#imagine having fans that care about you and more importantly pay money to see you and you treat them like that

[writeformesinpie]

Being attacked on main for saying it’s rude to tell fans to bathe lol

[watchmegetobsessed]

A STEP FURTHER

Sequel to SIT ON ME

a/n: as per requested, here is a part two to my recent sebastian fic! hope you guys will like it as much as you did the previous part! also, there’s not gonna be any more parts!

pairing: Sebastian Stan X Assistant!Reader

word count: 3k

masterlist

You were expecting it. You knew how the internet and most importantly, Sebastian’s fans work. Just hours after the event, dozens of videos got out of Sebastian saying that he wanted you to sit on him if he was a chair, an answer to a highly inappropriate question that shouldn’t have been asked in the first place, but your crazy ass boss thought otherwise.

It washed over the whole fandom and soon enough everyone was talking about the two of you. And because part of your job is to be up to date about Sebastian’s media presence, you had to face not just him but yourself all over the internet. Fans started to dig up every tiny interaction between the two of you caught on camera, they posted photo montages of you and him just out and about or going from one meeting to the other. They started to look for signs that you’re dating and half of the fandom became convinced that you’re in a secret relationship. Speculations and rumors spread faster than wildfire and there was no way to stop it, you just had to live with it.

In the meanwhile, Sebastian didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. It’s like he didn’t even acknowledge the fuss about the two of you, like it was all so natural and normal to be seen as a couple by the whole world when you were just his employee.

“What? It’s not like I ever addressed anything about my dating life,” he shrugged one day when you asked him why he is not caring about the situation at all. And that was pretty much it.

The fans wouldn’t have been that big of a deal to you either. They are strangers, they always get fixated on something and soon enough you knew something new would come up and make them forget about your existence. The people close to you on the other hand are a whole different side of the story.

Following the event, Mackie wouldn’t shut up about Sebastian being hopelessly in love with you and he would nag you to go on a date already, getting on your nerves even more than he usually does with his nosiness. You love the man, you really do, but he needs to learn how to stay in his own lane.

And then, slowly but surely every friend you and Sebastian shared caught up on the story and they started asking you about it again and again and you had to tell them the same thing every damn time: you and Sebastian were working together, no romance was involved between the two of you.

No one believed you.

Now it’s been weeks and people still go crazy whenever you and Seb step out together, which happens quite often since he’s been having a busy month work-wise. Paparazzi are always following you around, catching every moment you spend out in the public, putting you on the tabloids nonstop. It’s become your usual.

Another day, another event. The day starts early for you before you pick Sebastian up and heading out to have breakfast before you are supposed to show up at the concert hall that’s going to be the venue of today’s interview and Q&A.

“Mackie has been blowing my phone up all morning,” you grumble upon seeing another text from said man before you just turn your phone screen facing down so you can finish your toast in peace.

“What does he want?” Sebastian hums.

“He is asking if I’m coming today, as if I missed any events these past weeks,” you huff shaking your head.

“He has been acting weird,” Sebastian grimaces, reaching for his coffee. “Weirder than his usual,” he adds.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, he just asks weird stuff,” he shrugs, not paying much attention to it and you decide to do the same.

Not much later, you’re finished with your food, only sipping on your coffee when you spot a group of girls near your table, their phones pointing in your direction and you have to stop yourself from growling, turning a little so you’re not facing the phones entirely. Sebastian notices your discomfort and looking around he spots the girls as well before turning back to face you. He doesn’t say a word, just gets up from his seat and strides over to the group as you watch him with wide eyes.

“Hi girls, can I ask you to delete the pictures you took, please? I’m happy to take selfies with you, just please don’t post the ones of us eating, okay?” you hear him ask them, leaving you completely speechless. Luckily, the girls are happy to obligate and he quickly poses for pictures with all of them before joining you back at the table.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You clearly didn’t like that they took pictures of us and I know you don’t like how we are being talked about recently, so I thought I would… try to help about that a little,” he shrugs, finishing the rest of his coffee.

“I just don’t like that everyone is in our business,” you sigh, folding your arms on your chest as you lean back in your seat.

“So we have business? Together?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you over the table.

“That’s not how I… We talked about this, Seb,” you breathe out, your shoulders falling forward.

“Ages ago. Things might have changed since then,” he suggests shrugging his shoulder.

“I still work for you,” you point it out. “Things are better this way.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” he mumbles, clearly hurt by your words, but there’s not much you can do against it. “Let’s go, I don’t want Mackie to be up in my ass for being late,” he sighs, leaving the money on the table that most likely covers both your meals and a fat tip as well.

The car ride to the venue is silent, but not in the comfortable way it sometimes is. It’s awkward and you keep glancing at him, trying to find the right words but you’re not even sure what you want to tell him.

I’m sorry we work together so we can’t date? I’m sorry I keep rejecting you? I’m sorry I’m afraid if we go any further than this it will ruin our friendship?

You have absolutely no idea how to deal with it, so you just stay silent, right until you arrive to the venue. Before Seb could get out of the car you speak up.

“Are you mad at me now?” you ask, biting into your bottom lip.

“I’m not mad, Y/N. I don’t think I could ever be mad at you,” he truthfully answers, his eyes only falling on you after he has spoken.

“But there’s something, I can tell.”

“I’m just a little frustrated, is all.”

“Because of what people say about us?” you make a guess.

“Because there’s this unsaid situation between us and you just don’t let me address it. You don’t want to talk about it and whenever it’s brought up, you just shut the door right at my face,” he explains and with each spoken word, you feel worse and worse.

“It’s a complicated situation,” you breathe out.

“It’s not,” he retorts. “Do you not like me?”

“Of course I like you!”

“Okay, I like you too so why can’t we be more than just friends?”

“Because we are not just friends. I’m working for you, it’s a different situation!”

“Y/N, this is not an office job, there’s no HR, no policies, we can do whatever we want!” he chuckles bitterly as you keep your eyes down. You don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not just because of work, but because you’re terribly afraid of being a disappointment to him if you eventually give it a try.

Your silence doesn’t amuses Sebastian and you don’t have time to rave any longer about the situation.

“Forget it, sorry I brought it up again. Let’s just… get over with this thing,” he mumbles before getting out of the car.

You move around each other like strangers, he is clearly avoiding to even look at you and you’re feeling guilty even though you don’t think you have a reason to. Still, you hate seeing him this upset, especially when it’s because of you.

The change in your act is not that evident, but Mackie immediately notices it. When you walk past him he grabs your wrist and pulls you aside.

“What the hell is going on?” he asks with wide, curious eyes.

“What are you talking about?” you retort, acting innocent, but there’s a reason why you didn’t become an actress, you suck at even lying.

“You and Seb are acting like a divorcing couple!” he whisper-yells. Pursing your lip you start chewing on the inside of your cheek as you nervously tap your foot on the ground.

“We just… had a little disagreement.”

“About what?”

“Us,” you breathe out, your head hanging low.

“Wait, so there is an ‘us’?” he asks, air-quoting the last word and you roll your eyes at him.

“No, that’s what the disagreement was about. He wants and I…”

“Don’t tell me you don’t, because I know that’s bullshit. Y/N, I see the way you look at that man, why are you making it so hard for the both of you?”

“It’s just—It might ruin everything and I can’t afford that right now.”

“Ruin everything?!” he grimaces. “What would it ruin?”

“I said fucking everything!” you snap at him, losing your patience that you’re the only one who has issues with the situation. “Our friendship, my job, everything! And I don’t want that. I can’t have that.”

“Dating someone wouldn’t ruin the friendship, Y/N. This is not middle school. Friendship is part of being with someone and you two have that. Just let it take a step further.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I’m good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have stuff to do,” you mumble under your breath before walking away from him before he could get another word out.

It’s not that you don’t want it, because you do, you really do. You’ve been in love with the man for a long time and knowing that he has feelings for you too makes you have a heart attack every time you think about it. But you are so afraid it might go south and then you’ll end up losing your job and one of your closest friends as well. Because above everything Sebastian grew to be your biggest confidant, the person you turn to whenever you are feeling down, when you need a shoulder to cry on, you can’t imagine your life without him anymore and it’s not just about the times when you’re working. Traveling around the world with him is a blessing, you love the little moments you share, the late night movie nights in hotel rooms or when you’re exploring a new city together. You love messing around in his trailer when he is filming, making silly videos on sets or playing around with props you shouldn’t even touch. You can share anything with him and vice versa. If you lose him for whatever reason, you would be left with a hole in your life that would just simply never disappear, because no one will ever be like him and that’s a fact. You’re terribly afraid to risk everything for something that might not even work. You might be a horrible item, romance can bring out things of people that haven’t shown before.

The guys finally get on stage and you watch them from the side as always. It goes as usual, they are joking around, making a show, entertaining the audience as they go over the interview before the question round starts. You don’t realize it at first, but you’re holding your breath as one question follows the other, you’re scared someone might ask Sebastian about you and the shit show would blow up again. You can only hope his answer wouldn’t be as stupid as it was before. But luckily, the audience keeps you out of their business, only focusing on what’s important, so you start to feel relieved. Right until the whole event is nearing its end and Mackie decides to take matters into his own hands.

“I think we have time for one more question,” the interviewer announces and dozens of hands shoot up into the air, desperate to get the chance to ask the men on stage, but before anyone could get the mic, Mackie speaks up.

“Actually, can I have that last question?” he chimes in holding up a finger.

“Uh, sure, go ahead!” the interviewer responds, clearly a little puzzled about his request. Mackie then turns to face Sebastian who is sitting on his right and just by the look on his face you already know what it’s gonna be about.

“Sebastian, my question is: What do you love most about Y/N?”

He can barely finish the question, the crowd erupts in cheers and whistles that he had the guts to ask him about you, but you’re feeling different about his ballsy move.

“Mackie! No!” you shout from the side, both men looking your way. Mackie tries to look innocent while Sebastian’s face is unreadable, his piercing blue eyes are just staring right back at you and you wish you could read his mind.

“Alright, I take back the ques—“ Mackie starts in a mumble, but Sebastian is quick to cut him off.

“Nah, I’ll answer,” he simply says, another round of cheering filling the place and you accept defeat.

Squatting down you hug your knees to your chest as you listen to the inevitable answer Sebastian is about to give.

“What I love the most about Y/N is that she is genuinely the best person anyone could ever have in their life. She is so selfless and caring towards others, always got her friends’ back no matter what. I love that we aren’t just simply working together but we are friends too, really good ones and that I know nothing can change that.”

Listening to his soothing voice through the speakers, you feel your throat closing up, especially at the last part he just said. Chewing on your bottom lip you tilt your head to the side as he continues.

“Literally anything can happen, we could have the worst fight ever and I still know that we would make up no matter what. She is… just an amazing and exceptional person.”

There’s a heavy moment of silence and you’re staring at him from afar with teary eyes as his eyes are glued to his hands in his lap.

“Damn,” Mackie breathes out, making everyone laugh and Sebastian’s gaze rises to him with a small smile on his lips.

There’s no time to dwell on his answer, the event needs to end. The interviewer thanks for their time and as the crowd cheers to them they head off the stage, waving at them until they disappear.

You’ve moved to the corner of the room, not wanting to be in the way, but you’re still not over the speech Sebastian just gave about you. As he appears from the stage his eyes are clearly scanning the room, searching for someone and when he finally spots you, his face hardens as he heads in your way. You’re standing with your hand covering your lips, eyes still slightly watered and seeing you like this he knots his eyebrows together in worry.

“Hey, what’s—“

“Did you mean that?” you breathe out, your voice trembling. “Did you mean it that nothing can change that?”

“Of course,” he nods, finally seeing what this is all about. “We’ve always found our way back to each other, haven’t we?”

“But dating is so much different than what we do now!” you breathe out, still not entirely sure it’s what you should do.

“Why would it be?” he chuckles softly. “We are already spending the majority of our time together, we know each other better than some couples, it wouldn’t be that big of a change, Y/N. And just like how it could ruin things between us, not taking the step could do the same, because sooner or later it’s gonna be unbearable, one of us might end up dating someone else and that wouldn’t do good to us for sure. I would rather accept the end of it knowing that we gave us a try than not even trying.”

“What if I turn out to be a completely shitty girlfriend?” you ask in a whisper as he steps closer, his hands finding your wrists as he pulls them away from your face, holding them gently. “W-What if I—“

“Shut up,” he cuts you off chuckling. “There’s no chance you are shitty at anything,” he replies teasingly, making you smile the slightest. “But even if you do end up being one, we’ll work on it together.”

His hands guide your hands around his waist, you hold onto his shirt as he cups your face in his hands, his face inching closer until his nose is brushing against yours.

“I really hope you’re right,” you breathe out, giving up to resist it any longer. There’s no use.

“Was I ever not right?” he asks smugly.

“Oh remember when—“

You don’t get to finish, because he silences you the best way possible, his lips smashing onto yours. It’s been long due and it doesn’t disappoint, his lips feel soft and perfect against yours, you can’t help but let out a pleased hum as your hands slide up his toned chest and your arms curl around his neck while his hands find your waist strong arms circling your waist as he pulls you tight against him.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Mackie’s voice breaks the moment and as you both pull back and turn in his direction, you see him pump his fist into the air with a victorious smirk on his face.

“Mind your own business, Mackie!” Seb calls out to him as you bury your face in the crook of his neck giggling like a little school girl.

“It’s my business! I made it happen!” Mackie retorts and a laugh rumbles through Seb’s chest.

“I’ll send you a thank you gift card later!” he shouts back before turning to you again, kissing the side of your head.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[marvelwritings]

A piece of me has disappeared

Summary: By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities. 

or: Peter get's abducted and Tony goes to rescue his son 

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet. Morgan is in her bed and there’s no doubt that tomorrow at seven am she’ll be up and at ‘em to wake Peter up. Tony and Pepper are across the room of his, their frantic work attitudes finally put to the sleep they so desperately need. Peter is blinking up at his roof in his bedroom, feeling fine, good even, peaceful and sated and most importantly, safe.

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet. Morgan is in her bed and there’s no doubt that tomorrow at seven am she’ll be up and at ‘em to wake Peter up. Tony and Pepper are across the room of his, their frantic work attitudes finally put to the sleep they so desperately need. Peter is blinking up at his roof in his bedroom, feeling fine, good even, peaceful and sated and most importantly, safe.

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet and …. The repeats stops working once Peter’s stomach gnaws again, the hunger he’s so gravely experiencing has switched to a whole new level. No longer the petty grumbles of an empty stomach, instead it’s replaced by the need to eat anything, despite Peter’s rationality telling him he can’t. He’s been locked up for at least seven days, but he’s still to sceptic to eat anything his captors offer him. He’s very close to breaking.

He tries to hold on by imagining that he’s at home, but he’s so tired, yet so fitful he won’t close his eyes for more then 10 seconds, and the constant torture is so jarring it hurts worse to imagine home, then be woken up in reality, than to just to be present. Peter wonders if Tony is every going to find him.

The first day, he had no question about it. Tony is scarily determined and protective to anyone who dares come after the people he considers family, Peter got a first row demonstration when some journalist tried to bad mouth Spiderman and he got clocked in the jaw, so Peter knows it’s just a matter of time.

By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities. So much so that they keep him sedated at all times, just enough sedative to keep him conscious, but not too little that he can tap in his superstrength. Peter will never be able to escape on his own.

Maybe if the avengers got called in they were close, but Peter’s not sure Tony would call in people he hasn’t spoken to in a few months, purely to find him. He can hold out hope though.

The third day is also the day his captures, he hasn’t seen any faces so far and the sedative contorts their voices too much to match them to somebody he knows, start with the emotional manipulation. So far, they had stuck to electrocution by tazers and punches applied to any sensitive area of his body, but Peter must not have been broken fast enough for them.

‘You know, you remind me of the stereotypical bad guys in movies, like in kids movies? Do you like kid movies? My favorite is Frozen’, Peter had once babbled in between punches through bitten teeth, trying to keep up his high spirits.

They didn’t like that one bit.

They claim all sort of ridiculous things, like that the Starks paid money for them to have kidnapped him, that Tony never started searching for him, that he might as well give up because no one was coming to fetch him. Peter laughs in their face, witty even in the face of extreme danger. It was still funny to him then. Now, on the evening of the seventh day, he stares unblinking at a wall, only moving when the physical pain becomes too much and he needs an outlet to scream.

‘Please’, he pleads sobbing. If he wasn’t so starved as he was, so mentally vulnerable, he would have been embarrassed. As it stands, Peter’s just so incapable of resisting, he simply gives in.

‘Please stop,’ Peter whimpers. If he had anything to give he’d bargain, but money is tight for May and him, and he has no knowledge of anything avengers related that could be of interest to these people. Mister Stark told him it was for his own safety, so it wouldn’t be used as leverage against him, but in Peter’s warped mind it further adds proof Tony never trusted him.

‘Ahn’, a captor coos, ‘he’s begging already, how cute.’ The voice is distinctly that of a woman’s, but it hold nothing of the warm timbre both aunt May and Pepper possess. He misses them.

The woman slides a hand up in Peter’s hair, and for one confusing moment Peter thinks she’s going to start stroking it, like Tony does, but then she balls her hands into fists and pulls his head aside. The next tazer gets placed in his neck.

‘This wouldn’t be happening if your so beloved mentor would just give up the plans for the new shield initiative, but alas, as long as he doesn’t you’ll be stuck here. The tazzer buzzes to life and Peter seizes up. It’s the so many’th time today, that Peter gives up on holding back, his scream ricochets in the room.

‘Then again, maybe we went after the wrong kid. Maybe we should have taken Tony Starks real kid? The one he actually cares about?��

Tears stumbles down his cheeks and he wishes he could fall back into unconsciousness, but of course life is not that kind. No, he begs inside his head, to warm out to speak. Not Morgan, never Morgan. He’d die before he’d let anything happen to her.

‘What do you think soldier,’ she addresses the second captor in the room, ‘perhaps a phone call would speed Stark along? A sign of life and how close to it being snuffed out the child is? What do you want Peter?’ She asks sickly sweet, as if it’s a regular question and not a taunt.

Still, Peter can’t help but reach out. He longs for one phone call so wholeheartedly. Maybe, maybe he can convince Mister Stark to get him out of this mess. He could promise to do every task Mister Stark ask of him, he could even offer to work for Stark industries until he could pay back the money he’d pay Peter’s kidnappers, anything to get out of here. Peter will do anything.

‘I think he’s agreeing.’ The woman grins, pulling out a burner phone out of her back pocket. She types for several excruciating moments, in which Peter begs to every god listening that Mister Stark will pick up. That he’ll hear Peter out.

‘Hello,’ the woman greets the phone, her smirk so evil Peter’s spider senses warm him to run, fighting through the drugs. ‘I think I have something that belongs to you Stark.’

She lowers the phone to a few inches from Peter’s ear, because Peter is too tied up to hold it on his own. ‘Speak loudly kid.’

The use of the nickname causes shudders to run down Peter’s back. Why can’t he go home?

‘Mister Stark, please help me, I don’t know where I am, but- I want to go home, please mister Stark I-. I’ll do anything you want, just please.’ Peter’s whines gain pitch, until he is nothing but a sobbing mess, barely worth the name Peter Parker, let alone Spiderman.

The phone clicks shut.

‘Whoops, looks like he hung up’, The woman snickers, patting Peter’s cheek with fake compassion. Peter bellows, heaving so severely the nonexistent food he ate threatens to come back up.

He’d never find out the phone was never connected in the first place.

---

By the grace of Peter doesn’t know what, he drops unconscious after the failed phone call to Mister Stark. The sleep is fitful at best, but at least it helps restock his powers. When Peter comes too, there are loud sounds just outside of the room he’s captivated in. He thinks there’s screaming and pleading, but he’s so exhausted he can’t bring himself to care. His hands drop uselessly by his side, his head turned away from the door as he squeezes his eyes shuts.

Why can’t this be over yet?

The door busts of his hinges, the door falls inwards. Immediately, the yellow and red armor, belonging to the iron man suit, rushes in, with the faceplate down. Now that the door is open, or gone more like, It’s clear that all the sounds Peter had been hearing where the scream of his captures. There are many of them, but they’re being taken down one by one.

Peeking aside the Iron man armor, Peter sees a flash of red and blue, and captain America’s shield knocking someone out cold.

‘Kid, kid’, Mister Stark draws his attention in a panic. The faceplate is still down, which means that Mister Stark is either not here, like he wasn’t when the vulture first dropped him into a lake, or he’s assessed the situation and deemed it too dangerous to lower his defenses.

‘You’re okay underoos, we’re getting you out of here.’ With very little effort, Mister Stark snaps restraints on Peter’s wrist and ancles, all the while murmuring under his breath. He’s trying to reassure Peter, but it’s not having any type of effect.

Instead, the comfort causes Peter to burst into tears once more, his body begging for food and pain medication that will make everything stop hurting. He doesn’t care that Mister Stark is doing this out of rightfulness, or maybe out of debt out of some kind that he’s trying to even out, Peter just wants to go home.

Once the restraints are all loose, and Peter is free of them, Mister Stark waits for a tense second, maybe expecting Peter to hob off the table and join the fight or something. That doesn’t happen. Peter lays motionless on the table, looking intensely at the glowing eyes of the iron man suit, maybe trying to convey a message that Mister Stark can’t decipher.

‘Come on Pete, we have to get out of here before they bring backup. I can only hold them off for so long.’

‘Back up?’ Peter ask nonsensical, his spider senses blaring danger at him.

‘Yeah, they’re big fans of the avengers, they’ll all be swarming in here for autographs soon, but we’re kinda busy so we really have to go now.’ Mister Stark turns frantic, his hands carefully, oh so cautiously, gripping at his shoulders.

Peter allows his muscles to turn limp, pliant under strange hands. They belong to his mentor, to one of the only touches he has ever felt that don’t originate from people who are trying to hurt him, but he’s so very terrified, it doesn’t register. Peter holds still, submissive to whatever is about to happen because the pain always seems to end faster when he doesn’t struggle.

‘Peter’, Mister Stark anguished voice insists, his faceplates lifts up, and the dull eyes of who Peter has come to think of as a father gaze upon him with despair. Mister Starks hair is greasy, his mouth is pulled down in a grimace, and his eyes are, for a lack of better word grief stricken. He’s so much older then he was before Peter was taken. ‘Please buddy, we have to go.’

Mister Stark’s calloused finger strokes Peter cheek with the utmost care, barely even pressing firm enough for Peter to feel it. He does though, and traps the touch between his check and his shoulder.  The dam breaks, and the barrier of terror that clouded Peter’s judgment lifts with it. He gasps, coming up for a breath of fresh air, and the moment between mentor and son brings at least a sliver of clarity, before he sinks back under the enormity of his panic.  

‘I can’t walk’, Peter rasps, his throat torn from all the screams. He refuses to let that stop him, he’s so close to safety, he needs to push on further just a tad longer. ‘Please Mister Stark, I can’t walk.’

‘It’s okay Pete’, Tony soothes, pressing an unyielding kiss to his forehead, and if at all possible, Peter see the rage harden his face even more. ‘I’m going to get you out of here, but it’s gonna hurt, I’m sorry.’

Before Peter can begin to process that statement, Mister Stark puts the weight on his knees, the iron man suit helping to lift Peter as if it’s no trouble at all.  Tony is no liar, Peter finds, as his body begs to be placed back on the uncomfortable bed. Even places that had been relatively unharmed ache, and Peter feels like a broken doll.

‘It’s okay Kiddo we’re almost there, just a minute longer.’ Peter clings to Mister Stark, using every ounce of strength to hang on, despite the fact that Tony has a tight grip on him as well. Iron man isn’t fighting alone, as the avengers are here to back him, them, up. In any other situation, Peter would be gushing. Not only is he seeing his heroes in action, but they’re in action for him, to help him, but now, Peter only turns his head to burrow it into Mister Starks chest plate.

‘Please, please’, Peter whispers the entire way to the jet, not even realizing he’s begging for something.

‘I got you Pete’, Tony assures, one hand briefly leaving Peter’s back to shoot at a capture that’s standing in the way of the jet. Other than that, he doesn’t interfere with the fight one time, but he must itch too. Peter hears him bark orders at captain America, telling him to take some of them alive.

‘Please don’t leave me here, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.’

The Jet is nice and warm, something Peter relishes in, but when Tony tries to lower Peter on a medbed, that’s objectively much more comfortable then the bed he was on before, Peter screams. No words are spoken, but the scream startles Mister Stark just the same.

‘Stark, the base is cleared, get him strapped in, Banner is coming’, Natasha ushers, ignoring Peter’s cries and running to the cockpit. Stark has him, she argues, and it does the kid no good to have more prying eyes on him.

‘What is it, are you in pain?’ Tony asks franticly, without responding to Nat, hands hovering over Peter’s body to check for injuries, the light dims when he spots just how badly he was treated in captivity.

Peter screams again when Mister Stark pulls away too far for his liking, latching onto the suit so rigorous it creaks in protests.

‘Please, I’ll be good, don’t leave me, please. I- I know… I’m sorry, Morgan- I’, Peter can’t talk with how much he’s weeping, there are so many things to say and all of them are fighting one another to be said first. Eventually, after everyone has already touched base, the jet leaves and Doctor Banner urgers Tony to place him on the bed, Peter settles for; ‘Don’t leave me here.’

‘Peter’, Tony spits, so harsh that Peter snaps to attention, letting go of the armor and limply following where mister Stark wants him. He gently grips Peter’s chin, mindful of the bruises, and with glistening eyes, he conveys; ‘I’m never leaving you here, do you understand. I don’t care what else you have in your head, but right now, all I need you to know is that I’m not leaving you. Ever.’

He waits for the conforming nod, which Peter only gives when Mister Stark clasps his hand into his. ‘Beside, May would kill me if I came back without her nephew, and I don’t want to be the one to receive her wrath.’ Tony laughs faintly.

He wants to cry at that, good or bad he’s not sure, but instead he allows himself to be lowered, giving in only because Tony is crouching down with him, shielding Peter’s body with his own. It’s unsensical, there in the jet and there’s no danger, but if Peter feels protected Tony will do it, no questions asked.

As soon as he’s in a horizontal positions, Doctor Banner injects him with pain medication, and within seconds, Peter has floated away, dreaming of the lake house with Morgan, Pepper and tony and May at the end of the hallway.

---

Peter knows he’s in the medbay before his body has even fully awoken. He’s been here before, perhaps one to many times for it too be so familiar, and he can recognize the atmosphere from anywhere. The smell of disinfectant lingers around the room heavily, but so does the smell of motor oil, coming from Mister Stark’s lab the floor below the medbay. Usually he’s not alone when he wakes up either, accompanied by Mister Stark or May, maybe even both, and so despite the room having a different connotation, it holds security for Peter.

When all his senses click into place, with an almost audible snap after being out of commission for a week, the burning anguish joins it. It’s almost worse than during the torture itself, because it’s hitting him all at once now, and after stewing for a day his body is one big bruise, but it’s also better, because no more hurt can be added.

Blinking his eyes open, Peter glances around the room and notices that he’s by himself. He hasn’t made up his mind yet whether that’s a good or bad thing. Despite being alone, Peter very nearly cries out for the pain medication he’s sure Tony has at hand. His metabolism runs through painkillers faster than a normal body, but Mister Stark has experience in that department thanks to captain America, which is why Peter never wakes up in the medbay feeling sore.

He’s hoping to snatch some of the good stuff before he can sink away in sleep again, until a dark thought pops up in his head. What if Mister Stark purposefully didn’t give him enough medication so he wouldn’t stay asleep? What if Peter is expected to pay of his debt starting this very moment? It would make sense. Mister Stark is a man that likes to get a move on things, and this is probably no exception.

He bites back a loud whine. He’s so tired and sore, and if he could be anywhere in the world right now he’d choose the lakehouse and rest on the back porch, while looking over Morgan and ensuring she’s safe.

Still, it’s heaps better then what was waiting for him before, so Peter sucks in a deep breath and lifts himself up. He’s dresses in a hospital gown with socks on his feet, the only reprieve of the cold of the tiles that he has. His body fights in protest against the jolting movements, and Peter sinks back into bed three times before finally managing to stay upright. He swallows back bile, and blinks away the disorientation woozing its way through his head.

‘Friday’? He whispers, voice cracking on every syllable.

‘Yes, mister Parker, the AI replies easily, as chipper as a computer can possibly be. ‘It’s good to have you back,’ she adds, when Peter takes too long to reply. It’s not out of rudeness, but the words take a while to be processed in Peter’s hazy mind.

‘Can you tell me what Mister Stark wants me to do?’ Peter finally asks after coughing to clear his throat. Pride flows through his bloodstream when he manages to sound fine.

‘Mister Stark has not given me any directions, but by the distress and elevated heartbeat he experienced whilst at your bedside last, I hypothesize that he would like you to rest Peter.’  

Confusion laces Peter’s next move. Rest? But if that was the case why wasn’t the man here, ensuring that he does like all the other times he’s been in this position?  Deciding not to ask the AI anymore questions, while simultaneously ignoring her advice, Peter focuses on setting one foot in front of the other. If he can’t get a direct answer out of Friday, he’ll just get started on cleaning up in the lab.

The last few times Tony and Peter worked in there, Mister Stark had jokingly grumbled that the lace was getting to disorganized even for his taste, which definitely means something. Peter limps his way to the door, already breathing more heavily and deciding to take a rest against the still closed door. His foot throbs, so Peter switches to put the most weight on the side of his foot, instead of on the balm.

The small trek has left him bone tried, and the lab still seems so far away. Peter tries to calculate how far the lab still is, and agrees with himself to divide the length into smaller stretches. His next stop is at the elevator, so Peter shuffled along the floor, ignoring the black spots that dance before his eyes and threaten to have him collapse.

The extortion reminds him of the time that Toomes dropped a building on him, which is just plain ridiculous, this shouldn’t be half as tough. Peter scolds himself to man up when about halfway to the elevator he bumps into a cart and whimpers.

After finally finding support on the elevator beams, Peter allows himself a twenty second break to cry. At this point, the exact reason for crying is unbeknownst to him. All that he does know is that he feels like a mess, like someone took all the spiderman away from him and left him as a pile of uselessness. He shouldn’t have the right to complain however. Mister Stark rescued him from a fate much worse, the least he could do is help him out.

‘Friday’, Peter pauses to gulp in more air, and to force his tears back. ‘Open the elevator.’

‘Mister Parker I would advise-‘

‘Please’, he begs, voice barely louder then a whisper. The AI complies without further disagreement. The elevator begins to move the floor bellow it, soundlessly passing Peter along. The theme song, a little joke that Tony had installed after they made a song about spiderman, which plays during every elevator ride when Peter is present, stays off. The doors open, and Peter stumbles out, cheering up a dash when the mess doesn’t look as bad as he had imagined it. The clean up should be doable within two hours, even in Peter’s injured state. Most of the mess comes from scattered papers and documents that Tony tosses aside and never bothered to do anything with, and of mechanical parts that are ready to be thrown out.

All in all, not a lot of weight that Peter has to pick up. He has barely started on five pages when the elevator behind him opens again. Peter hadn’t noticed it going to a different floor in the first place.

Lister Stark burst out of the room like the devil himself is after him. He pauses for one second to observe what Peter’s doing -he’s in the middle of bending down at a very lateral pace- and then he’s off again, cursing under his breath.

‘Jesus Christ Peter what are you doing?’

He pulls out a rolling chair from behind his work bench and rushes it to Peter side. ‘Come on, sit.’ He says already clenching a hand around Peter’s bicep to guide him down. In his confusion, Peter follows his instruction.

‘Mister Stark?’ He questions, eyes tracking his mentors movement as if he’s afraid he’s done something wrong and punishment will follow.

There is none, all that Tony does, is fall down on his knees in front of Peter, so they’re making direct eye contact. Peter gulps at the sight. He’s sure those jeans cost more than half of what May ears a month, and if Peter is expected to repay those too, he’ll never be able to pay of his debt.

‘Kiddo, what are you doing?’ Mister Stark asks incredulous, his hand never leaving Peter’s arm. His eyes sweep over Peter’s form, noticing the ailments that he aggravated by walking all the way down here. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get started already.’ Peter admits shyly. He can’t understand why he’s being treated with such kindness all of a sudden.

‘Started on what Pete? I don’t understand.’ Mister Stark shuffles closer, one hand coming up to cup Peter’s chin, sweeping gentle circles that are meant to calm himself down as much as Peter.

‘Paying of my debt.’ Peter replies confused, wrapping his arms around his stomach area and bending downwards in an order to self sooth. He needs to get up soon, are Peter’ not sure he will be able to. Now that he’s granting his body some rest, the pain he forced to the back of his mind is rushing back in.

‘What debt kid, you need rest and you need it right now. Stay here, I’m going to go get you a gurney so you don’t require any more walking.’

Right as Mister Stark gets of his knees, Peter’s hand shoots out, gripping the older man’s wrist.  The action was pure habitual, but now that he’s initiated contact he doesn’t know what to do.

‘When will I have to start working then? I’d rather get started as soon as possible, to thank you for everything Mister Stark.’ Peter’s voice pitches even lower, letting his head hang down in shame. He really doesn’t want to offer his suit back, Spiderman is what gives him purpose, but the sooner he no longer has a debt, the sooner he can start working to provide May with an extra income as well. He has no choice.

‘I can give you the suit back if you’ll accept it.’

Tony regards him with perturbation for several long lasting moment. Then, he gasps, finally clicking in his head what Peter is going on about.

‘Oh kiddo, that’s the concussion speaking. Listen to me,’ he sinks back down in front Peter, taking his hand in his. ‘You have done so much for me. If anything it’s me that should be in debt to you.’ Peter pens his mouth to argue, but Tony hushes him softly.

‘You’re not thinking straight buddy, that why spider baby’s need their rest. But truly Peter, you don’t owe me anything. Well except maybe you owe it to  be safe, I think I’ve earned that much.’

‘Really?’ Peter asks optimistically, his whole body filling up with a feeling he can’t name, but it chokes him up until he’s bursting with the urge to give a hug to his mentor.

‘Yeah Peter of course. All I want is my kids to be safe.’

Kids. Tony sees Peter as his kid, as equal to Morgan. A person to love unconditionally without needing any favors, without having any debt. Of course Mister Stark won’t ask that of him, despite his front, the man has a heart that’s made of gold. Mister Stark, his mentor, and his father figure.

‘Dad,’ Peter sobs, almost falling out of the chair in his rush to get to Tony. The man immediately returns the hug, holding Peter up in a way that he hopes will be the least painful for him.

‘You’re okay Peter you’re okay.’

‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking’, Peter confesses, deeply ashamed of how low he thought of his dad.

‘It’s okay Kiddo, like I said it’s the concussion. Of course you were scared, I can’t blame you. I promise that I tried so hard to find you bud. I’m sorry it took me so long.’

Peter says nothing, he’s had enough encounters with Tony now to sense that the man wouldn’t believe him if Peter told him it’s okay. Instead he just nuzzles closer, accepting all the love and affection radiating from Tony, and giving back what he hopes is just as much.

‘Can we go back to the lakehouse?’ Peter asks softly, burring his head in Tony’s neck. It might be a weird question coming from him. He liked the beach house enough, but he has never actively asked to go there when they could stay at the tower as well. But now, Peter won’t feel safe unless his down there, in the cabin hidden behind threes, where the environment is quiet that he can hear everyone’s heartbeat, and can confirm that everyone is safe.

‘Sure kid.’ Tony responds, a tad bewildered, but happy to provide anyway. ‘We’ll leave as soon as you get check out okay. I want to make sure you didn’t rip anything.’

‘Okay’, Peter mumbles, a bone deep tiredness washing over him, and letting him sink down into Tony. ‘Thanks dad.’

If Peter were more awake, he would have noticed the silent tears of happiness streaming down Mister Starks cheek at the name. As it stands, Peter just hums contently when a kiss is pressed at the top of his head, and Tony strikes a hand through his hair.

‘Anything for my son.’

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slender Brothers Headcanons

#1. Mating Season 

WARNINGS: Heavy content here. Slender’s and Offender’s of course talk about rape. Very violent and graphic rape and mention of necrophilia in Offender’s. Trender’s talks about prostitution? But not in a dark way, really. Splender’s describes some pain- for him. Pain for him. Its unfortunate ): The ‘If he had an S/O’ parts are pretty safe though 

Notes: 

Heed the warnings. If you don't, then I take no responsibility. 

Or... maybe these aren't as graphic as I think and I’m just a baby? Dunno, better safe then sorry though!!! 

If you are interested in this stuff, then enjoy! ^^ XD

~~~

Slenderman:

You thought he hid away before… but, man. During this time, no one knows where he is.

In truth, he’s hauled away in a bunker that he set up himself and upkeeps every year, all alone (For his benefit, because he haaaaates, hates, hates being out of control. Not for everyone else’s benefit, I want to make that clear.) and if it wasn’t for the constant, unattended, unquenched heat overwhelming him then he would be in total peace. I mean, here he’s underground (In the earth. His favourite thing) and he’s alone (This favourite thing ties with the earth).

That bunker ends up in teeerible shape after he’s been in there. He loses most of his control, and because his needs aren’t extinguished, he gets violent. He has a lot of pent up tension in every orifice and periodically he snaps. At the walls, at the chairs, at anything that’s a satisfying weight to throw, or break, or crush.

He never leaves the bunker though without repairing and replacing shit though so that when he comes back the next year, he doesn’t feel even worse.

Now, if Slender didn’t hide himself away… Look, Slender is not a good being. He controls himself because he genuinely enjoys controlling things and the most important thing to do is control yourself. But at this time, if he really actually tried, he would have like 0.10 percent control.

And… he wouldn’t feel any reservations about taking a mortal and using them to help himself, raping them. He would feel disgusted with himself later on, for sure, but that’s only because he lost his control. Not because of what he did to the mortal.

I think the only reason he doesn’t normally do this, is not because he’s in any way better, morally, then Offender. It’s because he generally doesn’t feel sexual desire that often. And when he does, he ignores it. He isn’t interested, like Offender is. So, don’t get it twisted, Slender is a selfish and rotten.

If he had an S/O:

If there is even the smallest chance that you won’t find out, he will take it.

Of course, that would be pretty hard to do seeing as the damn thing can last for up to a week (Although that is still very lucky, seeing as cats and dogs last a month or longer. I’ve decided the Slender’s are more like birds XD) and you will be puzzled when your cranky, hermit Slenderman disappears from his beloved home for that long.

Even after its over and he’s back, and you know something out of the ordinary happened, he still won’t tell you. Just very bluntly, so you know he knows you know somethings up but you also know he isn’t about to tell you, says “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”. The ass will even say “I was here the whole time Y/N, for goodness sakes. You must have missed me.”.  

HOW?

I beg to differ, Slendy.

Eventually one of the other brothers will tell you, and get a prompt smack from a stray black tentacle when he finds out. “Oh, my bad. Spasm.” He’ll say, totally deadpanned.

Now, if you decide you don’t want anything to do with it and to respect his decision to keep it from you, he’s happy to go on like normal with you. Whenever the season comes around, he’ll just tell you he’ll be away for a bit for his mating season. No drama! And no more secrets!

On the other hand, if you wanted to help…

Well, he would describe to you everything he feels during his mating season and exactly how strong these urges are, to scare you off. And e tells no lie, and it does sound terrifying.

But if you still want to after that, then fine. Next mating season, he concedes a test run. But he enlists Zalgo to stand by for a bit and if he hears non-pleasure noises, then to come in and take you away.

Slender’s a big fan of informed consent where you’re concerned.

Trenderman:

Trender does a lot of meditation and drinks a lot of calming herbal remedies at this time… and, also, jerks off a lot and is out picking up partners every night for wild one-night stands. He deals with it pretty healthily, actually, compared to the others! Haha

As song as he’s satisfied, everyone who is prospectively around him, will be safe. That’s his thinking, and it’s true.

Also, why treat the feeling like it’s a curse? It is an issue, but if you act like Frollo then you’ll just make it worse for yourself and more importantly, for everyone else.

He will even hire prostitutes if he has no luck picking anyone up himself. Don’t worry, he’s very good to them, and pays them well (Boy makes it a habit to even send them off with breakfast, or at least breakfast money if they don’t feel comfortable spending more time with him then what was professional). Like, from the prostitute’s point of view, he is the best customer. Favourite customer. Love him.

He doesn’t do any work with anyone, during this time. Just stays in at home all day meditating, drinking his tea’s and working on designs and outfits from the safety of his house (He does some of his best work during this time- they’ve been described as ‘Seductive’). If he absolutely has to contact someone, he will text them. Even the sound of someone’s voice might set him off, so he really avoids anything like phone calls and delivery people- he has his groceries dropped off at his front door while he’s out at night.

He wears headphones most of the time (Noise cancelling or music), blocking out anything possible from the outside world, and keeps the blinds closed and windows and doors locked.

If he had an S/O:

If you’re willing to help him out during the season, he’s jazzed. I mean, he was hoping you would XD

Let me tell you, you can satisfy him way quicker than anyone else that he could pick up or hire, so its not really an issue if you want to help him. You will be pretty tired after a night so I’d prescribe you maybe every second night if you’re up to it?? But you won’t be fatally tired or anything like Splender XD And you definitely wont be hurt, because honestly it doesn’t take much from you to finish him, because it’s you!

Theirs no poetic reason. It’s just, simply, because it’s you.

Kinks that he doesn’t mention before this suddenly come out to play… You will learn some new things about yourself, that’s for sure.

Offenderman (I’m saying it again because it’s very necessary. WARNING. Please read with caution):

This is… not an issue for him…

In fact, it affects him much, much less than the others. Offender is always horny, anyway. Its literally in his nature. So, he’s used to living with it.

His temperament does lose its bearings for the duration, though, which makes him even more dangerous then usual. Most of the time he doesn’t even play with his victims at all (Doesn’t tease or go even a modicum slower. Doesn’t care to look into their eyes to see the fear- which tends to be a big part of what he does. He gets off of their terror. But at this time he just seems mad, sloppy and impatient), just rapes them in an the back of an alleyway and leaves their corpses when he’s not getting anything out of it anymore, looking for a new one.

Usually, when it’s not mating season he’ll usually leave them alive, specifically so they have to deal with the trauma, but now the force he uses… breaks them. The force of his hips breaks their bones, the way he bites their neck leaves a gaping, jagged hole that blood escapes out of, he suffocates them to death or crushes their windpipe. Long before he’s done, they’re a corpse. Not that that bothers him. At all. As long as they’re tight, he can work with it.

Also, something about them being dead turns him on also, so…

The body count at night means that he’s fine during the day, except for a normal, gentle buzz of thirst but he can handle that just fine. It’s more like normal.

If it wasn’t for his general lack of care for mortal (Or any other) lives and cruelty he would be able to manage this season like any other time of the year. No one would get hurt and no one would realise he’s any different.

But, this is Offenderman.

If he had an S/O:

Offender is so much more in control. Like, literally, he can date you and have a normal life and everything. He doesn’t want to scare you away or, very much less, hurt you. If he can get away with it, he wont even mention a mating season.

But, if you were happy to help him out (Which, I realise now, may be hard for some of us to imagine after reading what I just wrote about him not 4 dot points ago… ), then he would lose his ever loving mind.

But not in a bad way like before was. Less violent and more… submissive. I guess. He’s still him, and he thinks he’s head honcho and everything (Second only to Slender) but he has absolutely zero issues with bottoming- theirs plenty of pleasure to source from that position.

Your touch and your warm, wet pinkness feel’s 10 times better to him (And he already loved it with his whole, black heart) in this condition. He’ll mule.

Splenderman:

This is ESPECIALLY hard for Splender. He feels everything 10 times stronger than any of his brothers, which is saying a lot because they’re all very passionate about their shit.

But Splender is the most so. (*Cough* Its because I like to believe kindness is a stronger urge then hatred, personal interest or even lust. This is also the reason I headcanon Splender as the oldest).

One year, soon after he reached adulthood and mating season actually kicked in, (The first time shocked him. He had no one to tell him this was about to happen, and it stole the wind from him. He nearly hurt someone when he tried to ignore it, which explains why this that I’m about to explain about, which is the second time, turned out so badly),he tried to haul himself away and do nothing. Not touch himself, not see anyone for help, not do anything.

It caused him to cease up completely. He was just sitting there for a full day, thinking about nothing but his physical need and his pain. First his cock went painfully stiff, then the rest of him, and when he finally tried to move it was agonising.

Ever since then he’s careful not to do that. For a long time he subscribed to Slender’s method of hiding and locking himself away until it’s over.

But, it was not until Trender became an adult and started dealing with his mating seasons that Splender’s eyes were opened up to a much safer and healthier management strategy.

Instead of fighting the season, just accept it. Take care of yourself Splendy, we worry for you.

Nowadays he spends most of his time treating his body the bets he can, in a remote area in some mountains in Switzerland. Beautiful nature to revitalise him, spring weather, clean fresh air… no one around for miles and miles to hear what he’s up to… Haha. Its half an half. Half of the time he spends eating healthily and relaxing in fields and rocky mountain areas, and the other half he masturbates.

A lot of the time actually he’s doing both at the same time. Jacking off outside in the fresh air.

If he had an S/O:

He’s surprised to hear that his mortal mate likes the idea of being… uh… used, essentially. For his personal gain.

“You think that’s okay, Y/N??”? He’s a bit sceptical.

“Yeah, Splender, as long as its you! I don’t mind helping- plus its kinda hot.”

Well, if you’re sure! Splender doesn’t try to tell you that you don’t know what you’re talking about or that you don’t know what you like in anyway.

He’s kind of excited now XD

He’s going to come up with a plan though to separate the two of you at some point so you can rest and revitalise because while he understands that you’re consenting to a lot and are genuinely interested, he also knows that during this time he can go for a looooot longer then you can, and he refuses to break you. “You can come back if you want once you’re not so tired!” He assures you, when you whine and say you can ‘handle it’.

ALL SLENDER’s:

Final thing.

Imagine having a vagina and being on your period at the same time that he’s enduring his mating season. 

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and Villains

Season 2: Secrets revealed Logan Anker: Old wounds and worries

Master list book 1

The wounds of the past can hurt. Not just you but your surroundings. No wonder we keep those secret to protect them... or is it ourselves we are protecting mort that way?

Waiting until the end of patrol was torture.

Logan didn’t like talking about the past. At all. He had trouble talking about Hannah and Caleb in any capacity to Virgil, or Patton, or Thomas or even Picani. And the Collector… Logan wanted to forget about him. But he couldn’t. If he was honest, that man showed up in his nightmares to this day. And he likely would keep showing up until he was behind bars. Patton and Thomas did their best to comfort him. A gesture he appreciated even though it wasn’t very effective. Finally Prince arrived. The young hero took in the atmosphere in the room and was clearly annoyed. “Listen, I promise I was safe. But I could’ve been in the middle of talking someone out of making a bad decision at the time. You can’t just shout in my ear out of nowhere. That was dangerous and frankly, I expect you to be more levelheaded BS. Anny other night and Logan would have insisted Prince gave him a detailed debrief on what exactly was so important that he couldn’t even let them know he was okay. But today… “That isn’t what this is about Prince. Take a seat,” Thomas instructed. Giving Logan a moment more to collect his thoughts. “Ok…” Prince said as he sat down, Looking around confused. Logan took a last moment to calm himself before he started his story with an apology. “Prince. I must offer you my sincere apologies. I didn’t want to tell you this right away, and maybe I should have.” Had his decision really been about allowing Prince to live his dream before burdening him? Was withholding the truth for Prince’s benefit? Or his own? “You shouldn’t have gone out without knowing the risks… We talked a little about nemeses during your training.” Prince nodded. Clearly still confused. “Yeah, but I doubt I’ve done anything that warrants one yet. Those come later in a career unless…” Prince paused, frowning. “But you were a villain. Any nemeses you had would be heroes… Right?” Prince was a good student indeed. He’d realized that Logan was telling him he was about to inherit his mentor’s past. And he had a good point. A nemeses of Logan would be on the side of the heroes. “Technically, the collector isn’t my nemesis. At least not in the traditional sense,” he agreed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Ever since he stopped using his powers, high stress situations got him small headaches that got worse over time. “I’ll start from the beginning,” he said, thinking back to a time he’d erase from his life all together if he could. “I became a villain because I needed the money and fast. Plain and simple. Any legal means were insufficient, so I made a name for myself and eventually, when I said ‘give me 10.000 dollars or I destroy this building,’ people handed me the money because they knew I very easily could make good on my threats. I always picked an amount they could easily provide without harming the business or individual too much financially. One day I found myself running from the police force. I had misjudged the time it would take them to arrive,” he had gotten arrogant with success. “And I got helped by a stranger in a haphazardly put together disguise. When we lost them and caught our breath, he introduced himself as ‘the collector’. I fairly quickly understood him to be a fanboy of sorts. He was a big fan of my ‘work’, though he misunderstood the intention entirely. Not that I could get him to understand that.” Everything he said that didn’t fit Collector’s narrative was ignored or dismissed. “He thought I was taking the money as proof that I was superior or something like that. I didn’t listen too closely to his speech at the time. I was concerned with getting away. He said he wanted to help me. Gifted were still considered fairly new. Nowadays most people alive have lived most of their lives in a world with gifted.” The first super powered individuals had appeared around the time Logan was born. “But back then, most of the population still saw it as strange and there weren’t any real initiatives to help train the powers. So the gifted that were around often were untrained and had their powers act up without warning. Which could be quite destructive.” Logan recalled the park bench and every instance of loss of control after that, all the way up to a wine glass in a restaurant less than a year ago. He looked at his pupil to make sure he hadn’t lost his attention. The wide, attentive, green eyes and firm nod told him he still had an audience. “Anyway, the collector thought that people should respect and celebrate our existence. He compared the stigmas we faced to those of people of color, or the LGBTQ+ community, then still called the Gay or Queer community. He said it very nicely, it almost sounded reasonable, if you ignored the slight notes of supremacy. And if I had been trying to ‘stick it to the man’ as they say, I might have been tempted. But I just wanted…” to pay form my sisters treatment and my research for a cure. “I was selfish in my actions and therefore not interested in his big revolution, which turned out to be a good thing in some ways.” He didn’t want to even imagine the kind of person he’d be then. He wouldn’t have Patton that was for sure. And Virgil… No. He was glad Virgil was kept away from that madness. And he intended to keep it that way. “I told him I wasn’t interested in leading any resistance, thanked him for the assistance and left. Shortly after this, I encountered Manifestor for the first time. He blessed one of the people in the building with super speed.” Said gifted was now one of the heroes patrolling the city. He was actually one of the heroes who’s territory Prince shared. Thomas hadn’t gotten the hang of permanent and temporary power boosts yet at the time. It was always a game of chance. Thomas chuckled. “I remember. I was so pleased that it worked.” Pleased was one word for it. “You were insufferably delighted, even though I defeated your champion.” While he and StarBucker were amicable nowadays, at the time, Logan had been thoroughly annoyed at the inconvenience. But thinking back to Thomas’ triumphant smile he could not quite help his own amusement. “You did retreat though,” Thomas pointed out. “I stalled you long enough to make you give up that mark and head out. So it was a win for me.” Logan let out a sigh, he couldn’t argue with that, but they were getting of topic. “I saw the Collector a few more times after that, though I managed to avoid conversation. One day, during a stalemate with Manifestor, he asked me about him. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d been approached about his plans. He had actually advanced them. He was now not only collecting gifted, but also individuals worthy of a gift. Be it they joined him out of free will, or got persuaded through different means.” Blackmail, intimidation, manipulation. Those were the collector’s tools. “And he wanted me to ‘grant them that blessing’,” Thomas added uneasy. Logan patted his old friend on the back in support. A conversation with the collector had never been a fun experience for either of them. “Manifestor had enlisted the help of others to free some of his victims,” Logan continued. “The Collector claimed I was championing his cause. I assured Manifestor that I had no intention of assisting in his plans. That is about the time Manifestor started winning me over to redemption.” He thought back to those times with a bittersweet feeling. He’d been so excited by the idea. A nice place for him and Hannah to live. A good job that would let him take care of her and have her be proud of him. Things hadn’t gone quite how he’d wanted, but at the same time, one thing had gone better than he could ever have imagined. “Next time I spotted Collector, I told him in the plainest possible terms that I was not interested…” It should have been a firm ending to this story. Or so he had thought. That was naïve of him, he now knew that. Obsession and fanaticism don’t disappear just because one piece of that craziness did not cooperate. He’d been arrogant once again. Thinking too highly of himself. It took him a moment to continue. “He assured me I would be…” He suppressed a shiver as he recalled the polite, almost pleasant way he’d spoken. Sort of soothing. As if Logan had merely been a child afraid to go in the swimming pool and Collector was indulging him for the moment. “I haven’t seen him since, but that promise… I don’t know what exactly he has been up to in the past 14 years. But one can only imagine how someone like that matures... Or what he has planned for me when he finds me.” Or much more importantly, his loved ones. Thomas, Patton, Virgil, the Bullards who despite the current situation were still family to him, and Prince too if he was completely honest. There was no telling what Logan would do if any of them… Not now. “Prince, the collector will not consider you his enemy. But he is yours. Anyone who meets his criteria of ‘worthy’, is at risk. And he does not take no for an answer.” The words had barely settled in the room or Prince shot up panicked. “Phantom!” he exclaimed. “Phantom might be in danger! What if someone on the chief’s team passes on information to Him? Or what if he has connections to these crime organizations!? I’ve got to go out now and find him…” Prince was clearly about to head out again right away. Admirable, but not very prudent given the circumstances. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow you can try again. Even if you find him, you are not in the right state of mind to deliver this kind of news delicately.” Prince paused, clearly contemplating his words. Seeing, or feeling, an opening, Patton added his two cents. “You’ve done great today sport! You just go home and sleep on what you’ve learned. Tomorrow night there is another patrol and you might run into him then.” And to make the set complete, Thomas finished: “I’m glad you are so eager to meet this young hero Prince. Just know that there is no pressure. They’ve been evading unwanted contact for almost a year now. It is okay if you don’t find them right away. And we’ll give you the support you need.” Prince clearly did not like it but he conceded. “Can I ask a favor though? Can I bring him some of that dye and a modulator? I doubt he’ll have a very sophisticated disguise if he’s on his own. It could be a sign of comradery?” he explained awkwardly. Logan nodded. It made sense, and it wouldn’t take him long. He led Prince through a few doors to his lab. Once he got to his desk he put his family picture down. It was a digital picture frame that played an album of family pictures once the camera registered his face in front of the desk. Even if Prince didn’t look at it on purpose he might catch a glance of Virgil, Patton or him in passing. And Prince was a curious person. His territory included Logan’s new neighborhood, he might see Virgil on one of his runs while he was on patrol. Or see any of them in passing. For Prince’s safety and that of Logan’s family, he wouldn’t take risks. He handed Prince a black hairdye stick. Fitting for a gifted who relied on stealth. He picked up a dark purple modulator, the darkest color he had and plugged it in to program it. Prince clearly had an idea of how Phantom’s voice should sound. “Could you make it so it’s like, deepened by an octave and doubled? With an echo effect?” Logan nodded. It fit the moniker Phantom was given, that was for certain. “Thank you. This should help a lot,” Prince grinned as he took the modulator. “I shall be heading home now,” he bid before leaving the lab, followed by Logan who watched him get in the elevator to leave the facility. Logan let out a relieved sigh. “Come on. Let’s go home and see Virgil,” Patton said gently, knowing what Logan needed right now. Logan smiled gratefully and as they headed up, he handed Patton the keys. He didn’t feel clear of mind enough to handle driving tonight. He let Virgil know they were on their way so he would know to expect them. Otherwise he might think they were burglars.

When they got home they found Virgil on the couch with his headphones on. He looked up and smiled as he spotted them. “Welcome back. I gotta ask though. Who’s your fourth guy?” he asked playfully. Logan blinked confused. “What do you mean?” “For your poker nights,” Virgil joked. Patton giggled at Logan’s side, taking the lead. “No cardgames I’m afraid kiddo. We’ll tell you about the project once it’s finished. It’s all confidential for now I’m afraid,” he said. Virgil cocked his head and studied Patton for a moment, then he shrugged. “Okay, Keep your secrets,” he sighed as he stretched and got up. “Night Pat, night Lo,” he said casually as he headed to the door. Logan cringed a little at that. Lately his son, on occasion, used his surname. He was assured by Picani that this was in no way a reflection of Virgil’s affection for Logan as a father. He had no less than 3 fathers now. Him, Patton and an unknown biological father. To differentiate between the three he likely used surnames in his head. Which may slip out verbally on occasion. Even knowing that, it stung a little. “Goodnight Virgil, I love you,” Logan replied, trying not to show his inner discourse. Virgil paused in the door and looked back with a smile. “Love you to dad.” And just like that the tightening in his chest loosened. “Love you three kiddo!” Patton added. “Love ya Pat,” Virgil snickered before disappearing to his room. Logan kept staring at the door for a moment. Patton hugged him from the side. “What do you say I make us a nightcap before bed?” he suggested. Logan nodded. “That would be pleasant,” he told him.

The next morning, Logan woke up to hearing Virgil move about and singing to himself downstairs. That boy never sleeps in. He let out a yawn and stretched, feeling Patton curl into his chest. “Do you regret moving in with us yet?” he teased. “Never,” Patton muttered sleepily. “I smell bacon,” he hummed. “First awake makes breakfast in the weekend. It’s a tradition we have. He was ten the first time I found him trying to fix me breakfast in bed,” Logan recalled fondly. “He made a mess, but it was really sweet. He was following all my rules. He didn’t touch the knives or the stove without me there, which of course limited his options. I helped him make breakfast the that day. After that I made sure to lay some things ready for him on Friday and Saturday nights in case he tried again. Which he did.” “That is adorable,” Patton squealed with a kiss to Logan’s cheek. “Let’s see what our son has in store for us today,” Logan suggested as he got up. He waked to the closet to select some clothes for the day. He felt Patton’s eyes on his back and turned around. “Everything alright Patton?” Patton bit his lip. “It’s just… Our son. I really like the sound of that,” he explained. Logan nodded. “I do too.” Patton bit his lip. “I was thinking of maybe looking into… what it would take for me to adopt him? Make it official?” he suggested. Logan’s heart skipped a beat. Patton had mentioned adopting Virgil in a burst of emotion before. But it seemed like he meant it. He knew that it would mean the world to both him and Virgil to have Patton be an official part of their family. “That would be excellent Patton,” he told him sincerely. Patton’s face lit up at that. “Would you help me figure it out? I want to know what steps I have to take.” Logan walked back to the bed and sat himself next to Patton, taking hold of both his hands. “It would be my greatest pleasure,” he told him gently. Patton’s shoulders relaxed, his gaze still thoughtful, and then he let out a giggle. “May I inquire where your mind has taken you now?” Logan wondered fondly. “It’s just. Look at me being practical. You have rubbed off on me,” he scolded playfully. “Well if it helps, you have changed me too. For the better that is,” Logan assured him with a kiss to his forehead. “Now get downstairs before our breakfast gets cold.”

Breakfast was pleasant. Virgil rolled his eyes and teased them with how ‘cute’ they were being this morning. Logan responded by giving Patton an extra kiss to his cheek. And then Thomas picked Virgil up for their trip to the zoo. Logan and Patton distracted themselves by preparing classes for the next week, answering email and spending some quality time together. Logan had told Thomas that he could tell Virgil about his teenage years. If the topic of parents and siblings came up, he could mention what he knew. Logan knew that he was risking moving up his time table. But part of him hoped he’d be forced to tell Virgil everything tonight. He should have told him long ago. But he kept finding excuses to postpone. He had still not decided whether he’d talk about BrainStorm or not. “I’m home!” Virgil called all of a sudden. Logan glanced up from his book. Time had flown by. Patton was almost done with diner after which they had to leave for Prince’s next patrol. Logan was torn on that subject too. On one hand he knew the young hero wouldn’t need constant supervision for much longer. But on the other, he’d worry about Prince the whole evening if he didn’t personally keep an eye on him. “Dad!” Virgil grinned brightly as he gave him a hug. Effectively ending his inner turmoil. “Virgil? Not that I do not appreciate you seem excited to see me. But is there a particular reason?” he wondered. Virgil let go and stepped back. Logan absentmindedly took note of the fact that the height difference between them was almost gone. Would he outgrow him? Caleb had been a little taller than him. “Uncle Thomas told me about your teen years. I didn’t know you were on the debate team!” he grinned excitedly. Logan was a little flattered that this little bit of information seemed to mean so much to his son. “Well, yes. It was a bit of a hobby of mine, as well as an attempt to get better at socializing,” he confessed. Virgil’s eyes sparked at that. “You were a socially awkward nerd,” he chuckled. Logan frowned at that. “Hey, that’s a complement. I’m a socially awkward artsy kid. Sounds like I’m your son after all,” he chuckled happily. “Speaking off. Uncle Thomas told me you wrote poetry back in the day.” “Really?” Patton exclaimed from the kitchen. Logan was flushing bright red. “I… Experimenting with different forms of self-expression is a natural part of discovering one’s identity as a teenager. It was a phase. I would like to forget about it,” he said stiffly. “Aw, but poetry is so romantic,” Patton pouted. Logan made a mental note of that. Just because he didn’t write anymore didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy reading it from time to time. There was something soothing in the format and he knew of a few poems Patton may enjoy. As far as Virgil was concerned though, poetry was firmly in his past. “That’s too bad. I thought I could maybe make a project around your old work for art class,” Virgil said disappointedly. Oh, that was not fair. “I’ll see if I still have one of my old notebooks,” he allowed. “Just ask my consent before you pick one.” And before he knew it he was once again hugged tightly by his son. “Thanks dad. You won’t regret it. I promise.” Virgil’s excitement was worth any embarrassment that his pubescent ramblings may cause. During dinner Virgil told them about the trip to the zoo and the many sketches he’d made. He also informed them that his session with Picani had gone well. After dinner Virgil bid both of them goodnight in case he’d be asleep when they got back from the university. Patton was smiling the whole way there. “What is on your mind?” Logan wondered. “Did you ever write something for a crush?” Patton asked giddily. He had sort of expected this. “I… Didn’t really have a romantic interest in high school. Thomas was the only person my age I got close to. I was… Well you know what I was going through back then. Between my mother and school… All I had on romance was rather resentful or, once Hannah introduced Caleb to me, from the eye of an observer. Perhaps I can find one of the latter. It might be nice for Virgil to use something inspired by his parents as a base for whatever project he is working on,” he mused. “That sounds like a lovely idea,” Patton agreed.

Half an hour later, Logan was pacing the floor. Prince should’ve called in ten minutes ago. He might just be late, but… Then a beep announced that Prince’s communicator went active. Logan rushed to the comstation. “DreamPrince you are late. What is yours status?” Had he ran into trouble? Was he hiding? Or had he simply forgotten about his com until now? “I am currently debriefing Phantom. I’ll let you know when I’m done here. Tell chief I’ll stop by with a package,” he informed them swiftly. “Radio silence until further notice.” And just like that, the line went silent once again. “He has him…” Logan muttered. Almost in disbelieve. “Oh thank goodness,” Thomas breathed in relief. They’d all be worried about the child out on their own. But it seemed like they were quite a few steps ahead of Collector. An advantage they sorely needed.

Hero au

@cirishere​ @hestianerd1​ @moonlightshow00​ @naturallyunstablegamer​ @alias290​ @meowthefluffy​ @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​ @theblackveilinreverse​

[thuskindlyshescatters]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing alright, and I found your blog via your channel, and it’s quite entertaining! I wanted to ask as a fellow AMV editor, and as you’ve actually commented on my videos a few times I felt I could muster up some courage- but I originally started my channel to one, enjoy making videos, but also to see if I could make a living out of it for the future. So here’s my question: Do you make a living out of yours? And did you ever imagine it that way? I hope you’re doing well! :)

Aw, thanks for stopping by! I’m really not that scary, come talk to me anytime :D My response below the cut:

I don’t make ANY money off my videos, and frankly, don’t really want to! Obviously, because I’m using copyrighted content, I can’t monetize on YouTube, but I haven’t really thought of making a Ko-Fi or Patreon or anything like that. Frankly, I don’t even know if I have fans invested enough in my content to want to pay me for it. More importantly, though, here’s the two basic reasons:

For one, I don’t really need the money, so I’d feel as though whatever my fans try to give me would be put to better use in the hands of others artists who ARE trying to make a living. I’m fortunate (and privileged) enough to not rely on the kindness of strangers online, but others must, and I don’t want to distract from that.

Secondly, I think fan sponsorship would actually DECREASE the quality of my content output. Sometimes, I sacrifice frequency of uploads to work particularly hard on a video; other times, I want to release three videos at once and can’t contain my excitement by pacing it out. Being held accountable by the pockets of my fans would apply a pressure simply not worth the reward; I don’t want your dollar a month, and you don’t particularly care if I don’t follow a very close uploading schedule. Not to mention, whatever other rewards I would be promising that I doubt I currently have the capacity to produce. It’s just not an incentivized transaction, and would probably burn out my enthusiasm in the long run.

That being said, you’re not me! If you want to make a living out of your channel, I encourage you to strive towards that goal. I can’t make any recommendations, as I know nothing about that process, but I do know that it’s a very tedious lifestyle that takes skill, commitment, and a whole lot of work to pursue, so if you’re serious about it, I sincerely hope you do your research on forging your path to success.

Good luck! Thanks for the ask ^u^

[blacklister214]

Illusions: (Chapter 5) The Offer

L.A. 1983

Caleb stood in the stage wing, listening to the applause thundering from the ballroom. Usually this was the best part of the night for Caleb. Soaking in adulation. Being praised to the skies. At the moment though he couldn’t muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm. He knew very well the source of his ennui.

Performing in the park, even for a minute, had been a high Caleb hadn’t felt in quite some time. There were over a hundred ghosts here tonight, and yet somehow it didn’t come close to the two dozen lifers he’d mesmerized that afternoon. The energy just wasn’t the same.

Caleb marched up the stairs. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that to keep drawing more ghosts to the hotel he needed to work the room. Convince tonight’s guests to bring friends to the next performance. That was how they’d grown their audience from five spirits to the crowd they’d pulled in this evening. Unfortunately his heart just wasn’t in it tonight. The others would have to carry on without him. Delilah would be irate, but then what else was new?

Caleb stopped in his tracks when he reached the green room. A large man with a thick black beard was sitting on the couch, flipping through what appeared to be an old magazine. Caleb was taken aback to see himself posed dramatically on the cover.

“Who are you and what are you doing back here?” Was this rather imposing individual a fan? Caleb had the vaguish sense of recognition, but he couldn’t quite place the face.

“To answer your first question: I am the man who now owns this hotel. As to your second question: I was waiting for you. I confess I presumed I would have to wait longer. You seem like a man who enjoys a good party.” Caleb felt sure he’d misheard. Probably staring into the man’s intense dark eyes had momentary confused him. Or maybe the slight Russian accent had thrown him.

“You own this hotel?” That was impossible. This man was clearly a ghost. Not only could he see Caleb, but he’d gotten to the green room without being noticed. A man this size could not have snuck past anyone.

“Yes, the legal documents are right there if you do not believe me.” Caleb grabbed the papers off the table. They certainly looked official, not that he would have known if they weren’t. In life Caleb’s lawyer had handled these sorts of things.

“Ghosts can’t own hotels.” Buying buildings took money and bank accounts, even Caleb knew that much. Both things were hard to come by without a pulse. The man, however, shrugged as if it were of little matter.

“They can if they have lifers in their employ and the savvy to make the most out of the gifts death has granted us. It is remarkable the fortune one can amass, merely by spying on certain bankers, wall street day traders, and CEOs. But I did not come here to bore you with drawn out stories of my business empire. I am here to offer you the opportunity to become part of it.”

Caleb blinked. That was a surprising offer. He wasn’t sure who this man was, but if he thought Caleb would be caught dead in a business office, he had another think coming.

“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. I couldn’t imagine a more boring fate than spying on hedge fund managers for eternity.”  The man didn’t seem at all perturbed by Caleb’s denial. In fact he cracked a small smile.

“You misunderstand me. I would never dream of asking a man of your talents to waste his time skulking around boardrooms. What I had in mind was you becoming my partner in running this club.” If Caleb had had a beating heart, he was certain that offer would have made it stop.

“Club?” The giant’s smile grew another half an inch. Caleb silently cursed himself. He was being too obvious with his interest.

“Yes. The Hollywood Ghost Club. We will close this section off from the main hotel, leaving only one clandestine entrance for the VIP lifers.” Caleb’s head was spinning. It was every fantasy he’d had since returning to the land of the living. But that was impossible.

“Lifers? I thought you said it was going to be a Ghost Club.” A ghost club Caleb could understand. A more polished version of what Caleb was running now.

“Only in that it will be run and staffed by ghosts. The audience, though, will be lifers of the highest caliber who will pay handsomely for the privilege of watching you perform.” Caleb’s stomach dropped in disappointment. He should have known it was too good to be true.

“Except they won’t be able to see me or the band. You do recall the little issue of us being invisible to them?” Caleb was probably being more sarcastic than was wise, but he didn’t care. He didn’t like being teased with his dream and then having it yanked away.

“You did not seem to have any trouble being seen this afternoon.” For a long moment Caleb had no words. How did this man know about the park? Caleb hadn’t even told Delilah yet. He suddenly felt uneasy. Had this stranger been spying on him?

“That was a fluke. I don’t know how it happened.” There was no way he was mentioning Alex. He had no idea who this man was or if his stated intentions were genuine. Caleb was dead, and thus relatively safe from harm, but the boy wasn’t.

The man cocked his head to the side and Caleb had the strangest sensation he had just been tested. Whether he’d passed or failed in the stranger’s estimation was anyone’s guess.

“Mr. Covington, do not be coy. We both are aware it had to do with the child. Alex, is it not? A fine name for a boy, I think.” Caleb didn’t have blood, but he could swear he felt it drain from his face. Was that a threat? If the behemoth even considered harming Alex, Caleb would find a way to destroy him.

“What exactly are you suggesting? That I kidnap a four-year old from his bed every night so he can play with me at the club?” Caleb scrutinized the man closely, watching for any hint of ill intent. He saw none. The giant stayed in his seat, posture relaxed as he shook his large head.

“No. The opposite, in fact. One of the conditions of you accepting this deal would be your ending your association with the child.” The gears turning in Caleb’s mind ground to a halt. Whatever direction he’d assume the conversation would take, it hadn’t been that.

“Excuse me?” End his association with Alex? That was...unthinkable. He felt like hitting the stranger for even suggesting it. Odd because he wasn’t generally a man given to violent impulses. Well...except where Greg Mercer was concerned, but given enough time with the man most everyone would feel that way.

“Do not worry, you do not need the child to be seen. Your connection allowed you to reveal a power that was already within you. The ability is rare, but the energy required to use it can be acquired in other ways.” Caleb was simultaneously intrigued and offended. Yes, he was desperate to learn how to be visible to lifers, but the statement seemed to imply that’s all Alex was to him.

“That’s not the only reason I spend time with Alex.” Caleb would never be so dishonest as to claim the abilities that came with the relationship weren’t a draw, but there was so much more to it than that. Alex filled a hole Caleb had never realized he’d had in him.

Once again he felt the man appraising him. Staring into his eyes as if to discover the secrets of Caleb’s soul. After a moment the giant nodded.

“You are genuinely fond of the boy. I can empathize. It is natural in circumstances like yours, but for your sake, as well as his, you must sever that connection as soon as possible.” That gave Caleb pause. The man’s tone seemed sympathetic, though Caleb was quite aware of how easy that was to fake.

“Why?” What harm could possibly be done to either of them? Alex strengthened Caleb, he was sure of it. He brought him peace and joy. And hadn’t Caleb improved the child’s life as well? Hadn’t he prevented Alex’s father from grinding his son down? Hadn’t he arranged for the boy to pursue his own passions? Hadn’t he taught Alex about music and more importantly about self-confidence?

“What do you know about ‘unfinished business’?” Caleb frowned, unsure where this was heading.

“I’m told the reason ghosts don’t ‘cross over’ when they die is that there is something they left undone in their lifetimes. If they complete whatever task they need to, then they vanish, to whatever awaits them on the other side.” Caleb suppressed a shudder. Crossing over was something he had absolutely no interest in. Even if his parents had been wrong and hellfire wasn’t waiting for him, what was the best he could hope for? It wasn’t like he had anyone potentially waiting for him. Anyone he missed and wanted to be reunited with. What else could heaven hold for him? Wings? A harp? An eternity of serenity? Caleb would pass on that fate, thank you very much.

“Precisely. I do not know what your unfinished business may be, but I can tell you with certainty it is connected to your Alex. The more time you spend with him, the more you risk your existence. Even if that weren’t a concern, you do understand the boy is a lifer. He will eventually die and at present you have no way of ensuring he will return as a ghost.”

Caleb felt his throat close up. The man was right. Alex would die. That shouldn’t be news to Caleb. Intellectually he must have known it, and yet he had never considered it. Alex was so young and Caleb hadn’t really spent much time pondering his own immortality.

Ghosts were uncommon. The small number he’d found in LA told him that. He could be grieving Alex for millennia. Suddenly Caleb remembered something the man said and latched onto it like a drowning man to a buoy.

“At present?” What did that mean? Was it possible to ensure Alex would return as a ghost when he died?

“I can teach you how to bind his soul to yours so that when he does pass on, he will be tethered to you, here in this plane. In the end you’ll have everything you want.”

Caleb thought he’d been tempted before, but now he understood the expression ‘I’d give my right arm for _________.’ A club of his own. A live audience. Alex with him forever.

But he would have to leave him. Leave Alex. He’d miss everything. Watching Alex grow from boy to man. Caleb would be unable to celebrate his successes with him. He  would be barred from consoling Alex through his hardships. He’d have to look in Alex’s tearful face and tell him he wasn’t ever coming back.

“I can’t. I can’t just abandon him. It would break his heart.” No. He couldn’t do that. Nothing was worth that.

“What if I told you I could take that pain from him? Lock the memories of you away in his mind. Let him live a normal life. He would not have to grieve you, and when the time is right you could open that box and be joyfully reunited.”

Caleb tried to think rationally, but it was difficult with the pain emanating from his chest. Alex forgetting Caleb would hurt Caleb deeply, but would it hurt Alex? You can’t miss what you’d don’t remember. And loath as Caleb was to admit it, the man wasn’t wrong about a ‘normal life.’

Typically Caleb scoffed at the term ‘normal’, but he was aware it was what most people wanted. By staying in Alex’s life, Caleb would be denying the boy any hope of that. If the incident at the park was any indication it was already creating tension between Alex and his peers. It would only get worse as the boy got older. Forcing Alex to keep a secret of this magnitude would eat at him. The cookie incident was proof of that fact.

He couldn’t decide. He needed time to think. Time to determine if the offer was even genuine.

“Why me? I’m sure there have been other performers over the years who would have leapt at this offer.” How many people had they asked before him? Why had they turned it down? What had happened to them after they did?

“Los Angeles has seen many talented ghosts, but you have more than just talent. You also have intelligence, ambition, and power. It is a rare combination. We have been looking to establish a club here in Hollywood for some time, but we needed someone special to run it.”

Caleb pondered that ringing endorsement for a moment. How much was true and how much was the man blowing smoke up his ass? Intelligence and ambition? In less than a year Caleb had managed to lay the foundation for a ghost business. His was the only such place in town. Objectively he had to admit that spoke to his drive. Power? He’d discovered for himself his abilities were unusual, especially for a ghost as young as he was. The club only worked if lifers were able to watch the performances. If the man was to be believed Caleb had the ability to make that happen. Perhaps the man was being sincere after all.  

“Are there other Ghost Clubs?” The way the man spoke suggested he’d struck this arrangement at least once before. Los Angeles was relatively young in comparison to other cities around the world. Surely some of them had to have established clubs already in place.

“Rome. Paris. London, Madrid. Moscow. Berlin. Buenos Aires. Tokyo. Hong Kong. Cairo. Athens. The list goes on. Ghost Club performers routinely swap venues. You can travel the world. Be worshipped by fans from every major country.” It was funny he hadn’t even considered travelling since rematerializing in LA. Now that it was offered to him though, it was an extremely tempting prospect. There had to be a catch. Things that were too good to be true usually were.

“You said there was more than one condition. What were the others?” The big man motioned Caleb to sit opposite him. He’d never stood when Caleb had entered and had let Caleb have the physical high ground up until this moment. Was that deliberate? Allowing Caleb to feel more secure? In control of the situation? This though, suggested they had entered a new phase. The business deal.

“The second is very simple. If you come across any exceptionally powerful spirits, you contact us. We are always on the lookout for new talent.” Caleb nodded once. The request made sense. It wasn’t like there were ghost Help Wanted ads. Some kind of headhunting model would be the only way a ghost organization could find suitable personnel. Caleb himself must have reported by someone, and now he was being offered the opportunity of an afterlife.  

“What else?” There had to be more to it than simply picking up the phone from time to time.

“The third condition is that you will take responsibility for the ghosts of Los Angeles.” Caleb was not thrilled with the sound of that.

“In what respect?” Was he supposed to be some kind of undead mayor? Hear grievances. Mitigate petty squabbles? Where was he supposed to find the time, not to mention the patience, if he was running the club?

The man steepled his fingered and fixed Caleb with a penetrating stare. He tried not to be intimidated, but it was unsettling.

“It is crucial to the survival of all ghosts that we remain urban legends. Myths. Stories the world at large scoffs at. We can not afford to become a widely acknowledged reality.” Caleb raised his eyebrows. That didn’t jibe with what he’d already been told.

“You said the guests of the club would be lifers.” If they didn’t know the performers were ghosts, then why would they pay such extravagant fees?

“Select lifers, yes, but we have ways of ensuring their silence. The public at large can not gain proof that we are as real as they are. It would be a disaster. History has proven time and time again that whenever two groups come into contact with one another it only ends one way. War. Sometimes even extinction of one of the sides.” Caleb couldn’t argue with that thinking. Hating the other was something humanity always seemed to excel at.

“What would I be expected to do?” Hopefully the man had the means to enforce this code, because nothing in Caleb’s current repertoire would be much good subduing another ghost.

“Deal with any ghosts who threatens to expose us. How will be up to your discretion as long as the issue is contained. There are skills I will teach you to bring recalcitrant spirits to heel. No one minds a little innocent haunting. A light switch flickering. The car horn beeping. But things on a larger scale, for insistence on your little performance today, would need to be curtailed.”  

That gave Caleb pause. It hadn’t crossed his mind that he’d already broken the man’s policy. Twice actually if you counted his possession of Greg Mercer. He pondered mentioning that incident, then decided against. If the man didn’t know, Caleb wasn’t going to risk the deal by telling him.

“Anything else?” The third condition would be a hassle, but considering what he would be getting in return, it was worth the price.

“One last thing. We would need to establish a soul link.” That sounded very new age, but Caleb suspected it was not.

“What is that?” The giant leaned forward, somehow sensing Caleb’s reluctance despite his poker face. Perhaps this was the least attractive condition for the other potential club owners as well. Undoubtedly it was why he saved it for last.

“It is an energy channel. I put my mark on you and I have the ability to tap into your energy reserves if necessary. You, in turn, will establish your own links with less powerful spirits and be able to siphon some of their energy.” Caleb suddenly had an image of the symbol that had appeared on Alex’s head when Caleb had kissed him. Had he already forged one of these ‘soul links’? His stamina had increased since that day. Was that as a result of his constant practicing, or had he been unintentionally stealing energy from Alex?

“Do they hurt?” Alex hadn’t experienced any pain, if anything he’d seemed comforted by it.

“They can be uncomfortable when they are first laid. Beyond that, it is about intention. The kind I will establish with you and that you will make with your fellow performers will be unnoticeable most of the time. It’s only when you draw on an extreme amount of energy that those with your mark will feel any effects. This is why it is important to have as many soul links as possible. The more ghosts, the less power each has to contribute.”

That made sense. Alex usually became sleepy after Caleb performed tricks for him, but Caleb had just assumed it was because he was a young growing boy who needed naps.

“But there are other kinds of links?” The ‘intention’ comment hadn’t escaped Caleb. Caleb’s intention had been benevolent when he’d kissed Alex, ergo his mark shouldn’t harm the boy. That was comforting. What wasn’t comforting was the implication that marks could hurt ghosts.

“It is possible to lay marks that will drain a spirit’s energy completely.” Completely? What did that mean?

“What happens to those spirits?” What happened when a ghost’s energy reached zero?

“They are completely absorbed by the mark-layer.” Dead. That’s what the man was saying. Ghosts could kill each other. Perfect. So much for his earthly cares being over.

“Sounds a bit like ghost cannibalism.” The giant nodded, as if conceding the point.

“I suppose it does. However, there are dangerous spirits in the world and sometimes extreme measures are necessary to deal with them.” Caleb finally understood. Not only was he potentially going to one day face spirits that could end his existence, he was expected to be ready and willing to do the same to them.

“I see.” Caleb couldn’t help but feel doubt. Before this had been a hard decision, but now it was an impossible one. Caleb had no idea if he could hold up his end of the deal if he accepted. He was many things, but a killer? He just didn’t know.

“I’m sure this is very overwhelming, but think about what you’ll be getting out of this bargain. Your own club, designed exactly to your specifications. A suite in this hotel all to yourself where no lifer or ghost will ever trespass. The opportunity to perform before packs houses around the globe. The chance to one day spend an eternity with your Alex. Not to mention the opportunity to learn tricks like this.”

The man waved his hand and suddenly Caleb’s wardrobe had completely changed. Gone was his magician’s garb, which after wearing it for most of the year, even Caleb was a bit tired of. Instead he found himself in a very familiar looking black suit. It wasn’t contemporary, but from Caleb’s time. There was even a pocket watch. He looked down at the magazine on the table. Of course. He’d worn this suit in the photo shoot.

The giant wasn’t done. Another wave of his hand and two brandy glasses appear on the table. Caleb blinked. That was new. Moving an existing object was one thing but conjuring drinks and, dare he hope, food was quite another.

“May I?” Caleb nodded at the glasses. He’d eaten and drunk nothing since his death. The need wasn’t there anymore, but the longing was.

“Of course.” The man picked his own glass and raised it. Caleb followed suit. “Do smerti!”

They clicked their drinks and Caleb sipped. It was exactly as he remembered. The taste. The warm feeling spreading through his limbs. Incredible.

“What did that toast mean?” He was fairly certain it was Russian, but beyond that he had no clue.

“‘To death.’ Typically my people toasted to heath, but in our cases, ‘death’ seemed more appropriate. What do you say Mr. Covington? Will you accept my deal?”

It was a lot, everything he’d learned in the last few minutes. Everything he’d been offered. He appreciated how the man had answered all his questions. He’d been as upfront about the drawbacks as he had the incentives.

“I’d say it’s an offer I can’t refuse.”  Perhaps if he were another type of man he’d walk away from this opportunity. Be satisfied with what he had, and accept its limitations. Caleb, however, was not that type of man and never had been. He’d risk anything if it meant he could have everything.

“Excellent.” The man extended his hand to Caleb and after only a moment’s pause Caleb took it. The moment his hand made contact, he felt a brief burning sensation on his wrist. When he pulled back to look, he saw a dark red circle and within the circle what seemed to be an upside down capital L followed by an uppercase P. Odd. After a few seconds it sunk into his wrist and disappeared. Caleb rubbed the spot, the pain fading as quickly as it had come.

“It just occurred to me. We’ve just established this ‘soul link’ and I don’t even know your name.” The man grinned wider than he had at any other point in the conversation. Caleb suddenly had the unnerving impression that it was less of a smile, and more of a wolf baring its teeth.

“Grigori. Gregori Yefimovich Rasputin.”

[chaoticsoulsword]

Talking about objectification does make a difference: an MCU/Marvel comics analyze regarding female representation

Oh, comic books. A lovely media that reaches from children’s imagination to adulthood’s conflicts in a world of fantasy. Only it isn’t this bed of roses.

Considering the chronology of this industry inserted in a historical context, it is possible to point out that women have always been an important part of the success of comics books. They started producing comic strips which evolved to publishing houses that we would know later as famous stamps such as DC and Marvel Comics. The market was almost based on equality between genders and many women worked to build what we know today as the comic book industry.

But it all changed during World War II, when most men left the USA in order to serve, which included artists, writers, pencilers and so on. Women managed to take care of publishing houses, producing and selling their works. But when the war was over, a wave of conservadorism stroke american culture. Women were expelled from their jobs in order to regain old costumes like taking care of children and their husbands. In other words, sexism at its finest.

That said, it is important to understand the history of the comic book industry for, firstly, many conservative men believe this is a place exclusive for them. It’s not. Women helped founding it and were miserably expelled by a thing called sexism. Secondly, with few women in the field, men tended to portray female characters as they seemed fit, which is clearly a position of privilege. And that’s when things started to go bad.

Usually portrayed as s//e//x symbols, wearing bodysuits and posing with impossible elasticity in order to show both chest and hips, female heroes were nothing more than killing machines and/or a resource to satisfy male audience. Frank Miller himself once admitted he loves the “femme fatale” troupe, which is why he conceived Elektra the way she is. 

Make this experiment: pick up some 80′s/90′s comic book with female heroes and pay attention at what they are wearing or how they are positioned on panels. You’re probably gonna find a situation that fits this description. Maybe you can even find it in 2000′s ones: for instance, titles with Spider-Woman or Ms. Marvel before she changed her alias to Captain Marvel.

But we’re not living in that age anymore. Technology and globalization allowed women to question their image in media, including comics books. Marvel has been trying to bring those women back to their field and are very concerned about women’s representation in their stories. But did this attitude come only by readers’ demand? Hardly.

The most important part of this demand came from the Marvel’s Cinematic Universe (MCU). They started this linked universe targeting the maximum audiences as possible in order to join new and old fans to their brand. Within their aims, there are children and women as well, which means they simply can’t ratify objectification as a pattern in this kind of media. The MCU has also the purpose of inspiring children to admire heroes.

In times when we debate how women have been portrayed across the decades, it is of utmost importance how young girls will look after their heroes. Not ladies in distress, not princesses without determination anymore. We want women with personalities, dreams, strength, and most importantly, not as objects. Not with perfect bodies, limited to their “womanly” clothes and behaviors forced into their subjectivities and attitudes.

And the producers are finally listening. Obviously, industries follow the language of money. And since this debate is in and pleases their targets, bringing profit and good feedback, it is expected to result in change. Unless you’re a close-minded old executive with conservative ideas. But no matter. The MCU is delivering results not only in cinemas, but also in comics. And that’s where I intend to get to.

As you can see throughout the pics in this post, my intention was to show this pattern:

comics before live-action adaption > live-action adaption > comics after live-action adaption

For instance, all the Guardians of the Galaxy were reformulated in order to bring the team to the MCU. Gamora would never appear with only a strip over her chest and be a fighter. Everyone knows this is quite impossible. And this change was reflected on her outfit in comics.

Of course, there are exception on both sides. Captain Marvel was the first to leave behind the bodysuit and become a hero based on strength and sheer will, not appearance. Spider-Woman had her outfit changed during the All-New, All-Different Marvel era, whose intention was precisely to reformulate old concepts. In other words, they didn’t depend on the MCU to earn proper representation. On the other hand, in comics, some female heroes are still submitted to objectified outfits, such as Moondragon, She-Hulk, and especially Emma Frost and Psylocke, who were brought to life through the X-men universe and still remain the same.

There is still a long road to follow. But there is the perspective of change. And this is why it’s so important to talk about how we wish to be seen in cinema, tv shows and comics.

Captain Marvel (and Wonder Woman, although I’m limited to Marvel in this post) was just the beginning. As children can see themselves in minorities, like Miles Morales, T’Challa, Amadeus Cho, Sam Alexander and so on, now girls can also be part of this world, especially when these heroes they are real enough to be admired and loved. Kamala Khan, Squirrel Girl, Ghost-Spider, Nico Minoru, Karolina Dean and so on.

We’re taking our places back and this is a good thing.

[allmight-amiright]

Biggest Fan. Todoroki Shouto

Request: Paparazzi by Lady Gaga ft. Todohoeki (not direct quote but close enough)

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: Dark themes.  Stalking.  Murder.  Yandere character

Notes: I’m still weak that you called him Todohoeki and I haven’t stopped calling him that since.  MORE IMPORTANTLY: FAMOUS MUSIC ARTIST!READER AU

He had been there from the beginning.  You was one of the ones who tuned in to every live stream, left comments and likes on all of your social media posts.  He would leave you really kind dms and tagged you in posts when called for.  He did everything every other fan did.  To be honest, he had now become another username in the notifications.  You cared for all of your fans, but you finally made it big in the music industry and with the big influx of fans, you just didn’t have as much time for the personal interactions like you used to.  Those who had been there from the start were so glad that you were finally getting the recognition they thought you deserved.

Well, most of them were. 

Todoroki Shouto missed the attention from you.  He missed having conversations with you during your live streams, seeing you laugh and smile at his comments.  He missed seeing the Instagram notifications like “@y/u/n liked your comment” and “@y/u/n replied to your comment” and the soft sounds of Twitter alerting him of a new message from you.  The two of you, in his mind, had become really good friends and he thought that there was a spark hidden somewhere in those private messages.  

You were his everything.  You were his wallpaper on his phone.  He had photos of you hung up around his room.  Your albums were the only thing he listened to.  He had blogs dedicated to you, all of your official merchandise, fan-made merchandise.  If you were in anyway associated with it, he probably had it.  

The alarm on his phone went off, alerting him that it was time for your weekly live stream.  He always tried to be early so he could have some time with you, just the two of you and a few other people, just like the old days.  He logged onto Twitch, selecting your profile and patiently waiting for you to go live.  Minutes passed until your face showed up on the screen of his laptop.  

“Hi, everyone!  Yes, jamie_tries, I know I’m late,” you say with a laugh.  “I may have gotten a little distracted by Say Yes To The Dress, but the episode is over, so I’m here- No, chat, I’m not getting married.  I just like watching other people get married.  Anyway, I asked you guys yesterday to submit some fun questions over on Twitter for today’s stream, so while people still join, I’m going to pull up some of the ones that I had saved.”

You pulled your phone out.  Todoroki narrowed his eyes at your phone case.  You had changed it since your last stream.  It was no longer the one with the black flowers, but instead you changed it to a sleek black case.  That’s not what put him off though.  It was the letter on the case that threw him for an unwanted loop.  There was nothing that started with the letter J in your brand nor did have anything to do with your life, so why was there a yellow J on your phone case?

Your eyes flit down to the chat where everyone else is asking the same questions Todoroki is and you laugh slightly, hiding the initial with your hand.  “It was a gift from a friend.  They thought they were funny when they gave me their initial.”

Your best friend’s name was Ashley.  Todoroki didn’t know any of your friends that had a J name.  He opened another tab, bringing up all of your social media pages.  He scrolled through all of your following and followers, compiling a list of users that had the letter j anywhere in their username.  It was a deep dive and he was barely paying attention to your stream, but this was important.  He needed to figure out who was threatening to steal you away from him.  After an hour, he had list narrowed down to a few mutuals that he was suspicious of: an old high school classmate named Jason, the nephew of your producer named Justin, a backup dancer named Jasper, Jake the sound guy, and Johnny who was Ashley’s distant cousin.  The frustration began to build in his chest, knuckles turning white as the grip on his pen tightened with each passing moment of not knowing the truth.  He was your biggest fan.  He was supposed to know everything about you.  He was supposed to meet you in person at your next concert and you would look him in the eyes, say, “No way! You’re @scream-and-shouto!  I’m so glad to finally meet you!”  He would ask you out to dinner.  You would obviously say yes.  The two of you would date and then would eventually have a grand wedding in your favorite place on the planet.  You would start a family together and live the fairytale life that he had planned for you.  

But none of that was going to happen with this J person in the picture.  

J was a boyfriend, obviously.  It didn’t take a genius to figure that out.  The way your cheeks turned the most adorable shade of pink at the mention of the phone case alluded to that easily enough.  

The phone case started a whole new chapter in his life that he never intended to get this out of hand.  He was at every single one of your concerts while you were out on tour, following you at a distance that wouldn’t be seen as suspicious by most people.  He would wait down the hall from your hotel room every time you were there, waiting to see if anyone other than you came in or out of the room.

After the sixth tour destination, you started acting differently.  You were constantly looking over your shoulder and you tended to walk with a larger group of your dancers rather than just one or two.  You would lead the group twenty minutes out of the way to get wherever you were going.  You were skiddish at even the slightest noises and if a fan stopped you in the streets you kept the conversation short, obviously wanting to get away quickly, eyes darting every which way as you hurridly took a selfie with the fan and gave them a hug.  It wasn’t like you to brush your fans off.  You were scared.  Todoroki didn’t know what had you so spooked, but he was going to find out if it was the last thing he did.  He was going to keep you safe, no matter the consequences.  

It was the ninth stop on the tour before anyone said anything to him.  He was sitting at a table across the restaurant from your group when one of them got up from their chair and walked over.  The man cleared his throat.  “Can I sit?”

Todoroki’s eyes narrow, but he nods anyway.

“What’s your name, man?” the man asks.

“Why are you interested?”

“Listen, we know that you’ve been following us.  I don’t know what magazine you’re working for, but this is ridiculous.  You’re not going to dig up any dirt on Y/N.  Honestly, you’re starting to freak them out more than anything.  So, could you maybe lay off?  Y/N isn’t used to being followed by the paparazzi yet.”

It wasn’t until the tenth stop that the news came out about one of your back up dancers being found murdered in a hotel bath tub.  It was the tenth stop when Todoroki Shouto became a suspect in a homicide.  It was that tenth stop when he finally got to talk to you.  

Was the situation ideal?  No.  He never imagined his first real conversation with you to happen in your hotel room, your wrists tied to the arm rests of a chair, your boyfriend bleeding out on the hotel bed.  Tears streamed down your face, silent from terror as Todoroki stood in front of you, the shard of broken mirror that was stained red with blood still dangling from his fingers.  

His thumb traced your face, wicking away tear drops and leaving behind streaks of blood.

“Shh, princess.  Don’t cry,” he whispered, holding your chin lovingly in his hand.  Despite his words, the tears continued down your face.

“What do you want from me?  I have money.  Just please, don’t hurt me,” you whimper.

Todoroki is taken aback.  He would never hurt you and the fact that you would ever think he would, made his heart break. “Y/N, princess, I would never hurt you.  That’s the last thing I would ever do to you.  I love you, princess.  All I want to do is protect you from all of those bad people out there in the world, okay?”  The restraints are removed from your wrists and he pulls you to your feet.  He tugs you into his chest, stroking your hair as you cry, keeping you firmly in place with his other arm. 

“I love you more than anything, princess.  Remember that, okay?  No one will ever come between us again.  It’s you and me until the end.”

[xplrvibes]

So, the fanjoy situation.

I’ve been wanting to make a post about this for a while, cause it’s something I usually think about while I’m dealing with contracts in my work life, but I was reminded of this last night by a tweet I saw aimed towards snc with regards to fanjoy.

First, let me start by saying: I am not impressed by fanjoy whatsoever.  I think the merch is overpriced for what they produce most of the time, but more importantly, their shipping methods are atrocious and they don’t seem to have a good handle on their customer service or their website (see: that whole mess the other week with them screwing up and marking snc’s entire drop as being sold out; also see: them telling snc the entire store was going to be part of the Black Friday sale when it wasn’t; also see: 8,000 other examples).  

Now, onto the point of this post: contracts.

I want to again preface this by stating: while I deal with business related contracts in my life, I am NOT a lawyer (although I took an Introduction to Law class in high school, so close enough I guess?) so take this all from the eyes of a girl with a high school diploma and a trial by fire method of learning legalese. So, don’t sue me lol lawyer joke.  Anyone wants to correct me/contribute, feel free.  

I saw a tweet where someone said that snc not immediately walking away from fanjoy proves that they only care about money, and not their fans.  I understand the fans’ frustrations, and appreciate that wholeheartedly.

That being said, I think there needs to be a better understanding of contractual obligations, and how they work.

To start: walking away from a contract.  Most contracts have “terms,” which is the length of time that the contract is legal and valid, before it expires and a new one can be negotiated/drawn up.  During the term of a contract, you are locked into that sucker, and they are NOT EASY to get out of.  Try getting out of a contract with your cable company or your landlord early without paying some sort of fine or having to sign over your first-born.  It’s not a fun process.

There is usually, of course, language added into a contract that gives you the right to terminate a relationship early with “due cause,”-but due cause is normally extremely difficult to prove and there is usually a long, drawn-out process, even then, of having the contract broken.  It costs money, it costs time, it can get ugly...it’s not a pleasant process.  Honestly speaking, it is so much more easy to “suck it up” and “stick it out” for the life of the term and then dip to another company once the contract is up than it would be to get out of one.

Now: trash talking a company you are in a contract with.  This is the ultimate no-no of all the no-no’s to ever no-no.  There is language in every contract about never talking publicly in a disparaging manner about whatever company you are working for.  There is also language in the contracts about keeping the legal terms of the contract to yourself (that’s called confidentiality, and it is a BIG DEAL).  Talking trash could be a breech of the contract and could result in legal ramifications.  You do NOT want to breech a contract.  No matter what is going on, no matter how bad the company is screwing up, you put a smile on your face and act like everything is hunky dory to the public.  That’s probably why Jake kept his opinions to his membership discord (although they got leaked, so bad for him) and a few very vague tweets and deletes.  That’s why snc do not comment on the stuff fans say about fanjoy.  Contractually, they cannot risk it.

Onto pricing.  I don’t know much about the entertainment industry, so this is a bit of a speculation on my part.  But all contracts have the pricing pre-negotiated, and built into the contract itself.  This is to protect the signee from rates being significantly raised during the term of the contract (again-see your cable company for example).  I imagine with a merch company vendor, there is a percentage built into the contract: ie, how much of a cut the merch comapny takes, vs how much the lawyers/promotional team/management team/talent take.  I also wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t have something in there that specifies the actual pricing of the drops would be determined based on public interest/number of units produced and sold/how in depth the designs are to create.  

They may also have it in there that they have to produce x amount of drops in a year to satisfy the contract.  In fact, I would not be surprised by that at all, as most contracts have a service level/expected volume built in as well.  The merch company wants to ensure they are making money right, so to do that, you have to ensure the merch machine never stops rolling.  So an agreed upon annual produced volume seems a foregone conclusion. 

Speaking of the merch: licensing. Another area I cannot claim to know about, but one that I know is very prevalent in the entertainment industry.  The merch company most likely owns the rights to the images being produced on the merch itself.  That would mean the X, the catchphrases (Never Normal, Take Chances, etc)...all of it.  Hell, they were able to successfully slap copyright claims on fans selling Sam and Colby fanart, and that only had snc’s faces on them!  So by that, I assume they own the rights to sell snc’s likeness and image as well.  Now, while I’m sure this is something they can work out with the merch company should they ever choose to walk, it is also just as likely that they could stand to walk away without their current logos and catchphrases, and have to start over somewhere else (for an example of this, see what happened to Conan O’Brien when he left NBC back in 2009, or see any pro-wrestler in history who had their change their name and entire image when they left the WWE).  So again...why risk it? 

So, all of that being said: I get it.  Fanjoy sucks.  We’d love for all of the creators to move ship and go somewhere better.  But to get mad at them for not immediately jumping on the “fuck fanjoy” train and riding off to another company with their middle fingers in the air and all of their merch designs in the backseat of the Corolla is just...not feasible.  

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, I guess?

[migleefulmoments]

The CC fandom is basically just one giant neverending fan tantrum about not getting their own way. Collectively, they have written hundreds of thousands of pathetic words pointing out all the ways Darren isn't fulfilling their predictions and Mia being the cause of that, but too ensconced in their lies to stop and realize the very fact they have to keep churning out these word vomit posts revising reality means they are chronically wrong about EVERYTHING. That's the only 'sham mockery' here.

YES YES YES YES YES! 

Darren continues to disappoint Abby and everyone else has no idea who to think so they just word vomit whatever it is Abby is pissed about. Today is a perfect example -Abby is seething in a rage because Darren dared to look HOT AF in a disheveled look but Abs loves Blarren and she COULD. NOT. SEE. Blarren last night...anywhere.  She’s consoling herself by pointing out he isn’t happy in any photo (of course she’s wrong, he’s just giving a neutral face).

It’s a shit show over there as they are also being full misogynists. They are blaming Ashley for Darren’s look which Abby hates (hence they all do) and even criticizing Mia because she looks great (“best ever” according to Abby) but since Darren looks frumpy, Mia missed the memo and so it’s her fault. For anyone not aware of how stylists work- they pull together outfits for the celebrity to try on but in the end, it is the celebrity who chooses the final look. If you hate Darren’s outfit, you have to blame Darren. 

They are soothing their anger by reassuring themselves that Darren’s “contract” with Balmain is about to end (according to them he first wore Balmain a year ago???)  Newsflash- there is no contract- Darren was never announced as a brand ambassador or part of an advertising campaign. He just likes Balmain and Olivier likes him. The Balmain jackets will be around for a long time and I love them so fuck off Abby. 

Nothing is funnier to me than reading a fashion takedown by Abby seeing as how she’s sooooo fashion-forward. Darren should fire Ashley and hire Abby.  

BTW-notice her use the wrong initials- she’s been doing that lately.

**********************

“She has had 10 years to get to know what D looks good in, there is no excuse for that outfit last night. Even if I put aside that i think it is ugly, outdated, and the t-shirt is lazy, it is all wrong for a guy of average height who has a tiny frame”

************************

Anonymous asked: I like that we are criticizing D's outfit ,( like it deserves) and someone is even doing it in an harsh way this should show to all those ready to call us mysoginists or antifeminists that they say bs, bc we criticize the outfits EVEN FOR D, when he does it wrong, like this time

Fact, D is an actor. Fact, M is a beard. Fact, both get paid to be on the RC (Neither one is paid to be on the red carpet are fucking kidding me?!?! Who do you imagine is paying them and more importantly, how do you manage they recoup those expenses and make money on a red carept? Red Carpets are for fans to feel connected to the show and therefore to watch the show. Imagine an Oscars night that was only the dry show. Fewer people would be interested hence fewer ad dollars. It’s the spectacle of the event that gets people watching. Mia is photographed mostly for Darren and Mia. The gaggle of photos takes a pic and we end up seeing 2 or 3.  They do get picked up by celeb gossip mags occasionally, but most of the time they pic the photos of Darren alone) . Fact, celebrities and others that willingly chose to be on the RC, as part of their job, open themselves up to criticism and that is true of men, women, and those who are gender fluid. Part of the job description. If you don’t want us to talk, well then, there are other jobs out there.(It doesn’t give you the right to be a looney bitch) 

D looked awful and I have called them out before (and they haven’t listened to you? I’m dumbfounded), but to me last night was the low point. There may have been worse outfits, but it is ill fighting and he looks un-kept (awww, you couldn’t find Blarren anywhere).  And it makes no sense with the projects he is promoting.(He literally is not promoting any projects yet. It’s too early.  You don’t understand promotion at all for all the shit you claim to know. When you see him making the talk show rounds that is when he is promoting. Until then he is just living his life. Just becuase you, a super fan knows what is coming up doesn’t mean he is “promoting” anything.  He went to the party becuase he goes every year.  )

******************

 Once again, they don’t match, sure they both had on black, but no one told her that for this occasion, looking like a hot mess on the RC was the way to match D. Poor Swiller, she just can’t get it right.  99% of the time, she is the hot mess but this time, she kind of got it right and his was so wrong in so many ways.

*************************

Not sure i agree with your logic and it is not that he is not smiling, he looks down right miserable.  But I don’t blame him btwn the beard on his arm and that horrific excuse of an outfit, I would guess it was not his best night out.

*************************

The good news nonnie, I hope, D first wore B/ailman at the VF party on Feb 24, 2019. Soon after he was whisked off to Qatar for the fashion show, wore it to the Met, went to Paris for the fashion concert, wore them at iHeart, and now last night.  Like a bookend to a year contract. At least i hope, because that was absolutely hideous.  It was so ill fitting, it was awful on his body, it was not flattering, the jacket is just ugly.  And while I know he did shower, he looks like he threw on clothes after a raging party and the sunglasses are to hide his bloodshot eyes. This is not the look of a man with serious projects to sell.

I am utterly disappointed in AF (what did Ashley Fink do to you?), to the point that I think she should be fired (this is fucking HILARIOUS as Darren is on the best-dressed list most of the time-so are her other clients Chadwick and Finn. Firing her because one frumpy, bitchy fan doesn’t like an outfit seems a tad shortsighted). This is utterly inexcusable at a crucial time in his career at an incredibly important event (It was a party- it’s a fun event that everyone goes to but it’s literally a party where people drink and have fun) I understand he maybe has to wear the designer (he doesn’t)  but she needs to work with the designer to create a flattering look for her client whose star is rising and who has important, big projects to promote (Big HUGE A-list celebs were fashion fails all of the time. It doesn’t ruin their careers, calm the fuck down)    He is not a rock star that hangs out with groupies all night before snorting coke to go to the next event (He is Darren and part of Darren is the rockstar look. Stop trying to make him someone he isn’t).  He is on the verge of the A list (no he isn’t) with a classic, serious dramatic play in 6 weeks (Nobody cares except the 2000 people who will see the show) with 2 well renowned, A list, award winning, serous stars (She’s an idiot)  and a series where he is selling classic HW, defined by gorgeous, well groomed, stunning male stars (Oh, honey, your wank bank is full over this isn’t?  I get why you are so sure Raymond is gay. You need them all to be gorgeous, well-groomed queer men). And is how they choose to represent him? As a man that could not be bothered to shave who looks like a wanna be rock star (Since he wore that look to his wedding I have to believe that both Darren and Mia love that look on him)?  Nope.(YEP)

[resplendentgoldenwings]

About Steven Crain

I’ve always been something of a contrarian even as a girl. If my old sister loved strawberries I loved blueberries. If she hated raisins I loved them. It was never personally I have simply always preferred to something different from what the others around me are doing.

The more different things we are doing as individuals in a group the greatest number of experiences are open to all of us. Imagine for a moment that you have a group of five people and five different paths in a forest. All the paths go to the same place, but each takes a different route. Now If all five group members take a seperate path and meet at the end of the day to share their experiences then it’s as if each member of the group has been in five different places all at once. This variety in taste and preference and response enriches us.

And so it is being this person that I am I find myself defending Steven Crain.

Over this last week I have been rewatching eipsodes of The Haunting of Hill House, limiting myself to one a day and taking it in much more slowly than the original ten hour Saturday binge. And in this second watch not only do I find myself not hating Steve I am actually find him a likeable and flawed character much like his siblings and pretty much every other human being in existence.

Spoilers follow.

It is very much Shirely’s response to Steve in the very first episodes that I think heavily influences fandom’s general opinion of the character and his actions. Shirely calls Steve selfish,accusing him of being a poor elder brother and insists that she is the one to take care of everything. Yet the actions of the rest of the family demonstrate something different.

The flashbacks of Nell, Luke and Theo show us a Steve that is caring and heavily involved in the lives of his younger siblings while Shirley actually features very little, except you know to make Luke leave his twin sister’s wedding so she believes he wasn’t there for her. Moving right along.

Steve is the very first person Nell calls when she reaches her breaking point, she calls Shirely when she can’t get ahold of him. When she finally speaks to her father her father directs her back to her eldest brother and then calls Steve immediately despite the late hour.

Now to be fair it was partially because she lived closest to Steve, but it’s telling that Hugh doesn’t pay Steve’s objections any attention or even know that Steve and Leigh are seperated; Nell can’t go to his house because he no longer lives there. Steve’s support and availability are taken for granted by the dad and the rest of the family.

When Steve finally does return to his apartment he finds Luke robbing him. He doesn’t react with anger, he gives Luke more money and let’s him keep some of the stolen items. He also doesn’t challenge Luke’s statement that the money isn’t for drugs. Instead he asks Luke if he’s cold, because he remembers that Luke told him feeling cold is a symptom of withdrawal, such a small detail of his brother’s life to recall two months after they discussed it.

When Luke has actually earned a day pass after completing a month of rehab he doesn’t visit Shirley or Theo or his own twin instead he choses to take Joey, an important friend to have dinner with Steve and his wife. Like Nell Luke knows that it is Steve he can reach out too  --not Shirely despite her insistence-- no matter how many times he messes up.

They do argue during this visit, but it is only as Steve rather adroitly points out that Luke should be wary of Joey, because she might burn him, which of course she does. To be fair he did it in a very irritating elder sibling way, but again it comes from a place of caring and Steve wanting Luke to succeed.

Even Hugh seems to lean heavily on the eldest Crain sibling, because it is Steve who is with Hugh at the lawyer’s office when they are children. Iit is Steve who has to hear his father say that he won’t fight to keep his kids with him and he won’t take any of the steps the lawyer is advising to keep the family together.

This seems less and less like the actions of a man who only looks out for himself and more and more like someone whose support, care and availabilty are so consistent that it is always taken for granted by his family. This is so much the case that they can rage at him about his book, calling him names, embarassing him in front of his fans and he still gives them the promised royalties and shows up when they need him.

Now about that book. I can’t even bring myself to condemn him for writing it. Now his siblings have every right to be angry at him because they don’t like being portrayed as mentally ill, but let’s pause here. Unaware of the supernatural events around him Steven Crain sees him mother succumb to mental illness and depression and kill herself. In this time of crisis his father provides absolutely no leadership for the family whatsoever and he watches Theo, Nell and Luke sink further into various mental illness as they age. 

Luke becomes addicted to drugs,Nell struggles with deppresion, PTSD and perhaps other symptoms to the point that no one is suprised by the idea that she went back the house and killed herself as well. And even though Theo functions she is completely, emotionally walled off from everyone she loves. 

Steve percieves a family in crisis, people that he loves in crisis and no one is doing anything about it. No one wants to name the illness, no one wants to get help. 

Now since his family has been so scarred by what happened at Hill House he writes a book about it and uses that money to get all of them a better fucking life. They may not have healed from the tragic events that took place there, but the story can pay for all of their dreams Shirely’s funeral home and her charity cases, Theo’s Ph.D and subsequently her practice, Luke trying over and over again to go for rehab and Nell’s therapy and pretty much anything else she wanted. 

The fact that Steve had  a vascetomy is perhaps one of the most telling things about his character. It tells us first and foremost that he sincerely believes what that the family is ill and in need of help, but more importantly it also show just how deeply affected by the events at Hill House he is.

Of all the children Steven Crain is the eldest he would have the strongest, clearest memories of not only his mother, but his entire family before that summer and so he can most clearly mourn for who they were, the promise of who could have become before that summer at Hill House. And I think he just could not bear the idea of having a child and watching them sucumb the way his mother did and the way his siblings seem to be.

And this is also yet another thing that no one else in his family seems to know about him.

The younger siblings feel a certain ownership of the family’s experience at Hill House. Steve is excluded from this in spite of the fact that he was there, he witnessed it and was as deeply affected by what happened as the rest. It silently tragic that his understanding of the events seperates him from his family as surely as Theo’s walls seperate her from everyone that she loves.

Steve isn’t perfect none of the Crain siblings are they all do crappy things to each other and make mistakes, this is the inevitability of life. But I think if you simply dismiss Steve as selfish or gaslighting his siblings you're missing out on a huge chunk of the characters and a huge chunk of the story.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

What if Star Wars had tanked?

May 1977, 20th Century Fox distributes a really WEIRD movie.  It’s a science fiction fantasy story about medieval knight samurais in space with laser swords and fighter pilots.  Nobody expected it to be a hit, it seemed to be such a niche movie, one that would garner a small cult following then be swept under the rug by the other summer tent poles like “Smokey and the Bandit” or “The Spy Who Loved Me.”  To everyone’s surprise, it became an instant success, rocketing no name George Lucas from a no-name bush-league indie director into the echelon of A-list Blockbusters.  His idea for a decade spanning six part saga (two sequels, three prequels) was greenlit then and there, and the budget for Star Wars 2, now called Star Wars 5, was double what he was given for the original.  Star Wars 1, nor 4, was given the subtitle “A New Hope” to let audiences know it was just the beginning of a series, and the rest is history.

But in 1977, George Lucas was not as confident in his vision as he would soon become.  He figured, as every producer did, that his film would be a flash in the pan genre piece, something that would play in theaters just long enough to make it’s budget back, then disappear into obscurity.  In 1976, he planned for the worst.

Star Wars, like many other films of the day, was being given a novelization.  Before home media became ubiquitous, the only way people could experience the film was to see it in theaters or buy the book version.  Lucas hired a ghostwriter, Alan Dean Foster, to write the novelization of Star Wars 1, AND to create a tentative Star Wars 2 that could be adapted to the screen if the original film failed to meet his high expectations.  Star Wars 2, titled “Splinter of the Minds Eye,” was written to be as low budget as possible; no big set pieces, and for that matter no big sets.  Every scene had to take place in a set that the studio already owned, and couldn’t include any major space battles because there was no guarantee that the special effects would fit into the budget.  On top of that, it meant that none of the characters played by big name actors would be included; no Harrison Ford, no Alec Guinness.  Splinter was a bare bones story set entirely on what would essentially become Dagobah, and would have taken the franchise in an entirely different direction.  None of the story elements from Lucas’ dream sequel were included, and none of the plot twists either; there is no connection between “Splinter of the Mind’s Eye” and “Empire Strikes Back,” and in fact, once Empire was released, Splinter was relegated to secondary canon because the official sequel had overidden it so the story no longer made sense.

But if Star Wars 1 had flopped, Splinter of the Mind’s Eye would have been made into the official sequel, and the story would have had to pick up where it left off; Lucas didn’t plot out a low budget version of Star Wars 3, so we can only speculate as to what may have happened.

In Splinter, Luke and Leia are going on a diplomatic mission to convince some neutral star systems to join the rebellion.  Their ship crash lands on a backwater swamp planet (called Mimban, a name eventually used for the World War I trench planet in the Disney movie Solo), which is roughly analogous to the Dagobah we saw in Empire.  Stranded on the swamp planet, Luke and Leia find their way to an imperial mining colony, get into a scuffle, and escape with the help of a Jedi witch named Halla.  The titular “splinter of the mind’s eye” is a broken fragment of a magical crystal, because this was the 1970s and crystals were a big thing in fantasy (the splinter was called the kaiburr crystal; this name would later be re-purposed in canon as the crystals used for lightsaber and Death Star laser construction).  The splinter is said to focus the force, allowing the wielder to become more powerful or something; it’s a MacGuffin, the book is vague as to what it actually physically does.  After a confrontation with locals, and a duel with none other than Darth Vader (in which Leia wields a lightsaber and Luke cuts off Vader’s whole arm), Halla takes over the role of Luke���s mentor to train him in the ways of the Force.

At this point in the series, Luke and Leia were never intended to be brother and sister.  It was clearly supposed to be a chivalric romance between a knight errant and his courtly love.  He is the royal bodyguard to the Queen of Alderaan (the entire Royal Family was destroyed in Star Wars 1, so Princess Leia should by all rights have been coronated as Queen Leia).  George Lucas added the twist that they were brother and sister well into production of Empire; in fact, in Empire he shot two scenes of Leia kissing Luke (one was to make Han jealous, the other was near the end, right after she rescued Luke from cloud city; I’m glad they cut the second one, because it undermines the fact that she literally just told Han that she loves him).  Han Solo himself is mentioned in passing, not even by name, just as some pirate Luke used to know who took his reward money from the first movie and went to pay off some debts.  If this movie had been made instead of Empire, there’s no guarantee that a Star Wars 3 would even be greenlit.

But if it had been, here’s what would have happened.

Darth Vader is not Luke’s father in this version; that too was a twist Lucas invented after the series took off.  So, in this version of Star wars 3, which I will call “Revenge of the Jedi,” Luke goes on a quest to slay the evil Emperor.  It’s a fantasy movie, in any other setting the point of the franchise would be to kill the main bad guy; imagine if Lord of the Rings had ended without the heroes destroying the ring and defeating Sauron, that would have made no sense.  In this version of the story, Darth Vader is just the archetypal Black Knight; tying back into the Japanese influence on the series, he is an evil Shogun, appointed by the Emperor to be the military dictator.  There would be more emphasis on fight choreography in this version, drawing influence from the works of Akira Kurosawa.  The word Jedi comes from the word for the Japanese film genre Jidaigeki, meaning ‘period piece,’ featuring samuri and ronin (for western audiences, “Ronin” are nomadic heroes, like Clint Eastwood’s man with no name, or the Road Warrior).

Revenge of the Jedi would end with a climactic fight scene in the Emperor’s palace, with Luke battling his way through the many levels, defeating wave after wave of imperial soldiers and those red guards fans love to care about even though they do literally nothing on screen.  The prequels we got in canon were bogged down with boring politics about trade federations and unions and guilds and alliances, but politics can be interesting if done well (and written by someone who isn’t George Lucas; the original trilogy we got was good DESPITE him, not BECAUSE of him).  Revenge of the Jedi would see Leia building an army, the rebellion becoming an actual superpower in the galaxy; the New Republic wouldn’t just be restored after the Empire was defeated, it would be restored during the war with the express intent of rallying neutral systems behind an actual government body against the Emperor.

Darth Vader betrayed and murdered Luke’s father, but more importantly he committed genocide against Leia’s people, the survivors of which now live in diaspora.  Sound familiar?  “The Rebellion” isn’t a great name, but “the Alliance” is perfect because it evokes the Allies of World War II and shows that it is a galaxy-wide phenomena, not just a single splinter cell as depicted in the films in our timeline.  Luke wants to avenge his father, but if you’re insistent that the good guy isn’t allowed to kill the bad guy, you could have Vader go out the way he did in “Return of the Jedi,” turning back to the light side and sacrificing his life to kill the Emperor.  Everyone loves a redemption story, but Darth Vader really was a piece of shit and didn’t deserve to just get a free pass into Jedi Ghost Heaven because he decided to stop being evil five minutes before he died.

Maybe in this version of Star Wars 3, Harrison Ford returns for a cameo as a favor to George Lucas.  If so, he dies; Ford wanted Han to die in “Return of the Jedi,” and only agreed to do “The Force Awakens” if they finally killed him off then.  If he returns for “Star Wars 3: Revenge of the Jedi,” he will sacrifice himself for the Alliance, going out as a hero.  After the Emperor is defeated, the threat doesn’t just go away; suddenly there’s a power vacuum, with all the admirals and regional governor’s vying to replace him.  In both pre- and post-Disney Star Wars, the Emperor had a son (Triclops in Legends continuity, and Rey’s dad in Canon), so he would be heir to his father’s throne; perhaps he is propped up as a puppet for the military leaders, or maybe he surrenders to the Alliance and allows his Empire to be balkanized into dozens of independent powers, as with the fall of every great Empire; Rome (East and West), Mongolia, China, Austria-Hungary, Britain, the USSR, the list goes on.

This Star Wars trilogy would not be the enormous franchise we know today, it would still be a very niche series with a cult following.  It would be a step up from the Planet of the Apes series; sure, people have heard of it, and there have been attempts to revive it in the modern day, but it’s not even close to being a tent pole of the modern cultural zeitgeist.  Nobody looks forward to the new Planet of the Apes movie every year, it’s not a multi-billion dollar multi-media enterprise, there’s no dedicated “Planet of the Apes Celebration,” no cartoons, no streaming service shows that everyone geeks out about online, no triple-a video games, nothing.  This version of Star Wars would be just another weird artifact of the 1970s.  Maybe there would be a push to release a sequel, Star Wars 4, in like 2007, but that would be closer to Rambo IV or Superman Returns or Tron Legacy.

There are dedicated fans, but it’s not the biggest movie of the year.

Star Wars (1977)

Star Wars 2: Splinter of the Mind’s Eye (1979)

Star Wars 3: Revenge of the Jedi (1982)

Star Wars: Journal of the Whills (2011, a prequel set during the Clone Wars mentioned in the first movie)

[fortunatelylori]

Hey, GOT! Turn on the freaking lights!

I don’t know if I’ve ever talked about this on my blog but I’m from a little country in Eastern Europe called Romania. I was born and raised in Bucharest, as was all of my family dating back centuries. 

One of the most important landmarks in Bucharest is this building right here: 

It’s called the House of the People or, more recently, Parliament House. This is so huge that you simply can’t escape it. At times it feels as if the whole of Romania lives in the shadow of this structure. 

It was built by Nicolae Ceausescu, our once communist dictator. Everything about it is meant to intimidate and impress. Entire neighborhoods and monuments dating back hundreds of years were torn to the ground in order to make room for it. 

It’s impressive in all its megalomaniac glory and the inside is just as over the top. You’ve got entire rooms made of marble, with columns so high it makes you dizzy just looking up. When you enter you’re greeted by a huge staircase made of marble as well and wall high paintings of the Ceausescu spouses going about their communist life:

Looking at separate elements, there is beauty there and even artistry. Taken as a whole, it’s a fucking architectural, visual and cultural disaster. 

Now, I’m not suggesting HBO and the Ds are communist tyrants but what I am saying that that a huge amount of money, time, talent and effort is being sunk into this tv show and the results are the story telling equivalent of the House of the People. There are good things sprinkled in there but the basic structure and flow of this story has sunk to such depths that it’s hard to find the experience of watching GOT pleasurable anymore. It’s become an exercise in futility and wasted potential. 

This episode is even worse because GOT has so much money to burn that usually you can at least enjoy the production values and the visual spectacle that offers you. This episode is, unfortunately, called the “Long Night” so buckle up for an hour and a half of complete darkness, punctuated by brief flashes of human forms darting back and forth on your TV screen. So this is the equivalent of the House of the People at night, covered in thick fog, when the electricity has gone out. 

The bad news about having the episode filmed in darkness is that it’s practically impossible for you to be invested in the action since you can’t see who is doing what or what they are going through while doing it. The good news is that the story tellers will do their utmost to make sure you also don’t give a shit.

General Impressions

This episode we are fortunate enough to get a respite from David Nutter, one of the worst directors I’ve ever had the misfortune of directing tv shows I like and we are treated instead to the talents of Miguel Sapochnik. I’ve loved most of his work on GOT, with my favorite episode of his being Hardhome. And I’m sure he did a fantastic job in this episode, coordinating what is essentially an hour and a half long battle. However, since I couldn’t really see much of what was going on in the action packed sequences, I’m basing that assessment more on faith, than solid proof. 

This episode also has the distinction of completing Jon Snow’s journey into complete irrelevancy.  Jon doesn’t do much of anything of consequence. Instead he simply stumbles from one failure to another: from following D*ny in destroying the wights army instead of getting to Bran (if D*ny wanted to destroy the wights, why couldn’t Jon hop on Rhaegal to go to the Godswood? why do both of them need to be there to burn the zombies?); to his almost success in taking down wight Viserion only for it to go to nothing when the dragon is still alive and proceeds to burn down Winterfell; to charging the Night King through a field of dead bodies only for the most obvious twist of the NK raising the dead to stop him in his tracks and finally completely abandoning his ethos to protect those in need by leaving Sam to die at the hands of the wights in order to get to Bran. He, of course, never makes it to the Godswood and ends the episode jumping from behind a rock to scream at wight Viserion, without even pulling out his sword to attempt to fight back. It’s enough to make one ...

My thoughts exactly, Jon. 

What a complete and utter waste. 

Talking of wastes, we are now 3 and a half hours through this season and the Starks have yet to be together in the same room, having a conversation. All through the seasons we have waited with baited breath for these kids to be reunited. The Ds, trolls that they are, baited us with just that at the beginning of season 7, only for it to never materialize. Now they have outdone even themselves by putting the Starks under the same roof and using every trick in their troll textbook to make sure we get absolutely no satisfaction for our Stark itch. 

On top of that, we have been led to believe that these 4 people (ok, 3 since Bran is a robot now) care about each other. You’d think that they would seek each other out and at least hug before the battle that could potentially kill one or all of them. That doesn’t happen. 

I think the reason why it doesn’t happen is because the Ds felt there was no point in wasting time on that when all 4 of them were going to survive. The problem is that the audience doesn’t know that and should at least fear that they won’t survive. 

Most importantly, the characters themselves have no idea that they got a death immunity card for the greatest battle to visit this planet in 8000 years. So to have them completely forget about one another is just piss poor writing. 

The closest we get is this scene between Arya and Sansa: 

Arya: Get down to the crypt. 

Sansa: I’m not abandoning my people. 

Arya: Take this and go. 

Sansa: I don’t know how to use it. 

Arya: Stick them with the pointy end. 

This might as well be a conversation between two strangers who kind of decided they really don’t like each other very much, instead of two sisters who might never see each other again. Sansa goes as far as to refuse to leave not because she doesn’t want to leave her sister but because she doesn’t want to abandon “her people”. 

It’s not wrong of Sansa to want to stay with the people of Winterfell but it does make the conversation less poignant and emotional because there’s nothing personal about this exchange. Nor do these two even spare one tearful glace for one another. That is reserved for this scene: 

That’s where the show’s priorities lay. Why did they include this scene? Was it only to fan the flames of the Sanrion ship? I would say no. I think they’re laying the groundwork for whatever plot point Sansa and Tyrion will be involved in, which will inevitably circle back to Cersei one way or another. 

And while it was a poignant scene, I can’t help but begrudge that they gave us this at the expense of the Sansa/Arya scene or a potential Sansa/Jon scene. 

Also, a lot of people are now complaining that Sansa didn’t fight during this episode which makes her useless (the same old tired argument so no surprise there) but they completely miss the point as to why her lack of fighting is frustrating. It isn’t because Sansa didn’t turn into Xena, the warrior princess, in this episode. It’s because the Ds set up something but then didn’t follow through. Sansa received a dagger and advice on how to use it. Normally that would lead to her having to do just that, particularly when in the scene above she pulls out the very same dagger. But wouldn’t you know it? Once she stands up and charges, she does absolutely NOTHING! It isn’t that she fails. It’s that the writers didn’t even feel the need to show her try. They set up that plot point and then left it dangling with no pay off. 

There are multiple examples of this type of tepid storytelling though out the episode but I think the most glaring one is Bran. He has been building up to his confrontation with the Night King since season 1. And all of that amounted to what exactly? Bran did nothing but sit in the Godswood and wait for the NK to try to kill him. So why did he go through that entire, excruciating journey exactly? What vital information did he discover that led to the demise of the NK? What magical abilities did he posses that were crucial against his greatest foe? He didn’t even warg a dragon for Pete’s sake even though that should have been a given. 

In the behind the scenes commentary, the Ds said that the key to destroying the NK was either stabbing him directly in the spot where the COF inserted the shard of dragon glass or killing him next to the Weirwood tree, depending on what you understood by their comments. 

Either way, that information did not make it into the TV show. Bran never says that, despite having opportunity to do so during the council meeting in episode 2. So it doesn’t matter what the Ds say in interviews. If it isn’t on screen, it doesn’t exist. 

On the whole, the most frustrating part of the episode was the actual battle. Leaving aside the poor lighting, what I got form this episode is that 130.000 men (based on my super duper math skills utilized for ep 2) had absolutely no strategy and no stamina to at least attempt to fight a hoard of mindless zombies. It took all of 10 minutes for all these hardened soldiers (with one exception which we will discuss later on) to break ranks and flee for their lives. 

Also why did Jorah lead 100.000 of those men, consisting of the entire Dothraki khalasar acting as the Winterfell army’s cavalry, on a charge into the darkness of certain death? I don’t know a lot about battle strategy but I do know that when you have a key position (in this case Winterfell), you don’t charge. You wait for the enemy to come to you. And once the army broke, everyone of those people were running around like headless chickens, with no clue how to regroup or mount an effective defense of one of the most impenetrable castles in the whole of Westeros. Robb Stark must be spinning in his grave like kale in a hipster’s smoothie. Imagine what he could have been able to do with 130.000 men. 

It pains me to say this but the Night King was genuinely the only one on that battlefield who had an actual plan, could adapt to what was thrown at him (the trenches, falling off the dragon etc.) and complete his mission. He was defeated in the end but his defeat consisted not only of the unexpected in the form of Arya and her FM training but also on the lack of reaction of all the wights and the white walkers that were there which, frankly, stretches disbelief. 

PS: While sparing not one single moment for character or plot development, GOT did find the time to rip off How to Train your Dragon ... again ...

Give it up, guys. You don’t have half the vision and talent of the HTTYD squad. This just makes you look silly. 

Favorite scenes

The “Blood of my Blood” scene: 

I loved the whole sequence of D*ny and Jorah. From Jorah sweeping in like a knight in shinning armor to protect D*ny, to him getting up through multiple stab wounds because he couldn’t give up on trying to save her, to D*ny picking up a freaking sword and fighting despite not knowing how to try and defend him, to her break down over his dead body and Drogon coiling up around her to try to comfort her. 

Just looking at these gifs makes me want to cry. One of the only truly meaningful and emotional moments in the whole episode and an apt ending to the most important relationship in D*ny’s life. Kudos to Emilia and Iain on giving it their all in this scene. 

The “You’re home” scene: 

Speaking of acting chops, Alfie Allen, ladies and gentlemen! Truly one of the best actors in this cast. And this scene really brought Theon full circle. The man who didn’t feel like he belonged anywhere, who went through hell and back, who lost his humanity and clawed his way back to it, died defending the only place he’s ever known as home. Alongside the D*ny/Jorah scene, this really broke me down. Also this: 

Bran: Theon! You’re a good man. Thank you. 

cue the ugly crying right now

Just wonderful! I hope Alfie has a long career in front of him because he’s sooo good. 

The “Final atonement” scene: 

The reason why I loved Mel’s death scene so much is because it brings to completion the burning of Shrieen. Despite her religious fantaticism and her ruthlessness, sacrificing that little girl did take it’s toll on Melisandre. It shook her to her core. So much so that she walked into the frozen wasteland, took off her necklace and killed herself. The fact that the entire sequence is punctuated by Davos watching her walk to her death makes it all the more meaningful. 

It surprised me that they chose this way to bring an end to her character but I feel it enriched her story and my perception of her. 

Episode MVPs

The Unsullied: 

I was curious about what they would do with the Unsullied during the battle because their fighting style is perfectly suited to castle defense. Also, because of this story from the History and Lore series: 

The Unsullied are known for their discipline and willingness to stand their ground against the greatest adversaries. They are canonically so impressive that not only did they beat the Dothraki but all the Dothraki riders cut off their braids and placed them at their feet to honor their bravery and prowess.

Considering that not only were the Unsullied the only soldiers at Winterfell to actually stick to their guns and fight strategically and bravely but they also ensured the retreat of all the other forces, the people of Winterfell need to be cutting off their own hair and honor these brave men. 

Arya “It is Princess after all” Stark: 

Aaaa ... yeah, she is the princess that was promised, y’all!

Arya’s story in this episode was the most complete and compelling one. Starting off with her “I know Death. He has many faces. I look forward to seeing this one” bravado, to her rawness and vulnerability when she realized what she was up against to her putting all that Faceless Men training to good use and managing to sneak up on the Night King just enough to end him. 

Arya Stark has just killed Death! A true warrior, if there ever was one! I hope this marks an end to her FM arc and a gradual return of at least part of the kindness and empathy Arya was defined by in season 1. 

Daenerys “Why do you want me to feel sorry for her?” Targareyen: 

Well, this is strange ... I never thought I’d make D*ny an MVP in these reviews but fair is fair. The girl was a champ this episode. 

I know some people seem to think that she’s the reason why the battle plan went haywire because she decided to attack the wight army after seeing her khalasar wiped out. However ... for one, she had just seen all of her Dothraki cut down. Clearly whatever strategy they had going wasn’t working. Secondly, I seem to remember in episode 2 that Tyrion offered to wave the torch so Dany could set the trench on fire so obviously she and Jon were not suppose to just stick to the Godswood for the entire duration of the battle. 

Still, I think the reason why I found D*ny so formidable this episode was because she was placed directly in contrast with Jon and unlike Mr. Can’t seem to get anything right these Days Snow, D*ny did actually put up a fight, saved Jon’s life even at the risk of injury to Drogon and attacked the Night King head on. 

Yes, dragon fire was ineffectual against the NK but she gave it her all and I appreciate that. As thanks for her bravery and loyalty (despite now knowing that Jon is her rival to the IT), Jon abandoned her without hesitation, proving once again that he genuinely doesn’t give a shit about her. At this point, I honestly don’t understand why D*ny stans are shipping her with Jon. They should have higher standards for their fave. 

The way they chose to portray D*ny in this episode is interesting because, despite D*ny’s actions, dark D*ny and the Dance of Dragons is still happening, in my humble opinion. That means that we are left in a bit of a conundrum: D*ny has now fulfilled her end of the bargain. She has fought the army of the dead and lost a significant percentage of her army and Jorah in the process. Which leaves us with the inevitability that Jon and the Starks will not only go against the woman that helped them protect their home but will prove themselves mercenary and dishonorable for doing so. Also because of the prolonged absence of Jon’s POV and the lack of scenes of the Starks together, D*ny, being the only one we have clear access to narratively, becomes more and more sympathetic. 

In some ways this choice frustrates me because D*ny has done some truly horrific things and story-wise those have yet to be addressed or paid off. By making her more and more sympathetic and the Starks more antagonistic in relation to her, it makes it harder to deliver the comeuppance she has earned over the seasons. 

On the other hand, there is something about this type of narrative choice that appeals to me. The line between hero and villain is practically nonexistent and it’s up to each and everyone of us to pick a side, based more on our subjective experiences and less on objective narrative reasons.  

It brings to mind the first Dance of Dragons where you could very well make an argument in favor of both the Black and Green factions because there was no clear cut answer on who was right and who was wrong.  

*none of the art work belongs to me. thank you to the content creators!

[doctorstarinken]

One Time For TeedaMac

Troye,

I’ll never forget the day we met. I pulled up to the studio at CalArts not expecting much to be honest. Nikko had told me he was going to bring a rapper and I my general attitude was “Yea, okay. Sure.” 

You were a big dude, man. But you were a different big dude. Kind of like a Patrice O’Neal, Shaq, Biggie kind of big dude. Physically big, huge personality, big laugh, and more importantly you had a huge heart. There was a quiet confidence you displayed while you patiently waited your turn to hop on the mic that evening. Most people get -- myself included -- don’t really know how to act inside a studio. I’ve learned to tame that part of myself by being really, really enthusiastic and be really encouraging of everyone’s creative process. You’re not like that though. You just sat back patiently, cracked jokes, and picked our brains on our collective views on music. 

That’s the other thing that won me over. I could sense that you were just a big music lover and music nerd. You asked me my views on trap, and I gave you some bullshit generic response to which you replied, “That doesn’t really tell me your opinion though.” I respected that. Before you even knew me, you had a charming gall to you to say what needed to be said. 

Fast forward to when you got behind the mic.

Man... there are a few musical moments I remember vividly. The first time I conducted an orchestra, my undergraduate audition, my first day as a contracted/hired songwriter in a large studio, the first rehearsal I ever had with the lady who later become my wife, and the first time I heard you jump behind that Neumann. 

Everything about your performance that evening was so flawless. Your voice, the lyrics, the flow, content, vibe, et al. You just had everything, man. And the best thing about it, you were fucking cooler than ice cold, bruh. You can spot talent by how hard -- or in this case, how not hard-- someone is working. There has always been such an ease in your delivery. Even when you fucked up, it was done with grace. 

__

Just as I’ll never forget the evening we met, I’ll never forget the day Nikko called me to deliver the bad news. I was in Honolulu teaching underprivileged high-school students how to film score using affordable software and was lucky enough to work in a truly world-class studio. The folks who contracted me were also kind enough to allow me to use the studio to work on whatever projects I wanted to work on as long as I had finished working on the student projects beforehand. 

It was exciting. I was flown out to Hawaii, was given a ridiculous per diem, didn’t have to pay out of pocket for lodging, and more importantly, I was working in the same studio that where a lot of my favorite records were made. 

The plan was to get a lot of post-production out of the way for our project. Seemed like the perfect situation. Get flown out, work in a dope studio, and work on your own personal projects after-hours. What could possibly go wrong?

Just like I’ll never forget the evening that I first heard you rap, I’ll never be able to shake the feeling I got when Nikko called me and told me you were diagnosed with cancer. 

__

I gotta be honest. I still can’t believe you were diagnosed with cancer. I still can’t believe you didn’t beat it. I still can’t believe you’re gone.

Intellectually speaking, I know you’re not here. What I mean to say is that, I recall visiting you before you got transferred to Keck and that I recall driving up to Fresno to see you for the first time since I got the news. I remember the day you called me and told me you were in a hospital in LA and that I could come visit you. I remember the weekends I’d spend with you kicking your ass on 2k and saying something along the lines of “Son, even if your make-a-wish was to get better at 2k, I’d still kick your ass. Fuck you. Guard this money ass three pointer.” I remember making jokes about how I preferred when you were incapacitated because at least you didn’t talk back. Honestly I think the nurses were a bit shocked, but we just had that relationship. We could say the most fucked up things to each and laugh about it. 

During the day of your memorial, your pastor said that you fought. You fought everyday to survive and you battled this bullshit disease until you couldn’t and that the rest of us in the memorial should do the same. That is to fight everyday for life. 

Truthfully, I haven’t fought everyday since you passed. It’s difficult. In my own selfish understanding, it wasn’t just that I lost a friend and a brother, I lost my fucking career. I poured everything I had into our record and while it’s very painful for me to listen back to it, I know it’s fucking good. It’s one of those things where I actually don’t care for people’s opinions about this record because I know it’s good and if someone doesn’t like it, it’s not for them. We made this record for us and we were about ready to usher in a new paradigm shift in hip-hop.

I know that probably sounds hyperbolic as fuck, but what good does believing in a record I can no longer perform in public do for me? Whether we were actually as good as I think we are is irrelevant, I knew we were going to the very top because I finally had a proper MC in my corner who saw eye-to-eye with me and an MC who could body any piece of music I gave them. 

You elevated what I wrote. Without you, everything I wrote were just these bland academic exercises in showing people how well I can music. You gave my work heart and soul and turned it into art. 

But now you’re gone and you have been since October. And as much as I’d love to fondly look back at our short time together and as much as I like to imagine of what we were both robbed of, I don’t think it’s really healthy for me to do so anymore. 

__

I’ve always wondered about the human soul since I was a child. My grandfather died when I was very young, followed by my uncle, and during my teenage years my other uncle quite literally died in my arms. I’m not a stranger to death. I grew up christian so every Sunday I was reminded of the death and resurrection of Christ. 

But for whatever reason, your passing really hit me hard. I wish I could say that I’d see you again some day, but I really don’t know where we go when our time on Earth is done and I think that’s what scares me the most. The idea that all I’ll ever have are the memories I shared with you is the scariest part. We didn’t know each other that long, but we grew close. You got to know me and I got to know you through our shared work. The music I presented to you was a tangible representation of my best self as expressed through sound. In turn, you gave me the best representation of yourself through your lyrics. 

Collaboration is a sacred bond. My friend, Max, who I so wish you got to meet, told me that when he got on the phone with me to console me after he had learned I was grieving your loss. While there are a lot of things I don’t know about the nature of reality, I can say with full confidence that my favorite thing about being an artist is the communion that occurs where people are in a room trying to create something out of nothing. While I don’t know where we go after we die, I do believe in the divine because I have experienced with when working with talented people like yourself. There is a quiet agreement that we are all trying transcend our current situation and hopefully share that with the world. 

Teeda, you were more than a friend and collaborator. You were my brother. I didn’t grow up with biological brothers, but there is an old adage that goes “you don’t have to be blood to be brothers.” While blood is thicker than water, the frequencies we pushed out into existence is the only connection I need to call you family. 

While I wish I could wipe you from my memory as having to live with the fact that one of the most beautiful humans I’ve ever known has left at such a young age is too painful, I know that your spirit will always live on. I see your face in Alonzo’s and I’m always so hyped whenever Joss shares pictures of your son on her IG.  

I wish it had worked out differently. I wish you had beat cancer and that we had gone on the road and fucking killed stages from here all the way to Manila. I wish we had more time to make more music and that we could have made your wildest dreams come true. I wish you could have shown your mom just how ridiculously talented her son is. (She shared me that story on how she asked her A&R friend to talk you out of rapping only for him to be like “Yo, he’s actually super dope. He’s a little raw, but if he keeps at it he can be something.”) I’m not sure if you heard, but at the end of your days at City of Hope, your mom would play our song all the time and the nurses and medical staff would always look in amazement that it was our song playing. One dude even said that you sound like J. Cole. I mean... I’m not the biggest J. Cole fan, but I know you loved him and thought he was better than Kendrick. I still think that opinion is mad trash, but you’re dead now so I guess you literally took that stance to your grave. Respect. 

I had so many plans for us. I really did believe we could have done whatever the fuck we wanted to. You made us that good. But I have to let those plans go as I have to let you go. I wish I didn’t have to, but I gotta do like you and fight for my life everyday that I’m on this planet.

Working with you to craft the songs we have crafted will always be one of the highest honors I will ever undertaken in my life. Knowing that someone as talented as you considered me a friend, brother, and a collaborator will always be one of the highest compliments that anyone can ever bestow upon me. 

Rest easy, OG. I truly hope we can chop it up in another dimension when my time here is through. I’ll keep a lookout on Zo for you. I promise. 

-DMR

[annerbhp]

So, quite a long time ago, I had a WIP. It was called Down Here Among the Wreckage, an SG-1 Sam/Jack darkfic angst-overload story that I always had every intention of finishing, but am very sure now I never will. So I am liberating the partial, but nearly finished next part of the story as I promised I would to some people over on twitter. Very un-beta’d, very unfinished, and probably not the shippy resolution you were hoping for, but maybe some small smidges. There was to be a fifth part, but that is pretty much just a couple of sentences and one final ending scene. So maybe I’ll come back and post that too. For you, my wormhos and Jomantha fans. ;) As always, my inbox is open if people have specific questions about this fic or any of my fics. Yes, even the SG-1 ones.  

Down Here Among the Wreckage – Part 4 – Aftermath

Kiras is going to die.

He sees the truth of it in every face he passes on his journey three levels up and two sectors over. People who would normally never give way to him seem to melt out of his path in deference, and to anyone ignorant of the situation, this might seem like a mark of Kiras’ status, that he is a fierce fighter no one would dare to waylay for even a moment. That couldn’t be further from the truth, Kiras thinks with the sort of wryness only a dead man walking can muster. To block his way would be to risk associating oneself with the taint of the doomed, or worse, open up the possibility of the death mark being passed off to them. Not that Kiras has the cards to play, the clout to work with to make that even a possibility. There is a reason, after all, that this task has fallen to him. But debts and bloodpacts have a way of appearing from the place least expected, and the others respect that enough to step out his way, to give him that one honor.

There isn’t a point in wishing things different, so Kiras just walks with whatever dignity he has and tries to pretend the message in his hand is anything other than what it is—a death sentence.

As he nears the upper chambers, the hallways rapidly depopulate until there are only two guards at the entrance doors. They don’t look at Kiras or the message in his hand, but merely open the door, their eyes carefully riveted to the ceiling.

Kiras summons whatever small cache of courage he has and enters the room.

Netan is not alone, twelve of his most powerful lieutenants sitting with an arrogant sort of ease around a heavily laden table as Kiras enters. They are smug in their conviction that Kiras will pay for their sins. Which he surely will.

Kiras doesn’t bother hating them. What was the point?

“Read it,” Netan commands.

It takes Kiras a few tries to start, to get the words out, the numbers of casualties, ships lost, the mere pittance that returned from the doomed run against Anubis.

Netan’s face darkens as Kiras reads, the lines of his face impossibly hard, but he does not bellow or rage. Like maybe he already knew the numbers. Perhaps the point is not the numbers, but what Netan will do to Kiras because of them. An example.

There are worse things to be.

“An explanation?” Netan asks.

The lieutenants rumble self-importantly about the Tau’ri and the Valedin, playing lip service to Netan’s prejudices until he lifts his hand for them to stop.

Netan holds out his cup to Kiras. “Would you hold this for me?” he asks, voice almost…gentle.

Kiras feels a shudder of revulsion travel down his spine, even as he reaches for the cup. “Yes, sir.”

There will probably be a little money. No large sum, but some form of payment to his family back on Yartan for his loss. It is the way of children traded to the Lucian. (He has long since learned not to use the word ‘stolen’, even in the privacy of his mind. Mind-words too easily become tongue-words, and death comes readily enough without thoughtless speech.)

With his hands now free, Netan reaches for his weapon.

Kiras squeezes his eyes shut.

There is a rapid succession of blasts, and Kiras only has enough thought to be thankful that death doesn’t hurt as much as he imagined it would. It’s only when he cracks one eye open in the succeeding silence that he realizes there were twelve shots.

Netan stands nearby, rubbing casually at his hands with a cloth, dabbing away the oil his blaster left on his skin, the burn of ozone still heavy in the air. After nearly a minute of careful, methodical grooming, he turns to Kiras and holds out a hand.

It takes Kiras a moment to realize what he wants, nearly stumbling with haste to hand back the cup.

“You may go,” Netan says.

Kiras nods, bowing almost to the waist like they did to the ancient kings centuries past, not letting his eyes stray towards the table and its damning bloody silence. “Yes, sir.”

Kiras is not the quickest or the smartest, but it occurs to him as he unashamedly flees the room of death that the only reason Netan let him live was for the story to be spread, growing larger and larger with each retelling.

Kiras dutifully complies, stopping to whisper the horrors into every ear he passes, but does not bother to exaggerate.

The original story is horrifying enough as it is.

*     *     *

Cam stares down at the dubiously smudged glass slammed down on the bar in front of him. The scent emanating from the slosh of liquid that follows makes his eyes water, but at least comforts him that whatever might have been living in that glass before certainly wouldn’t be anymore.

He can only hope the man who served him makes a better informant than he does a barkeep.

"Bottom's up," the scruffy guy says.

Cam glances down at the bar, noticing a distinct lack of a second glass. "None for you?"

The barkeep laughs. "Are you kidding? That crap'll rot you from the inside."

Cam frowns, but doesn't answer as another patron sidles up to the bar and is cheerfully poured a generous serving of the rotgut in question.

Can this really be the guy Reynolds sent him to collect intelligence from? He has the air of a burned out hippy to be completely honest. The only thing that makes Cam think this guy could have anything legitimate to offer are his eyes. They are dark and beady and make Cam think of cockroaches and that old saying about the end of the world. This guy seems like he would land on his feet every damn time.

Deep in his thoughts, Cam accidentally takes a sip of the drink in front of him. He sputters, nearly spitting it out before he remembers he's not supposed to be drawing attention to himself, especially here of all places. With great effort, he swallows it down, his eyes stinging. Hell, he supposes he should just be thankful he hasn't gone instantly blind.

Down at the other end of the bar, cockroach man throws back his head and laughs.

It's nearly dawn by the time the crowd empties out, making it safe for them to talk.

The bartender doesn’t even bother waiting for Cam to ask, just a slides a slim data device towards him. "Rumor has it that Netan finally lost his shit."

Cam raises an eyebrow, trying not to imagine just what the normally self-possessed-to-the-point-of-ice Netan would look like in a temper. The stuff of nightmares really.

The barkeep nods, leaning in as if to share salacious details. “Personally killed all twelve of his lieutenants if the stories can be believed. With a sword.”

Jesus. “Doesn’t like having his ships blown up much, does he,” Cam surmises. Like they hadn’t all equally strolled into a trap. Netan had lost ships, yes, but they were the ones to lose lives.

A lot of lives.

The informant shrugs. “Personally, I would have at least taken the time to interrogate them first,” he says, sounding as if torture is just the logical first step.

“Yeah?” Cam says.

The guy’s eyes narrow. “You understand that you were betrayed, right? How else could Anubis possibly have known?”

How indeed. But that is a worry that is far above Cam’s pay scale. If he were actually still getting paid. He’s got other things to worry about.

“Any final word on just how many ships made it back to the Lucian Alliance?” Cam tries to sound as casual as he can, like it doesn’t really matter. If Netan is losing his shit as much as this guy says, they’d be fools not to assume he will turn on them next. Knowing exactly how many ships he managed to snatch back from the fight with his hidden recall technology is vital.

“Enough that you should worry.”

“Yeah?” Cam asks.

The guy shoves the data device towards him again. “It’s all there.”

Cam palms the device, knowing it’s time to get up and walk away. He picks up the glass again. “Hypothetically, what would happen to someone taken prisoner by the Lucian?”

A bushy eyebrow lifts above a flinty eye. “You mean other than being tortured and killed for information?”

Cam fights back a wince. “Yes. Other than that.”

He shrugs. “Well, you know where most of the wealth driving the Alliance comes from.”

“Naquadah,” Cam says.

He nods. “Someone has to work the mines.”

Cam spins the glass between his palms. “You happen to know any of the locations of those mine?”

He laughs. “Now that is information worth more than both of our lives.”

Cam gets up to leave, the drive disappearing into his pocket.

“Hey.”

Cam turns back. The bartender seems to be struggling with something. “I hear Jack O’Neill is alive. Is that true?”

“You know O’Neill?”

“A couple of lifetimes ago,” he says with a wry grin that almost looks nostalgic.  “So…it’s true?”

“It is,” Cam says. “Or it was.” Is being frozen in ice with a brain overloaded by Ancient knowledge more dead or more alive? Cam doesn’t know. “It’s complicated.”

The guy nods. “Things always were with him.”

Somehow, Cam thinks that’s the understatement of the century.

*     *     *

Jason Reynolds paces his office, the small victory they managed to wrest already fading in the face of the odds shifting against their favor yet again.

The Lucian Alliance aren’t quite the allies dreams are made of. They still need to neutralize Anubis once and for all, if the written ramblings of Jack O’Neill are to be believed, and now they get to look back over their shoulders, always wondering when the Lucian Alliance will make their move.

Earth is vulnerable. Prime for the picking. They need whatever intel they can get their hands on. A job he would dearly love to give to Jack O’Neill, if he weren’t locked away in a block of ice. Instead he sent Cam, whose restless energy since the battle has been only growing. Something about the battle rattled Cam in a way the loss of Earth had not. Or maybe, Reynolds thinks more likely, something was finally the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Netan believes we were betrayed,” Mitchell announces upon his return, sliding a slim data device across the table towards him.

Jason shakes his head. “There are a million ways Anubis could have discovered our plans.” Not to mention that he’s beginning to suspect that Anubis was moving the pieces towards that showdown for a lot longer than any of them realize. Netan can take his paranoia out on whomever he wishes. The past is past. Jason is more concerned with their rather shaky future.

“We need to focus on what Netan is planning next.”

Mitchell’s jaw clenches. “I think you were right. I think we have to assume that Netan knows.”

Jason wishes he could say he was surprised. “You’ll take care of it?”

Mitchell nods. “I can be on Earth in two days.” Jackson isn’t going to like it, but Jason has bigger concerns than the scientist’s pangs of conscience. He’s trying to save an entire race.

“There’s one more thing, sir,” Mitchell says, lingering in front of the desk.

Jason sighs internally, knowing what is coming and really not looking forward to it. He’s indulged Mitchell so far, but it’s time for that to end.

“If there were survivors, your contact seemed to think—”

“If there were survivors, Colonel,” Jason interrupts, voice hard. “That’s a giant if. And we have more pressing certainties ready to bite us in the ass.” None of them can afford to have Mitchell continue to be so distracted, to have his focus split. It’s going to get people killed. “You need to let this go.”

Mitchell stiffens, mouth open and face outraged, ready to push on forever if Jason gives him so much as an inch. So he doesn’t.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Jason barks.

Mitchell looks like he might fight for a moment, his face eventually smoothing to a sort of emotionless mask that may have disturbed Jason under any other circumstances. “No, sir,” he says, voice clipped.

Jason nods. “Then get gone.”

Mitchell turns on his heel and stalks out.

*     *     *

Daniel shivers, burrowing his face deeper into the furry lapel of his coat. Despite the obscene amount of gas generators they have down here, it is still an ice cave. He warily glances up at the ceiling, his mind calculating the sheer weight of ice and rock above their heads. He’s far too aware of what can happen when the slightest foundation shifts.

Shoving his hands deeper in his pockets, he shifts from foot to foot as the rings in front of him whine into life. Cam materializes out of the light, cursing roundly as he does.

“Goddamn, it’s colder than a—“

“Welcome to Antarctica,” Daniel interrupts what would no doubt be a colorful colloquialism. “You were expecting bikinis and tiny little umbrella drinks?”

“No,” Cam says, “but I also didn’t think I’d have to worry about my balls turning to ice.”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “It’s a bit warmer back in the lab,” he says, canting his head.

“Wait,” Cam says, and Daniel feels his stomach clench, having some idea of the sort of thing that would bring Cam all this way.

Cam glances around, canting his head off to the side away from listening ears. “The Lucian are coming.”

Daniel grimaces. He wishes he could say that was a surprise, Netan turning on them. Vala always warned them that this was a terrible idea. But he also knows that Cam would never come all this way just to tell him that. “And?”

“We need Sam.”

Daniels sighs. “Reynolds sent you to get her?” He would wonder why Reynolds sent Cam to collect her, when her own father is already on the planet, except Jacob doesn’t want her going back to Omega. He won’t stop her, but he isn’t going to talk her into it either.

Cam shakes his head. “I need you to take her. I have a few other things to take care of.”

Daniel’s eyes narrow. “Other things?”

Cam’s face isn’t giving anything away, and that is disturbing enough in and of itself. “Don’t worry about it.”

Yeah. Like that is going to happen.

Cam slaps his hands against his thighs, probably trying to knock feeling back into them. “You’ll get her there?”

Daniel frowns, thinking of Sam back in the lab behind him, the way she’s been since they discovered her down here with nothing but a frozen body for company.

“Idun, Daniel,” she snaps, pacing around the small space, her breath bursting out in white puffs. “Where did he go?”

Daniel’s long since given up trying to get her to sit still long enough to get medical to look her over. He steps aside as another tech swarms through the space, taking readings. “Sam, he died. His body failed and he didn’t have the resources to make a new one.”

She looks like he may have well taken a sledgehammer to her, her face paling. “And the other Asgard?”

He shakes his head, refusing to look at the frozen visage of Jack O’Neill behind him. “There are no more Asgard, Sam.”

No more miracles.

Sam turns abruptly away from him, but not before he sees the stark bleakness of her expression.

He finds her later, her hand pressed over the ice covering Jack’s face, her voice low as she speaks. “Is this why? Because you knew I’d never be able to find a way?”

Jack has no answers to share.

“Jackson,” Cam says, his hard voice snapping Daniel back to the present. “Just get her there.”

He turns and walks back to the rings.

Daniel walks back into the main lab, the hastily installed set of heavy duty doors sliding back in place behind him. He lets out a sigh at the relative warmth of the space. Shrugging out of his thick parka, he drapes it over the back of his chair, glancing at the crumpled collection of papers strewn across his desk.

The papers are covered with writing, some much more legible than others, all written in a evolving dialect of Ancient that has kept Daniel struggling for weeks to decipher. Jack’s last words, scribbled on the back of anything he could get his hands on.

The longest piece of writing is a letter. About Anubis. To be honest either Daniel’s Ancient is rusty or Jack was more than a little gone when he wrote it. It’s full of strange phrases like ‘death is not the end’, ‘not human’, and some word Daniel can’t define at all that might have something to do with non-corporeal. Ascension?

He’ll build himself a new body. He always does. Unless you stop him.

Daniel can’t make sense of it.

The only thing that convinces him that they aren’t just the rantings of a delusional man is the careful note in the margin. “Tell Carter, tell her I, just thank her for me. Thank her for saving me in every way that a person can be saved. Take care of her.”

Daniel glances up at Sam on the other side of the lab, currently lying on her back with her head stuck in an Ancient console. He’s doing his best to do what Jack asked him, but Sam has always been like a force of nature.

They limit her to ten-hour shifts, forcing her back up to the orbiting Prometheus for rest and warmth. That still hasn’t stopped her from hacking her way back down here from time to time. Daniel still hasn’t decided what is worse, the listless hopelessness she was mired in at first, or this manic, focusless rush to solve a solution to an unsolvable problem that has obsessed her since. Endless lifelessness or a bright thing threatening to burn out far too fast?

Daniel takes a deep breath and crosses the space. “Sam.”

She’s muttering to herself, what sounds like the basic conjugation of simple Ancient verbs. She’s insisted on Daniel teaching her to read and speak the Ancient language, no matter how slow it is going or how much Sam clearly doesn’t have an aptitude for it.

“Sam,” he tries again. “I need to—”

She pops out, wagging a finger at him. “Ancient.”

Daniel sighs. She only wants him to speak to her in Ancient, even if it makes all of their conversations take ten times as long. They don’t have time for games. “They need you back at Omega.”

Sam seems to consider that for a moment before sticking her head back in the console. “Too bad.”

“Sam,” Daniel says, dragging a hand over his face.

“No, Daniel,” she says. “Do you honestly think anything would make me leave--?” She abruptly swallows the end of the sentence, just enough for Daniel to know there is a lot she isn’t saying.

“Dammit, Sam,” Daniel says. “Don’t you get it? If Netan obliterates us, then none of it meant anything. Not you coming back, not Jack sticking his head in that thing again. It’s all meaningless if we let this happen.”

Maybe it’s a low blow, but she needs to understand what is at stake.

She slides out of the computer, giving him a hard look. Pushing to her feet, she walks away from him.

He paces after her. “You don’t think they’ll take this place from us as well? That he won’t want to get his hands on the weapon that destroyed Anubis?”

She stops in front of her desk, leaning her palms against the surface. He knows she’s processing something, so lets her take the time, trying not to feel a beat of hope that he is finally reaching her.

Eventually she paws through one of the drawers, pulling out a small slip of paper. She holds it out to him. “Can you tell me what this means?”

Daniel sighs. He thought he could get her to understand just how high the stakes are, but she’s too damned wired into this. “Sam,” he says.

She thrusts the paper towards him again.

He takes it. “Unam sumis,” he reads out loud. At this point, he’s used to Sam asking him questions about translating Ancient, but there’s something odd about the phrase. Like maybe it’s a dialect?

Sam’s jaw tightens. “What does that mean?”

Daniel shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I’d really need to see it in context.”

Sam shakes her head, flapping her hand as if telling him to get on with it.

“Fine,” Daniel says, straightening his glasses. “I think it literally translates as ‘we are united’ or ‘we are one’, but it probably really means something more like, ‘We’re in this together’.”

Sam turns and takes a few steps away from him, the only sign that any of that meant anything to her the slight clenching of her fists by her sides.

“Sam?”

She turns back to him with a nod, looking more determined and focused than he’s ever seen her, not since…before. “If I help…when it’s done I get my own lab and complete access to Idun’s research for as long as I want it. No matter what else comes up.”

She’s bargaining with him. That should hurt except he never thought to see her like this again, eyes sharp and bright, her teeth dug deep into a project that is impossible by any standard of measurement.

“I’ll arrange it with Reynolds.”

“Your word,” she presses.

“I promise.”

Her shoulders lower and he supposes that should make him feel better, that his word still means something to her.

“Okay,” she says. “Then I know what to do.”

*     *     *

Jacob sighs, dragging a hand over his face. There was a riot in Alpha section today. One Jaffa and one human died, four more seriously wounded. All over an incident involving farm equipment if the reports can at all be believed.

He and Cassie have been trying to run things on Earth the last month. There are surveys to be done, populations to count, resources to be pooled. It will take lifetimes, but Cassie had only lifted her chin and said, “Then I guess we’d better start.”

A month in, it still feels an awful lot like nowhere.

Teal’c looks displeased, arms crossed over his chest. “I do not understand why this is happening.” The Earth survivors have been less than welcoming to the Jaffa, no matter how much they are trying to help, to throw in and create a future together.

Jacob sighs. “They’re afraid, Teal’c. Afraid and angry and looking for anything to blame.”

Teal’c nods. “Perhaps it would be better if we returned to Haktyl.”

“No.”

They turn to look at Cassie.

She looks up at them. “This is what their universe looks like now. Let the Jaffa teach the humans to defend themselves. Let the Tok’ra teach them to salvage their crops. Let every human know one Jaffa or one Tok’ra personally. Let them learn to be grateful for the help. It’s the kindest thing we can do for them.” She walks away, leaning down over the maps. “It’s time to go forward or just…let it all die.”

Jacob looks to Teal’c. He merely inclines his head. “I shall speak to the Jaffa.” He leaves the house.

Jacob comes to stand next to Cassie.

Cassie laughs under her breath, shaking her head.

“What?” Jacob asks.

“Nothing,” she says, waving a hand. “Just thinking about Earth’s future being decided by three aliens.”

Jacob gives her a wry smile. “We’ll let the history books have the last say on that one.”

If there’s anyone left to write it.

After a brisk knock, the two of them look up to see Cam enter.

“Hey, kid,” he says, ruffling Cassie’s hair.

She scowls, shoving him off. “You’re like, what? Two years older than me?”

“More like fifteen,” he says, “but nice try.”

“What’s up?” Jacob asks, surprised to see him back on Earth so soon.

“Vala,” he says.

Jacob’s jaw clenches. It was really only a matter of time. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Have someone watch her ship and the Stargate.”

Cassie sighs. “It’s a mistake.”

Maybe it all is.

*     *     *

Vala sees him coming, looking up from a few Haktyl women she is trading with.

Cam watches her take in the situation in an instant, her eyes tracking what he assumes are her escape routes, now so carefully cut off thanks to Jacob and a few Jaffa.

“I have to say, I expected you sooner,” she says, eyes defiant under a theatrical pout.

Cam takes her arm. “I’m sure you did.”

He locks her in the back of his ship, not speaking to her again until they are under way.

He tries to resist, but eventually he gets up, walking back into the hold.

“Yes?” she asks.

“The Lucian naquadriah planets,” he says.

Her posture shifts, Vala pulling herself up further. “Yes?” she asks, nearly a purr.

“Do you know any of their locations? The ones any prisoners of war are most likely to be sent to?”

“Are you offering to let me go in exchange for the location? My, my. How you’ve changed.”

Cam gets up to leave.

“I much prefer you this way!”

Cam slams his fist on the controls, the door sliding shut behind him.

*     *     *

Rodney looks up as the door to his lab opens. Sam strides in, Daniel right on her heels looking a little unsettled.

“Sam?” Rodney says, stepping towards her.

She ignores him, walking straight up to her quilt still hanging on the wall. She reaches out, hand tracing faintly over the stitches before she turns for the boards. She picks up a pen.

“Sam?” Rodney tries again, but she ignores him, Daniel reaching out to stop him from pulling her aware from the board.

“Just let her try,” Daniel says.

For a while it looks like she’s just tugging threads, the whole thing threatening to pull apart. But then it happens.

“Oh my God,” Rodney breathes.

Daniel glances at him. “Genius or gibberish?” he asks.

Rodney rubs at the back of his head. “Genius,” he says, head nodding like it’s on a spring. “Definitely genius.”

Sam builds them a sliver of hope out of nowhere.

“It’ll still take a miracle,” Rodney feels the need to point out.

Daniel smiles. “That’s Sam’s specialty.”

*     *     *

Now that Sam is on Omega and working, everything has cleared enough in his head that Daniel can finally make sense of Cam and his additional task on Earth.

“Son of a bitch,” he says.

He barges into Reynolds’ office.

“Where is she?”

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” Reynolds says. “This is the way it has to be.”

If he’d accepted that, Earth never would have been freed.

Vala lies in the cell, one hand pressed to her ear as if listening intently to the crystal walls.

“Netan’s turned on us,” Daniel announces.

He tries to see any reaction, but he just can’t read her. Instead she shifts, swinging her feet to the ground.

“I told Jack this was a terrible, terrible idea.” Her hand lifts to the wall, nails dragging down across the crystal.

She doesn’t press for any information, and if she was really playing them, wouldn’t she?

She leans back against the wall, arms folded up behind her head. “Well. If Netan becomes your new overlord, at least your bosses won’t have to decide what to do with me.”

“You’re right,” Daniel says. “They won’t have to make that decision.”

Stepping to the side of the cell, Daniel swipes his card, punching in his code.

Vala pushes to her feet at the sound of the cell unlocking. She looks like she’s waiting for him to assassinate her.

He pulls the door open and steps out of her way.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought that might be obvious. I’m letting you go.”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

He notices that even as she’s clearly wary of his motives, she still steadily heads for the open door. “I don’t,” he says. “But I gave you my word.”

She’s staring back at him as if he’s the most mystifying creature she’s ever met.

Daniel glances at his watch. “You’ve got a fifteen minute window. It was the best I could do.”

That seems to decide her. “It’s all I need.”

“Vala?” he asks as she glances up and down the hall.

She turns back.

“Even if we can protect ourselves, deflect Netan this time…that won’t stop him, will it?” Daniel says.

“No,” Vala says. “It won’t.”

She slips out the door.

*     *     *

Netan turns as the guards escort his visitor inside his chamber. “Vala. Welcome back.”

He looks for any sign that she resents being here, once again so carefully wrapped up in the world she spent a great deal of energy escaping once upon a time. She would have known the cost though, that day she walked back into his world with two Tau’ri in tow.

Her fingers trail along the edge of the desk. “They tried to lock me away.”

Netan smiles. It was inevitable that the Tau’ri would finally see Vala for what she really is. “And yet, here you are.”

Her lips curve. “Locks can be delicate things.”

Just like people.

“The Tau’ri?”

Her disdain for them is clear in the careless flick of her fingers. “Obsessed with rebuilding Earth.”

He’s long since stopped wondering where her information comes from. It always seems to bleed into her skin, breathing it in like most beings do with oxygen.

“The Ancient weapon they used to defeat Anubis?”

She picks at her nails as if bored. “Depleted.”

“And the rest? Do they know?”

She smiles, a sinuous gesture that sends a thrill of sensation up his spine. She’s truly magnificent. And once again all his.

She settles herself in his lap, looping her arms around his neck. “The poor darlings have no idea what’s coming.”

*     *     *

Netan’s fleet approaches Omega, their secret little base no longer secret.

“There’s a shield, sir.”

Netan glances at Vala.

She is still lounging sideways on her chair, hands languid and bored. “A pathetic last gasp.”

“She’s right, sir. The energy read out is very weak.”

“Full volley,” Netan orders. It is time the Tau’ri learn their place in the grand order of things. This new galaxy they have birthed together. The secrets of the Asgard will be his.

“Are they returning fire?”

“No. Nor have they launched any ships.”

They are no doubt still protecting fragile little Earth. Strange. But Netan did not come so far by being timid. “Increase power to forward weapons.”

There’s a pulse of light, the moon seeming to shrug, the shield flying outward. At first he thinks this is their feeble protection at last fizzling out, but then the three closest ships crumble in a shatter of light, the shock wave rolling through his own ship, consoles sparking and going dark.

He turns, but Vala is gone. He feels the knife slide into his back the same moment he catches the trace of her scent—spice and mystery, seduction and betrayal.

He should have killed her the first time he ever laid eyes on her.

Her lips are cool against his skin, one last poisoned kiss. “It’s a great, wild, beautiful galaxy out there, Netan,” she whispers like a caress against his cheek. “There’s no more room for tyrants.”

She twists the knife.

*     *     *

Cam and Daniel board the disabled ship. There is no one there but bodies, the knife still sticking out of Netan’s back.

Cam picks up a small piece of paper left stuck to the main view screen. There is a series of numbers.

Coordinates, he realizes.

Good luck, it says. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

The Lucian prison camp is in disarray, Netan’s death reverberating through the galaxy, and it only takes a small force to overrun the last remaining feeble overlords.

They free the slaves, help them set up a mining operation owned and operated by the slaves, not the Tau’ri.

After a month, Cam finally has to face the truth.

Kate is not here.

“She’d kick my ass if she were here.”

“Who?”

“Kate,” he says. “She’d kick my ass and she’d be right.”

She’s dead. She died doing what she believed in, what they all believed in. And he’s not going to dishonor that by getting himself killed for a ghost.

It’s time to start to rebuild.

*     *     *

Daniel looks up as the door to the lab opens. He has no idea how she made it in here, how Omega seems to be as porous to her, but he’s long since stopped bothering trying to figure it out. It’s just part of who she is.

“Netan’s dead,” Daniel says like this isn’t something she’s already certainly aware of.

“Is he?” Vala asks, eyes on her fingernails like they are the most fascinating things in the universe. “Did he finally turn his back on the wrong lieutenant?”

Netan was notorious for not allowing any lieutenant with the strength to challenge him to survive. He never would have been so foolish.

“Not likely,” Daniel says. “After all, no one has stepped in to fill the hole. No one strong enough to hold it all together. The Alliance is in chaos.”

She isn’t giving anything away. “I suppose people will have to start making decisions for themselves then. Unless the Tau’ri plan on…” Her eyes lift to his face.

“No,” Daniel says. “We learned this lesson long ago.”

“And yet…your good intentions will always lead you into another catastrophe. It’s your race’s curse.”

Some days he thinks he would do anything to get a straight answer out of her. But the rest of the time he’s smart enough to get that he’s better off not knowing.

“You should know that we aren’t looking for you. That we won’t.”

She smiles, and Daniel realizes it doesn’t actually matter to her, one way or the other. They can come after her or not. It doesn’t mean they would ever catch her. He tries to imagine her as ever defenseless, maybe as a small child, but he thinks even then she must have taken care of herself.

She steps forward up to the glass, looking down to where Sam is working below, the archive of Asgard knowledge she bargained for finally completely open to her.

“It all makes a lot more sense now,” Vala says.

“What does?”

She slides him a look, her head canting towards Sam. “Jack.”

Daniel’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

She considers him for a moment, as if trying to decide if he’s being deliberately obtuse or not. “As long as I’ve known Jack, he’s been searching for something,” she says. “A fix it, a cure, a magic remedy.”

That doesn’t sound like Jack, but then again, the way he used to be is hazier and hazier in Daniel’s mind. His skepticism must show because she tilts her head to one side and gives him a half-smile that makes her look bizarrely vulnerable. That’s not a word he ever thought to associate with her.

“When you’re desperate enough, you’ll take hope anywhere you can.” Her eyes harden. “It’s the reason conmen exist in the first place.”

He knows for a fact that Vala is every type of chameleon, that she isn’t above using every weapon in her arsenal to get what she needs. But he also understands in that moment that the one thing she never does is play people for their hope.

It makes sense now, why she didn’t betray them, not when it mattered most. No one breathes pure, unfounded, struggling hope quite like a Tau’ri. What hadn’t they been prepared to do, just on the merest whisper of hope?

What hadn’t Jack been prepared to do?

“The tattoo,” Daniel says, something clicking into place.

Vala nods, looking back over at Sam, leaning on the railing.

“It looked Maori,” he says, trying to think back and remember the details.

Vala shrugs. “If you say so.”

Something is whispering at the back of his mind that he’s on the right track. “The Maori believe that the human body is sacred, having come from the place of the gods,” Daniel explains. “So sacred, in fact, that a pure body is dangerous to other people, can cause physical and spiritual harm.”

Vala gives no sign that she’s listening.

“The tattoos are about rendering the body less pure, diluting the sacredness, making it benign.”

Vala turns then, looking up at him. “A way of rendering oneself impotent,” she says, and Daniel gets the feeling she knows way more about this than she’s letting on.

“To keep himself from harming anyone around him,” he surmises. The placement on the back of his neck is doubtlessly anything but accidental.

Vala nods, that fragile half-smile on her face again. She looks back over at Sam, watching her for a while. “Has he always loved her?”

It actually takes a moment for Daniel to work out the pronouns, to figure out what Vala is asking him, but then it’s like a ton of bricks dropping on him. “God,” he breathes. He’s never let himself notice it before, but looking back, it’s so damn clear. “I think he has.”

Vala nods. “She won’t give up, will she?”

“No,” he says, and the faith is so damn easy to find for once. Or maybe he never really let himself give up on her. “She’ll figure it out. She always does.”

“You know, Daniel,” Vala says, fingers trailing down his arm. “You’re not half bad.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow at the sincerity in her voice, but her expression shifts so fast he thinks he must have imagined it, her eyes sparkling with that wicked gleam once more. “For a worn-out, cranky Tau’ri that is,” she amends.

He crosses his arms over his chest, giving her a wry glance. “That means a lot coming from a heartless thief.”

Her smile stretches even wider. “It’s almost enough to make me feel bad about the twenty credits I lifted off you the first time we met,” she says, flicking her hair over her shoulder and turning to leave the room. She pauses by the door, throwing a look back at him. “Almost.”

And then she’s gone.

Somehow, Daniel knows she’ll be back.