbed pattern that brought to mind a damselfly’s wings; the engravings ran from the pommel all the way to the tip, giving the optional illusion of angles to the shape. It was a curved longtail; that, it seemed, was Pyre’s weapon of choice. Grimm did not fight with one at all. He was not that kind of fighter. He was a magician. But Atlas was trying to teach him to fight without the use of his flames.

Against Atlas, that was going terribly. Pyre, he hoped, would prove to be another story.

“Are you sure you do not want to arm yourself?” Nightshade asked him. She had a new set of daggers in sheaths at her side; she held one out for him to look at. “Atlas is adept at forging; he’s been –”

“He is?” Grimm asked, puzzled.

“Yeah,” the moth answered. “He’s been making weapons for all of us. He made Marra the most wicked scythe I’ve ever seen. Alula has a long nail, Atlas has his axe – that thing’s heavier than I am, by the way – and he even gave Reed some daggers like mine. He’s been teaching Mist to use a staff, too. Mist doesn’t really like blades.”

Making weapons for everyone but him, it seemed. He’d known Atlas used an axe, although he’d never bothered with weapons when fighting Grimm. He rarely needed to. He had the physical advantage.

He handed the dagger back. He had a staff, made elegantly by Marra, but he considered it to be more of a show piece than something for actual use. He’d be devastated if it was damaged in combat. All he actually used when sparring was his claws. Maybe he should learn to do more, but it was a rather redundant thought right before a sparring match.

“He never told me he was a smith,” Grimm observed; he glanced into the group assembling around them. Every Troupe member was present, but what fascinated him the most was that Mist was perched near Fae and ignoring everyone else entirely. And he had something over his head: a piece of filmy fabric held in place by woven bands around his mask. “When did our butterfly become so fond of the flashier twin?”

“Fae’s been teaching him about butterfly culture, actually,” the moth hummed. “Pyre gave him that veil. Apparently, there is a lot about butterflies we did not know.”

Did not remember, more like.

He knew, instantly, that veils had significance. The memory came flooding back, unbidden: wearing veils was a social symbol among their kind. Different colors denoted different things. Black was, traditionally, mourning, but adorning it with gems meant that the wearer was of considerable status. The twins did not wear veils, despite being half-butterfly, but clearly, they knew the importance of them.

He did not often think about such things. Who they were before the Troupe was of no great consequence to Grimm. They were his people and he was fond of them as they were. It should have occurred to him, though, that Mist would want to know more about where he came from. Especially since they were both the very last butterflies left in the world of that particular tribe.

Grimm would speak with him after the fight. Not just because he wanted to know what Fae was teaching him, but he also wanted Mist to know what memories he had from Luster. That had felt like a forbidden topic for so long, considering how young the butterfly was when he’d joined them, but…

Not anymore.

Mist was not young in truth now, and he would never be old, either.

“I like his veil,” Nightshade continued. “He’s very fond of it. It belonged to their mother, the twins. Pyre seemed to like that it was going to someone who would take good care of it. That it would be worn for eternity.”

That fit. Pyre was a sentimental creature.

“Speaking of him,” the moth continued. “He brought back the little one. It’s mean of you to send the baby away. Do you not realize how cute little-you is?”

He knew. He even agreed, strange though it might have been for him to admit.

“It is better,” Grimm told her.

“How is it better? You are a part of this family, you jerk. You need to remember that.”

It was better because he wanted to be more than he was. He wanted to be a thing apart. He wanted to learn from others, to take in their experiences, to –

To what?

To fix the holes in his heart, ever glowing like his eyes? To fix who he was, in hopes that he would become someone more worthy of the love that people offered him? Perhaps. Or maybe he was projecting. Maybe he just wanted to look into the mirror and like the person looking back at him.

(Time. Time would give him that.)

“Root for me,” Grimm asked of Nightshade; he twitched his tail and smiled behind his mask. “Your husband beats me up often enough. I need something to assure me that I am not totally hopeless.”

“Atlas says you’ve improved.” She looked at Pyre, then turned back to say, “Greatly. He keeps talking about wanting to fight you in the Nightmare. He says he feels like you are crippled here, even with your magic.”

That was eerily close to how Cross had once described him and, inadvertently, it dug deep into an old wound. There was a time when those words would have paralyzed him. He did not think Cross would ever be a wound that fully healed. He saw the snail in everything. But Grimm was surprised to find that while it did feel a little like being slapped, the sharp ache to his heart faded. Atlas was not Cross, and Atlas meant it as a compliment, in his own way.

(And Atlas hadn’t given up on him, either. Stubborn moth.)

“If I manage to win, I will grant your husband’s wish,” he told her. “I will let him find out what it is like to fight the real me.”

“Can I watch?”

His tail playfully undulated to the side. “Perhaps.” But likely not. He did not like disrupting dreams, but he would make an exception to challenge Atlas in the Nightmare. He wanted to let him see exactly how right he was… because he was correct: in the real world, he was crippled, bound by mortal laws, tied to a physical form. He was not physical in his own world. He wasn’t anywhere close to crippled there.

He'd enjoy that fight immensely. But only if he managed to win. Only if he managed to prove that he could. Otherwise, what was the point? To lose to Atlas, as he had so many times before? No, thank you.

Grimm turned and crossed the field. The clearing was good enough for a normal spar. Pyre met him in the middle of it, and the child left the hybrid’s shoulder to fly over to him. He held one hand up and stroked its wings before sending it to settle on Nightshade’s lap (Complain less, moth).

“Are you sure that you are up to this?” Pyre asked him. “Iris told me you’ve been taking her venom. If you are not well…”

How sweet.

“I assure you that I am fine. Do you intend to use magic?” Grimm hummed, turning his head to the side. At Pyre’s nod, he said, “Then I will, too.”

“I would hope so.”

“Are you ready, my friend?” Grimm asked, with Pyre nodding again, and then he offered a flourishing bow, one wing spread at his side. “Then dance with me,” he purred. The lilt in his voice was impossible to miss. Musical.

He did so like to put on a show.

Pyre did not bow back, though he did hesitate (as though considering doing so – perhaps he’d never seen anyone bow in combat, considering that he had so little experience in it in a less life-or-death situation?). He launched forward with a slash, and Grimm teleported away with a soft ‘pop’ – which was perhaps not the most charitable response, but he was not about to be hit while he was being polite.

Rude, Pyre. Very rude.

He reappeared on the other side of the hybrid, who had whirled to meet him. Pyre raised his nail to parry Grimm’s clawed slash and then struck downward. Grimm danced out of the way of it and swiped again, and –

There was a tempo to it, wasn’t there? He’d called it a dance, and fighting was a dance. One-two step.

(Did practicing with Atlas have a similar flow? You slice, I slash. You back up, I step forward. I retreat and you close distance. Was it always like that?)

The sound of metal hitting his claws was loud. They reverberated and felt numb to him. He needed to get better protectors for them if he was going to use them in physical combat, he realized.

Slice. Parry. Scratch.

Rhythm. There was a melody to each movement and he hummed quietly to himself to match it. Pyre no doubt heard him but did not question what he was doing – which was kind of him, as Grimm did not know.

What he did know was that Pyre failed to dodge one of his attacks, and his claws ripped through his shoulder nastily.

Lost the tempo. Fell out of step. The next two hits landed soundly: one-two scratch.

(Give him a minute to get up.

Would a real opponent? No. But it wasn’t a real fight.

He’d drawn hemolymph first.

But he wanted to win. He wanted to win.

He wanted to win fairly. Give him a minute.)

Grimm scurried backwards, giving Pyre more space. The hybrid leapt back to his feet and then –

Threw his nail across the field. That was unexpected. Grimm dodged out of the way of it, only to be sliced on its return as magic propelled it back to its owner. He felt the wound gape in his side over tender scar tissue.

One-two slice.

He dodged. He parried. He moved like he owned the ground, and Grimm was surprised to find that he felt like he did. There was something incredibly satisfying about keeping the tempo, keeping to the melody, like – like –

Left. Right.

One-two scratch.

(You slice, I back up. I fill the distance with my own claws.)

He landed more blows than he took, but Pyre’s nail managed to nick his wings in several places, and at least once on his arm. It was good practice, even as his fingers started to numb from using the length of his claws to block attacks.

(They were going to be so, so sore.)

Every time one of them fell out of the tempo, they took a hit, he noticed. There was synergy between the two of them, and as long as he continued to hum along to it, he… didn’t falter.

Dirt kicked up under scuffling feet as Pyre dashed at him, both hands clenched on the hilt to swing the blade down, and the reaction was instant. Grimm jumped and landed, squarely, on the edge of the blade. He perched, crouched, fingers on one end and feet under him; his claws came up, then, to catch the hybrid’s face; Pyre’s grip on the blade faltered under his weight, the nail hitting the ground, but Grimm himself did not fall, levitating in the air.

Fire danced from his fingertips and flared, blindingly bright, right in Pyre’s eyes.

“Live up to your name. Burn for me.”

As he spoke, Pyre hissed and half-screamed, stumbling back and clutching his face. That was almost enough to make him feel guilty.

Almost.

Grimm skittered backwards, essence spirals trailing in his wake and he stopped far enough away to avoid a counterattack.

He could end it now. He could –

That thought was interrupted by fire igniting underneath him. Unlike his own flames, which were undeniably scarlet, Pyre’s were a rich orange that seared up like a vortex. If he was anyone else, he would have been screaming as his wings shriveled in the heat.

Instead, he called magic into them. His intention was to use them to wrap up Pyre, to disable him, but that was not what happened. No, as if of their own accord, his wings shot into the ground, burrowing serpentine beneath it. Flames rolled down his back, trailed over the extended lengths, and exploded out of the ground directly in front of Pyre, sending him careening into the air.

…when had he learned—

In the middle of a fight was not the best time to think about the fact that his wings seemed to have taken on a mind of their own; he could analyze it later.

He teleported, then, and when the still-blind hybrid hit the ground, Grimm landed on top of him, claws wrapping around his throat, piercing shell a little.

Pyre coughed. His throat spasmed between Grimm’s fingers. “You’re fast,” he panted. “And your fire is nasty. I relent. I need – I need –”

“Alula will have a salve for your eyes,” Grimm answered, releasing his throat. “You seared my wings.”

“You started with the fire.” Pyre coughed and brought his hands up to his eyes, his nail falling to his side. “Going for the eyes. That is a bit dishonorable—”

“It’s fucking brilliant, actually,” came the brusque correction. Grimm looked up to see Atlas approaching, one hand held out to the fallen twin. “Where the fuck is that when you fight me, princess? Where is this jumping on blades and dodging by a hair’s breadth instead of getting punched in the guts like you like it? Where the hell is any of this coming from? I’ve never seen you do most of that.”

One-two slash.

Pyre took Atlas’s hand and sat up. “Brilliant or not, my eyes –”

“You’ll be fine.” Atlas did not sound sympathetic at all. Grimm had thought that he and Pyre were friends. Or… at least friendly? “Alula will fix you right up.”

Pyre looked incredibly unhappy.

(Pyre was a bad patient, Grimm realized. As bad a patient as Grimm himself was. Even if he was fond of Alula – and he clearly was – he was not relishing the idea of being doted on. Grimm felt some sympathy for that. Good luck.)

The child rose from Nightshade’s lap and flew over to daintily land on Pyre’s shoulder. It mrrr’d quietly, bumping its head into his chin, and the annoyance on the twin’s face dissolved away immediately.

“Your father is a bit mean,” Pyre told the child, to Grimm’s quiet laughter. The hybrid leaned down conspiratorially. “I forgive him, though. Even if you and I are more alike right now than usual. Both of us blinded.”

“It can see,” Grimm corrected. “Through my eyes.”

The little buzz of wings told him that Pyre was aware and did not care. Dissociating the two of them, father, and child, seemed to be preferable. Easier for him to process, perhaps.

Pyre patted the child’s back and looked sideways at Grimm. “Next time, you will not get a chance to use such underhanded tricks. Think of something more clever.”

He was very hung up on it being ‘underhanded.’ Grimm was of the opinion that winning was more important than honor, to some degree.

He would ask Atlas if he was wrong about. But it did not sound like he was.

A real enemy would not ask permission before wounding someone, after all.

-

“I want to keep records.”

Grimm lifted his head to look over his shoulder. Mist stood in the entrance to the tent, arms folded, the short veil that Pyre gave him covering his face, and his wings were twitching slightly at his lower back. Usually when they moved, it meant that he was agitated. His voice alone gave that away, though. Mist sounded positively distressed.

Grimm had meant to talk to him, he had – he’d just… put it off, in part because of dread, in part because of being busy.

“Fae has been teaching me,” Mist continued.

“Has he?” Grimm hummed. He’d noticed the two of them together while he was dueling with Pyre; he’d retreated to his tent after the fight to let the hybrid and Alula have some alone time, for his own injuries were superficial by comparison. He did not ask where Fae went after the fight. The older twin was still something of a mystery. He’d taken to Mist immediately, but not to Grimm.

“Yes. About butterflies. About my culture.” Mist sat on the end of the table, pulling his knees up to his chest.  “I didn’t know that our people have an oral tradition of storytelling, or that – that some of them keep complex recordings of every culture they visit. Nomadic. Like we are.” He took a long, shaky breath. “We are bad at being butterflies.”

Perhaps.

“So you want to keep records of the kingdoms we’ve visited, then?” Grimm asked, his tail coming up to undulate behind him. He was fiddling with the enchantments on a hilt not unlike the one he’d made for Iris. “What is stopping you?”

“I want you to, too.”

Ah?

He’d been keeping records for a long time. Ever since his first life. He’d started keeping them after Cross – at an off-hand suggestion from Nightshade. They were wrapped scrolls and bound into shellwood or silks to form books. No one in the Troupe had ever seen them. He did not intend to speak of their existence, either.

“Have you seen my handwriting?” Grimm teased. “It is barely legi—”

“You carry on my brother’s legacy. You owe him this.”

Oh, Mist was pulling no punches, was he?

Grimm turned his head to the side and then exhaled. This was bound to come up eventually, he thought. He’d learned of butterfly culture from Luster’s memories. Though it had been so long (how long? Centuries?) he could recall the events of his first body’s life with absolute clarity. In many ways, it was almost as though he and Luster had become one. The others did not remember him – including Mist. Mist knew of him, but could not recall Luster’s face, Luster’s voice, anything about him. All that he knew was what Grimm deigned to tell him.

He'd thought that kinder, once, but –

Maybe it was not.

Butterflies, as a culture, had oral traditions: they told stories around their campfires every night, for their children and for their adults. Legends. Myths. Some were invented on the spot and some were passed down. They performed music for one another, too, and he could not help but wonder if his fondness for it was at least in part fueled by Luster’s. They’d invented string instruments (was that why he’d picked one?). They existed in small packs and traveled. They never stayed anywhere too long. And they kept intricate, highly detailed chronicles, scrolls and books.

Mist was right. Butterflies were nomadic the same way that the Troupe was. Were they really all that different? But the tribe that he and Luster hailed from was different, because they’d settled in one place. They’d devoted their existence to the worship of the void at the shores of the great swell of darkness. Their people adopted Alula and Nightshade’s family and the others that had come with them. When they died, they threw themselves into the void sea as an offering, to return to the nothingness from whence they came. And when they became adults, they partook of it, ingesting it to forever be dying.

Luster’s past was poisoning him, slowly. The void did not give back what it took.

“ – please, I know, but—”

Speaking. Ah. He’d – he’d missed part of that.

“Come again?” he asked. Mist gave him a funny look. “I was thinking about what you asked.”

“I was reiterating that… bad handwriting or not. You’re the last of my people. Other butterflies exist, but you’re the last of my kind. Our kind, really, you’re one of us, but –”

“No, you had the right of it,” Grimm corrected. “Your people. I am a thing apart and I am not the god that they worshipped.”

He’d been thinking the same, though, that while he’d long abandoned Luster’s body, he had a responsibility to uphold his memory. In many regards, he considered himself a living tribute to a people long deceased: the last will and testament of a culture long gone. With that in mind, did Grimm not think that it was a good idea to preserve all that he knew, in case he himself forgot? In case he, himself, faded?

(He, who could not die?)

But…

He was not sure that ripping open that scar was the best of ideas. Mist did have a right to know. He did have a right to learn about the culture that he’d come from, the people he’d left behind. Alula and Nightshade would want to know what they’d lost, too. The problem was that poking a festering wound risked letting them remember it, and they’d given their memories up willingly to him in order to escape them.

(They are not the same people that they were that day on the banks of the void sea. They have grown. They are not alone anymore. No longer are Alula and Nightshade barely adults who’ve lost everything that they’ve ever loved. No longer do they have nothing left in the world but each other. They have you. They have Marra, Atlas, Mist, Reed. They may even have Iris, Fae, and Pyre. They are not alone. Will it hurt them, truly, if they should get those memories back?

Do you want to risk it?)

“You would have me record your people’s history, as Luster knew it, then?” he asked Mist; he let his tail flick to the side. “You may remember things that you would rather forget. Reading it could bring back the memories you gave to me. I cannot promise they are lost forever. If you stare too far into the dark, you cannot be surprised when eyes meet your own. Is that a risk you would be willing to take, my friend?”

Mist may have looked like a child but treating him like one would be disrespectful. Even if it felt kinder to hide from him the things that Grimm knew would hurt. And they would hurt.

Those were not memories that he would enjoy having.

That culture was dead, but they’d suffered in their dying. They were hurt, tormented, purged like a sickness from the earth by his sister. She’d burnt them away with fire. In their dying moments, they prayed to a god that did not answer and might not have even existed.

The void did not feel. It was a vast reservoir of power, yes, an endless fount. And it felt nothing at all for their problems. What care had it, when in the end all would return to it eventually?

The butterflies of that tribe worked hand-in-hand with the snails who worshipped the void’s magic, who were fixated with understanding its very nature. Cross was one such snail, and Grimm – Grimm had his memories, too. They’d intrinsically understood the nature of the void, of Soul, and of the beast that slumbered near that sea, whose blood flowed cerulean and could heal any wound.

Where there is death, there must also be life. All things in balance.

“I need to know my history. I need to know where I came from,” Mist told him, his head bowing. “I want to be a butterfly in truth. Right now I’m just… a strange moth at best.”

“The Moth Tribe has a very similar outlook on history. They do not tell stories as much, but they do keep records. Butterflies and moths have ever been two sides of the same coin. One flies in the day and the other under the cover of moonlight, but you are not that different of creatures.”

Mist fluttered his wings, agitated. Grimm lifted one hand to brush his fingers over the butterfly’s mask. “You know your history. You know your past. You are yourself. You have ever been. What you remember is your truth. What came before is what you left behind.”

That got him a slanted look, a slight glare, and Grimm smiled, a squint of scarlet behind the mask, and then he said, “But I have given you warning enough. I will grant your request. If your heart breaks at the history that you learn – for it is not the most pleasant story to tell, why else would you have given it up? – that is not something I will be held accountable for. Do you agree?”

He could deny Mist nothing.

He’d promised Luster, once upon a time, to look after his brother. Keep him safe, happy, give him the life that he deserved. He might not have always succeeded at that, but he was trying to get better, and if nothing else, he deserved acknowledgment for the effort.

Grimm was trying.

Mist shook his head. “I… I agree. I won’t blame you. But you can’t protect me forever. Not from everything.”

So sayeth he. That would not stop Grimm from trying.

-

Alula’s tent smelled heavily of medicine: a little bitter, with the heavy stench of alcohol only barely disguised by floral notes found in the soaps and cleaning agents. She combatted that scent with candles and her sister’s herb sticks, but there really was no way of ‘fixing’ it. She cleaned wounds. She kept the majority of her tent sterile. She was always soaking utensils. If she was in the process of taking care of someone or had recently, it would always be particularly pungent.

He found it comforting.

It was the dead of night, well after the sun had set. Pyre had retreated to one of the empty tents, with Fae and presumably Iris, and strangely, Marra was not with Alula. She was by herself.

He found her wiping down one of the chairs. Probably where she’d sat the hybrid down when she treated his eyes. Grimm had waited a few hours to give her plenty of time quite intentionally, but –

“The eyes were a vicious move,” the moth scolded. “In a real fight, the right choice. We really must teach you the difference between that and a spar, though.”

“He will heal, will he not?” Grimm asked curiously. Alula leveled him a disapproving stare from behind her mask as he crossed the threshold to sit on her table. He perched like he owned it. She always looked annoyed when he did that – which was, of course, why he did it. “And it gave you an excuse to give him medical treatment. Should you not be thanking me?”

“He’s as awful a patient as you are. Barely sat still once his sight returned. Kept insisting that he had things to do. And do you know, I considered pinning his wings to the floor.” She sounded so exasperated; he was deeply amused.

Grimm pulled his legs up and crossed them underneath him. “I might have been a little mean on purpose. I might be… still upset on behalf of Marra.”

That declaration earned him the most withering look. She pulled her mask off, stepped over in front of him, and yanked him down by his horns to meet his gaze. “Then you should be dropping firebombs in Marra’s eyes as well, because they are as much in the wrong as –”

“Lulu, I am on your side on this. I told them to talk to you,” he interrupted. “Do not berate me so.”

“Stay out of it then.” Her tone was sharp. Disapproving. And exhausted. He immediately felt guilty.

No. It was not his business or his place to tell Alula what to do with her relationships, and never would he presume to do so. She deserved to be happy, whatever it took, and if that meant being with Pyre instead of Marra… he would try to understand. He was attached to the dragonfly, she knew that, but he was also becoming very fond of Pyre. It was a complicated situation.

And she was right. It had nothing to do with him. He was not at all in a position to tell her what to do with her life. But…

He brought his hands up to catch her face and pulled her closer to press his forehead to hers.

“I want to see you happy, mama.” She was not his real mother but she was close enough that he was willing to fake it for her. “If it makes you feel any better, I promise that I will not say anything to Pyre, nor will I try to sway any of your decisions or Marra’s. I simply told them to talk to you. To make choices with you, instead of excluding you. That making them on their own without you involved was an injustice to you.”

The moth sighed and brought one hand up to scratch his horns. The shell was a little loose there, over the ridges where they tapered, and her claws gently dislodged some of the shedding bits. It chased away the itch, so he leaned his head into the touch instinctively.

“They did talk to me,” she told him. “For all the good that it did. It is Pyre that they need to talk to. But you stay out of it. And stop bullying Pyre because you’ve got a favorite. Marra would not want you doing that, either.”

She was right, he knew.

He laid his head against hers, closing his eyes slowly.

“I want them all three to stay with us,” Grimm told the moth and Alula laughed. “Oh, stop. It is not because of the twins at all. They are… an added bonus. For you and for Iris. But she is the reason I want them to stay. She is, not them.”

That made her somber up a little.

“She reminds you of your hurts.” At his nod, Alula continued, “And what you’ve overcome. What you have survived. That’s a poor reason to want to keep someone, though. You shouldn’t offer unless you have a better one than that. Iris deserves to be more than just a monument to your pain. She’s a living, thinking person, with feelings and hurts of her own. You’re not the only one who has suffered.”

He knew that. He did. She was right, though, to say it. Just because he was aware did not mean that he was consciously thinking about it at all.

“And you.” Alula’s words drew him sharply out of his thoughts. “Mister chronically single, wants no relationships, needs no one else, happy-by-myself. When you are in a committed relationship, then and only then do you get to start trying to give me or anyone else advice on that matter. Do you understand me?”

He laughed. She was right. He did not want any kind of relationship of that nature. He was not exactly ‘happy,’ but he did not want to give his broken and damaged heart to anyone else.

Better that he be alone than ever subject someone else to the storm that was his entire being. His was a soul on fire, burning forever. No one else needed to sear.

“Yes, mother.”

[fluffykitteninabox]

Season 6 intro analysis (that somehow turned into a Hawks rant, sorry about that):

So the new intro looks amazing.

Everyone is shaded like All Might and i wonder if that's supposed to mean something..

also this is like poorly written and stuff because I'm not good at this kind thing. I call it analysis but it's more me trying to stitch my thoughts together and probably failing. If someone wants to add things to make it more coherent or complete destroy my stupid theories they can...

Also also tumblr is doing that thing again where it posts my unfinished drafts but at least this time it's almost done so I'll just edit it like this instead of deleting it

ALSO ALSO ALSO SPOILERS FOR ANIME ONLY WATCHERS I GUESS (because only one episode is out at the moment and I talk about stuff that'll be in future episodes)

Am I doing this right? Should I tag season 6 spoilers if the episode is not out yet? Or is it still considered manga spoiler?

The way All Might is drawn is supposed to represent the old style comic books, and the contrast between him and the other characters shows how he's kind of an unreachable ideal.

This intro looks more like those old style comic books with the style of animation they chose. There's even shots that are divided like manga panels and there's words used as sound effects like "thud" and "rrmmmbll" for the shaking ground and "boom" for Bakugou's explosions

I mean look at the very first shot and tell me this doesn't look like an old comic book to you:

Look at this dramatic shading:

I wanted to say that the use of this type of shading maybe shows how our heroes are getting closer to that ideal that All Might represents (specifically I'm talking about the main trio).

But they show a lot of other characters with the same shading, including Hawks and Endeavor, who are nothing like All Might.

I read somewhere (i don't remember who wrote it but i think it was someone here on tumblr) that in my hero academia there's this idea of the passing of the torch from the older generation to the newer one. And that All Might and AFO both represent how heroes and villains were in old comic books. There's more of a black and white morality. Good vs pure evil. And that Deku and Tomura represent the new generation where the line of good and evil is more blurred.

I'm not explaining it well but i hope you get the point.

So maybe the All Might type shading is supposed to represent them getting closer to him, but in a bad way??

The heroes are the ones initiating the violence in this arc. And I'm not saying this is a bad thing, they need to stop the potato bastard after all. But they abuse their power and try to solve a problem that is in the grey zone with black and white morality. I'm talking about Hawks here (yes others abuse their power too but this is like the big thing that happens in this arc so I'm using it as an example).

Heroes aren't supposed to kill, and yet Hawks murders Twice because he is the hero and Twice is the villain. He justifies it by saying it's for the greater good and that Twice was too dangerous to be left alive, but the audience knows that that's bullshit. Or at least the ones with a brain know!

Twice is not "pure evil", he's anything but that. If he hadn't died he would probably be the easiest LOV member to save because he doesn't want to be a villain. Twice didn't have a personal motivation for revenge. All he wanted was companionship and for the world to not treat him like shit. You would just need to show him proof that you wanted to help him get rehabilitated and the most important part, extend the offer for help to his friends.

It would have been literally so easy!

But Hawks chooses not to do that and instead stabs an unarmed person in the back while he was trying to run away.

So yeah my conclusion is that the shading represents the characters acting with that black and white morality mindset that i mentioned above. They're taking steps backwards into the past in a way, by allowing the labels of hero and villain to cloud their judgment.

But at some point in the intro the dramatic shading stops and the rest uses the normal animation we usually see in the show. A bit like the gif i used above that transitions from the vintage style logo to the new one.

That's also when we start seeing group shots instead of characters standing alone. Kind of how after All Might's retirement heroes started working in teams. No one person can solve the problem but if they work together they can.

Maybe that's them realising that the way they were handling things was not working so it's time to try something new.

I want to emphasise this shot of the kids taken straight from the manga:

Again because old generation passing the torch to the new generation and all that. Our kids have spent the past 5 seasons learning and growing and now they'll become greater heroes than the ones that came before them. They represent the future.

Also I'm doing this completely out of order since tumblr decided to be a little shit today. I want to go back to this shot i used in the beginning but this is a few seconds after:

Something something about them coming out of the shadows, and looking all determined like that. Shonen protagonist mid battle energy boost because they thought about their friends (maybe). It still looks stylized because of the colours but the shading is less dramatic now.

There's one last thing I want to mention. There's this one shot that stands out apart from all the rest:

Dabi looks... blurry for some reason. His colors bleed outside the lines. It's kind of like when you use too much water with watercolors and it starts spreading everywhere without control.

Literally everything else in this intro looks super crisp and HD except him. But it's not in a bad way like usual. Bones has a habit of fucking up Dabi's design, but this looks more like a stylistic choice.

I don't know exactly what this is supposed to symbolise. Maybe the fact that he feels separate from everyone else because his real self is dead to the world. Or maybe it's that thing i read somewhere (again I don't remember who wrote this sorry) Dabi is a character that is stuck in the past,so maybe that has something to do with it. I don't know... someone with better skills at analysing stuff like this can maybe figure it out.

[scfttwice]

f.a.q.

> in which jina answers and reacts to a few frequently asked questions on vlive.

jina has never really been that active on vlive, especially when it comes to doing solo ones. she knows very well that some of her members, like nayeon, momo, sana, and tzuyu, do them quite often. some surprise onces with a sudden vlive occasionally, like jihyo, dahyun, and chaeyoung. the remaining members, jeongyeon and mina, basically come on vlive once every blue moon. jina would consider herself to be in the same category as jihyo, dahyun, and chaeyoung. don't get her wrong, she loves interacting with her fans, but sometimes schedules get a tad bit too draining, so she can come onto vlive only every so often. it never hurts to pop up in the vlives of the others from time to time, though.

“dahyun-ssi, are you on vlive?” jina asked as she stepped out into the living room of the makane dorm, seeing dahyun sitting at the coffee table with her phone propped up against a potted plant on the table. the older girl pried her eyes away from the thousands of incoming comments on the screen to look at her fellow member. “i am! care to join me?” dahyun invited with a wide smile, jina taking not two seconds to rush across the room and plop down next to dahyun.

she waved to the fans on the other side of the phone screen. “hi, everyone!” she greeted cheerfully, watching as onces spammed the chat to welcome her. she couldn't help but grin at the sight, their fans were always so eager for the girls to do collaborative vlives.

after a moment of looking through the chat section, dahyun read out an english comment. “dahji best girls...ah, thank you, thank you,” she responded also in english, making jina beam with pride. although 'thank you' was such a common and simple phrase, she knew that her unnie's english was improving by the day. “5 tzuyu or 5-year-old tzuyu?” jina read out another comment, giggling softly at the silliness of the question. “i think 5-year-old tzuyu would be cute,” dahyun answered without hesitation and leaned closer towards jina, urging her to give her answer as well. “what about you, jina?”

jina bit the inside of her cheek as she thought it over. “well...5 tzuyu would be fun, but i'll go with 5-year-old tzuyu too. there's only one tzuyu for me,” she answered, but realized too late—only after she had said it—that it sounded much more affectionate than she intended it to. in an instant the vlive comments were flooded by the fans' reactions.

“aww!! tzuna is so cuteee <3”

“TZUNA IS MY OTP”

“tzuna forever wbk”

some of the comments read, making jina slowly shake her head. their fans were really something else. as dahyun laughed in amusement next to her, she thumped her head down onto the table to hide her embarrassment. “i regret coming here,” she muttered with a groan.

“i think that's enough of teasing our maknae,” nayeon remarked as she walked into the room and took a seat on the couch behind the two younger girls. “even though she fully deserves it,” she added quietly, masking it with a cough. “you guys are evil,” jina grumbled, before she lifted her head to shoot a glare in nayeon's way. the oldest member gave her a smile of feigned innocence in return.

the vlive of two became one of three when nayeon joined them. for a while, the girls seemed to have forgotten that they were live, as they got lost in a conversation among themselves. jina was pulled back to their audience when nayeon read out a comment.

“is it one butt or two butts?” the fan asked.

“what a weird question. of course there are two butts,” nayeon answered without much thought, as if it was the most obvious fact known to man. “what? no way,” jina disagreed. “it's one butt, but two butt cheeks.”

nayeon looked at her in disgust, and dahyun couldn't help but laugh as she witnessed the debate between the unnie and the maknae.

“doesn't that just mean it's two butts then?” nayeon disputed.

“no, collectively it's one butt. like how we have one nose but two nostrils,” jina rebutted.

“well what if it's two butts but one butthole?”

“that— that doesn't even make any sense?!”

jina and nayeon's debate went on for a little while more, until jihyo came in to join them. “what's nayeon and jina arguing about now?” she asked dahyun after sitting down on the couch next to nayeon. “the one butt or two butts question,” dahyun answered. “nayeon-unnie is being illogical,” jina complained to jihyo, earning herself a glare from nayeon. “jina is the one who's saying it's one instead of two! what do you think, jihyo?”

jihyo laughed and held both her hands up. “i don't want to be a part of this,” she said dismissively. “how about we just agree to disagree?” dahyun suggested in an attempt to achieve peace. nayeon was the first to comply, crossing her arms over her chest. “fine, but i still think i'm right,” she huffed, and jina stuck her tongue out at her. “ah, it almost feels like we have four maknaes,” jihyo joked.

nayeon left to head back to her own dorm soon after, leaving the three of them to do the vlive. “next comeback spoiler?” jihyo read out a comment. “a spoiler for our next comeback is that it's going to be amazing, so please give it lots of love once it comes out,” jina quickly answered with a proud smile and throwing in a wink at the end, making dahyun and jihyo burst out laughing. “smooth,” jihyo complimented. “but it's true. whatever we release, we worked hard on it with lots of love, so please show us love in return!”

among the comments of dissatisfied fans still wanting a spoiler from the girls, jina found an english comment. “please make a heart,” she read out, before making a heart with her hands. jihyo and dahyun, who had previously busied themselves with a conversation regarding their schedules, saw jina and decided to join in. the two of them held up half a hand heart each and connected them together.

nearing the end of the vlive, jihyo had left, and it was back to being just dahyun and jina. the two were mostly quiet then, just reading the comments from their viewers while one of their song's, like a fool, played on jina's phone in the background, and responding to only certain comments every now and then. jina ignored the ones asking her about her relationship with wayv's lucas—ever since a huge dating rumor about them broke out, it's been difficult for fans to believe that they're only best friends, and jina had grown tired of it at that point.

she also scrolled past any comments that were demanding to see the other members, having had seen too many of them before on her own previous vlive's. she didn't understand why the viewers couldn't just be grateful with whoever it was on the screen, or couldn't just leave the live if it wasn't done by their favorite member, rather than say such hurtful things. it was always “where's sana?” or “call nayeon” or “i want to see mina”, and sometimes, it made jina think, “am i not enough for them?”

when jina began noticing some comments in the chat section that were a bit too aggressive and/or rude for her liking, she gently tapped dahyun's leg under the table. the older girl turned to face the younger, who gave her a look that she understood well.

“once,” dahyun called out to gain the attention of their fans. “i think it's time for us to say goodbye for today. thank you for being with us for a while. and sorry we didn't really do anything fun.”

“we've been missing you guys a lot lately, so that's why some members would randomly go on vlive. and because we missed you, it was nice to hang out like this,” jina continued. “take care and goodbye!” the two girls waved goodbye and briefly scanned through the chat as their fans also bid them farewell, before dahyun pressed on the icon to end the call.

jina leaned back against the couch once the phone screen turned black, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “some of them can be too much sometimes.” dahyun shot her a sympathetic look, knowing what jina meant and understanding the draining feeling. “i know...but it's okay. there are still plenty of them who aren't like that,” she reassured. jina smiled weakly and nodded.

“yeah, there are still plenty of them who make it all worth it.”

moral of the story: be watchful of what you say to idols on vlive.

don't ask me what everyone is doing in the maknae dorm.

also this was actually the first scenario i've ever written for this au, so i was conflicted over posting it or not. it's here now though so i'm sorry if it's bad.

[elizabethrobertajones]

You know, I really love Jack, I'm invested in this storyline but am I the only one that things the whole Team Free Will, your my family true luve between SamnDeannCas and Jack is a little bit much and soon for relationship(s) that exit for like a month (? timeline) and between less then 10 episodes of interaction together?

Yeah, I agree that we’re not entirely meant to just immediately think of them as like… perfect family or whatever immediately. Jack’s still in the trial period and that conversation literally comes because after he ran off they had a momentary scare - which we as the audience were forced to view in a way WE consider it may have happened too except for our own trust in Jack - that he really had gone evil or was hurting people. 

I think Cas is the glue holding this together - from 13x01 as soon as Jack says Castiel is his father, not Lucifer, the entire tone changes completely. This is the sign WE are absolutely meant to trust Jack because believe in Cas, and HOWEVER Cas and Jack first got connected, the fact Jack is setting his moral compass by Cas MEANS something, which is that he can be trusted to WANT to do good and to try and to at least have believed and wanted what Cas described about guiding Jack on a good path, as he said in 12x19. That was the start of Jack wanting Cas to be his father instead. And it works as currency to win our favour towards him and Sam’s, and then once Jack brings Cas back, he gets DEAN’S favour, and Dean starts to genuinely like him.

Like OF COURSE they haven’t had any huge family bonding yet except this drama they’ve been through so far, but there’s a lot going on trust and that this is something that if Cas or Jack says the other is family then Sam and Dean are Cas’s family and so THIS is the key that lets Sam and Dean at least accept Jack using “family” for them and all. It’s literally the same sort of step relationship that Dean and Sam had with Claire because Cas briefly took her on as a ward.

I think there’s a disconnect between how this is going on in the show and how fandom and joking in any other level outside of canon e.g. actors, PR, etc is treating it, because for the most part going with lol Cas is his dad and that seeming like a comfortable zone to talk about it in a way that makes sense (aka to explain how Cas seems to feel about him and how Jack definitely feels about Cas in terms of the bond more than experience) is colouring the interpretation of canon that in fanon we’re making zillions of happy family fluff headcanons and art and even interpretations which are fitting into what is hinting at the potential for the fluffy relationship into how it already IS.

The car scene with Jack and all the stuff with Sam and Dean looking for him, this episode and the previous ones where they are stressing he might be a problem, show that there’s more going on than JUST fluffy feelings of adopting Jack. Sam and Dean have accepted him, on Cas’s behalf and because he seems to mean well and has been really sweet and they understand him a lot of the time when he seems hurt in front of them. That doesn’t mean they’ve got a strong battle-tested relationship with him and they still find him volatile and scary, although this last episode showed them - once they were back on the same page as him and rescuing Kaia - working better. Because he was now working single-track mind on the “thing they needed most” and had completely turned his motivation to getting Mary back for them since he’d brought Cas back for himself.

That is probably going to be what makes him MORE family if he succeeds and comes back friends with Mary too, and even just that he’s been going to this trouble, for them, on their original sort of motivation of finding one of THEIR missing parents. 

But at the moment it’s still weird and angsty and I can’t imagine Sam and Dean DON’T feel the strangeness of having Jack around, or having him suddenly in their lives and changing the dynamic. Or how Dean only had *one* episode where he was comfortable around Jack before Jack left until now. OBVIOUSLY you don’t get to fluffy fanon family headcanon territory over a couple of episodes. The jokes are nice to help integrate Jack into the fandom and extrapolate the bonds the show is telling us about or telling us WILL exist or could POTENTIALLY exist. If you like Jack you can write him into your fluffy fics. If you don’t trust him he can still skulk gollum-y around being untrustworthy and sowing discord between the brothers, or dragging Cas away from them if you really want. 

There’s a lot they still haven’t explored with him because they’re keeping the main cast mostly spread out and so far 13x06 is the episode with the densest collection of them in one place. I would hope after the Wayward Sisters stuff is over maybe we get a time when Jack brings back Mary and Cas is with the Winchesters and we can have all living members of this weird weird family in one place even for half an episode, just to see them together. For now I still feel like their dynamic is still pretty raw and uncooked and Jack is still proving himself to the Winchesters, and they still barely trust him not to go evil because they really hurt him just this last episode with the fact they were still suspicious of his actions. And to their POV they still don’t know they can trust him entirely BECAUSE they’re still in situations like that one. Sure it might be better now he’s proved he didn’t kill anyone and instead surpriiiise he was searching for Mom, but at least up until that point, Dean was still saying to Sam he had to be realistic about the threat.

So when Jack says they’re all family and includes Cas, Dean knows there’s something weird about what happened between Cas and Jack that’s made them bond like this but it seems something both are certain of. And he trusts Cas and knows he’s family and we had all of last season making it plain over and over that Cas is considered family. Family doesn’t have to mean Jack is immediately accorded the same level of intimate trust and emotional intimacy as TFW share with each other, or Sam and Dean feel for Mary. Heck, Mary and Cas seem to have connected but again it started until 12x09 as just because Sam n Dean were their middle ground, and later they did both show they cared about each other, but they were never constantly supporting each other like Sam and Dean do for each other because they’re still semi-strangers and haven’t been through as much together. 

If you think of it that Jack is the step-son, people will immediately make accommodations for that sort of relationship, to allow them to be family until proven otherwise and reach out to them, and to try to get along because of their mutual connection, when people are trying to do things right. The step-son will ALWAYS be a part of the family legally and in how people reckon they’re connected, even if the ties aren’t immediately as close emotionally. 

It’s not one of those things that ~only works if you consider Cas and Dean are married~ or whatever, but it is something that works BEST to explain it if you consider the Winchesters are getting Jack as family THROUGH Cas and it’s because Cas is their family that they will consider Jack is too.