#it would work better with fewer options which is the opposite of what we want

[rawliverandcigarettes]

Reading about a cool post about romancing a more diverse set of aliens in the next Mass Effect (yes please), I'm realizing I'd really want more focus on different ways to get close to NPCs that don't necesserily involve smooches or sex scenes. I know that would explode the budget, but... I don't know, I see room for a relationship system that does not 100% rely on the "is romanced" boolean, where cutscenes/missions activate or do not activate depending on the specifics of the relationship you're developing with a given character (with a tag system for example).

That way, there is a conversation where you pour your heart out with a given character that is available whether or not you romance them, but that you *could* miss out on if you decide to romance them but put the focus on the more competitive aspect of your relationship instead of the vulnerability. A sort of web of possible situations that would tailor more closely to who you are as a PC and how you want to engage with the world without betraying the NPC.

That would imply uhhhh budget, and a very strong relationship design system (let me design it bioware wait actually don't I could not handle working on mass effect emotionally I think). But. Would be cool, and would allow me to RP aroace characters without feeling completely alone and adrift in the uncaring void of space. :3

[beardedmrbean]

Iwas born in Gaza Strip in the late 1990s, one of six children. At the time, the Palestinian Authority was the ruling party. My father, like most people in Gaza, was sick of the PA's corruption and was waiting for any alternative. Hamas promised "change and reform" and they won the Palestinian Legislative Council elections in 2006. One year later, I awoke to the sound of gunfire. Hamas gunmen were fighting Fatah, and they ended up killing of more than 600 Palestinians. It became clear very quickly that Hamas was not the "change and reform" that we hoped for.

To silence dissent, Hamas terrorized the citizens of Gaza. On the way to the Dar-Alarqam school I attended in the al-Shujaiya neighborhood near the Israeli border, a group of masked men carrying Kalashnikovs would check each car. At the end of the year, masked men opened offices in our school to promote Hamas's military camps and register students.

I graduated and began my studies at the Islamic University of Gaza, along with future Hamas leaders and current members. All art classes were replaced with radical Islamic teachings, and the elections of the student councils and clubs were only open to Hamas members, who hoarded all the privileges and distributed all the grants between themselves.

Voicing dissent was not an option. Hamas has a no tolerance policy for criticism or objections to any of its policies. Even discussion is forbidden Any journalist who objects or criticizes a policy is suspended and investigated. Demonstrations are strictly prohibited. Freedom of speech in Gaza is a fantasy. The dirtiest tool Hamas uses to silence citizens is character assassination through online campaigns accusing dissenters of working for hostile bodies or committing immoral acts. Hamas also routinely breaks into the homes of people deemed disloyal and humiliates them in front of their family and neighbors.

I observed all this with growing horror as a student. And as Hamas's oppression of the Palestinian citizens of Gaza increased, the quality of life deteriorated. Hamas's aggression toward Israel resulted in fewer and fewer job permits and limits on the electricity in Gaza, which we only got for eight hours a day. The economy cratered. Social and economic conditions collapsed.

A huge social gap opened between the wealthy elite who belong to Hamas and the rest of the population who were increasingly living in driving poverty. Public sector jobs were limited to Hamas members, and taxes were increasing on necessities day by day, even as the cost of living skyrocketed.

Many of us could no longer bear it. I was one of them.

Though we knew dissenters were subject to imprisonment, torture, and even murder, in 2019, a few of us decided to join forces and form a protest to voice our opposition to Hamas. We called it the "We Want to Live" demonstration. Our demonstration elicited an extreme reaction by Hamas. They violently cracked down on the protests and we were all arrested.

I will never forget my first day in jail—walking up the steps listening to screams of my colleagues, most of them fellow students, who had been arrested before me. I was held under arrest for 21 days and subjected to various types of torture. I was beaten with batons and sprayed with cold water in the late winter night hours. My friends didn't fare much better. A Christian friend was in the next cell and I could hear them screaming at him, "You are a Christian and you don't like the situation? Then go to another country!"

After we were released, most of those who participated in the demonstrations emigrated away from Gaza. There was no hope for any change in the current situation. We suffered ongoing harassment by Hamas members. Some died trying to leave, like Tamer Al-Sultan, a pharmacist whose crime was asking for a reconciliation between Hamas and Fatah.

People's living conditions got worse. The wealth gap expanded even further. We protested again in 2023 and were crushed in the same manner as in 2019. I was arrested again by Hamas last year and held for 14 days, this time in a small cell with no bed, no window, and barely enough space to sit down. I was released on bail on the condition that I not take part in any further demonstrations.

I still expressed my opinion occasionally on social media, but the arrest warrants after each post and the continuous threats from Hamas members and accusations of treason made me lose hope that I could make any kind of change. I left Gaza in August to seek a better future for myself and my family.

All this time, Hamas was planning to expand its extremism and intimidation. They knew what would happen as a result of their massacre on October 7, when they attacked Israeli civilians, and Israel responded with a massive war aimed at destroying Hamas, which has obliterated large parts of the Gaza Strip.

Now all the inhabitants of the city are being punished for Hamas' actions.

I think it's hard for Israelis to understand that there are many innocent people in Gaza who have suffered as much from Hamas's evil as they have. I understand those Israelis. During my life as a Gazan, the only thing I believed about Israelis was that they all hate us and want to eliminate us as a Palestinians.

Now I know better. After criticizing Hamas for its horrific actions on Oct. 7, I made friends with Israelis for the first time in my life. It turns out that many of them, like me, just want this conflict to end so they can live in peace. These friendships opened my eyes to their suffering. I now have a better understanding what they are thinking, and have decided never to make judgments before listening to the other side.

I hope my new friends feel the same way about the many Gazans living under the boot of Hamas's oppression.

We Palestinians have a saying: "Hope is born from the womb of suffering." I hope that after the war, that after Hamas been defeated, we can create a real, lasting peace for both the Palestinians and the Israelis. Many Gazans are praying for this, too.

Hamza Howidy is a Palestinian from Gaza City. He is an accountant and a peace advocate.

The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.

[outrunningthedark]

I don’t understand the buddie vs tarlos debate. I don’t care much for LS but regardless of why tim created tarlos, whether it was an alternative to buddie or not, more representation is always a good thing even if you (general you) don’t personally like the ship? again I don’t care about tarlos but I find it so hypocritical of some OG fans to claim buddie would be a great step toward better rep and then shit on tarlos, which is at the very least decent rep. even IF it was an alternative to buddie, more queer characters and relationships is something we should strive towards and not fight against or be bitter about. and yeah obviously tim caters to tarlos fans but I don’t see how that’s a bad thing, when showrunners are always catering to straight ships and audiences; even if it is fan service on some level, it’s still a good thing. also buddie happening or not won’t have anything to do with tarlos, it will happen if they decide they want it to happen, it’s not set in stone or tied to tarlos’ existence in any way, especially now that the shows don’t even do crossovers anymore and are mostly separate entities.

This is a message I can get behind.

I will never understand the excuse that one piece of queer rep somehow cancels out the wish for more or isn't "good enough" just because it's not what a viewer wanted to see. Nobody has to like LS or Tarlos, but to act as though they are "less than" based on how quickly they got together or what Tim does with their scenes...sounds like bitterness to me. - Sure, a lot of people enjoy a slow burn while watching a work of fiction, but plenty of couples IRL (regardless of gender and sexuality) go from 0 to 100 without thinking. Tarlos is an example of this while Buddie could/would be the opposite.

It's no different than people rooting for the Diaz parents to be homophobic because "We already saw what acceptance looks like through Carlos's story." (Most don't want the representation as much as they want the drama for fic purposes.) - It's one thing to be upset about (what feels like) fan service when it comes to Buddie scenes (because fandom doesn't know where the story is going or what to believe), but...Tim doing (mostly) right by the Tarlos fan base is a problem because...those fans get to be happy, and you're not? Is that it? Just because he's not eager to do what OG fandom is hoping for does not mean the viewers who have supported the canon m/m ship from day one should suffer alongside you. - Are a lot of Carlos's scenes intertwined with his partner? Yup. So are Karen's. So were David's. (So are Chimney's, for fuck's sake. But anyway...) You know what those characters have in common? They were/are recurring. Signed for less than a full season; sometimes way less depending on scheduling parameters. Carlos is being treated the same as the other two simply because it's what the contract dictates. Fewer opportunities for appearances means fewer opportunities to explore a character as an individual. That's how it goes. And, uh, just for argument's sake...if people are so opposed to Athena's career story lines...then surely Carlos The Cop is a less favorable option compared to The Boyfriend, yes? Rep is not good rep when you don't even want to consume the content. Ngl, I think a huge problem people have with Tarlos is knowing that they're (almost certainly) never going to split up unless something happens with one of the actors in the future. (The jealousy!) Being a recur means Rafael's main purpose is playing the significant other of a main. No Tarlos? Not as much of a reason to keep him around (sadly). Tarlos is presumably getting their happy ending (with some bumps in between). But with Buddie... What's the "ending"? Will it be happy?

[fictionkinfessions]

This is a post about the current blog poll regarding ask games on this blog. You can find the original post and poll to vote on via this link below. Please do not send votes via ask messages.

Posts about this topic have the tag 'blog poll'.

https://www.tumblr.com/fictionkinfessions/724128639169544192/

This is long. Here is a read more.

Anonymous asked: sorry im not home and mobile search sucks or else id look myself, but is there a catchall tag for ask games? i think there is but bad memory lol. if not maybe there should be so people can block all games instead of each new one !

Anonymous asked: Suggestion for the ask game debacle: why not tag all those posts with one consistent tag like "kinfessions ask game" or something? Either in addition to or in place of the custom tags. That gives everybody's blacklist something to pick up without requiring someone to add a tag for every single ask game.

Anonymous asked: voted to keep ask games but consider just adding a catch-all tag alongside the specific game for blacklisting purposes maybe? the anon has a fair point with how many there have been lately that it can kind of drown out regular confessions but ask games are fun and it wouldn't exactly be fair to completely get rid of them. wouldn't mind a sister blog for them either though

There isn't a catch all tag, and that's a extremely good idea. I'm kinda kicking myself for not asking for feedback before making a whole poll about it. We'd still have the poll, but there would've been better options about what to do. Also for not doing that to start with.

Anonymous asked: i'm all for continuing the ask games, but can we at least LIMIT them? sometimes it feels like there's a new one every day, or like everything posted is a response to an ask game. it's obviously not stopping anybody from kinfessing normally, but it feels weird to only see ask game responses when the blog was originally intended for kinfessions

Anonymous asked: a suggestion about ask games: host one or two as events with loose but present time limits. kinda like this blog had for june, with mostly pride-themed prompts? it would probably require more moderation, so no pressure if you don't feel up to it mpc. we could even vote for favorite games but i can see it may leave someone upset bc their idea lost. right now it seems (to me. just a personal opinion) like this sudden overflow of different yet very specific prompts is a bit directionless. it's not necessarily bad for a community blog but could discourage a full "conversation"? of linked confessions, which i see as the point of ask games. this isn't to say there are no responses to posted answers - quite the opposite, actually! i just think having fewer themes would allow more unique experiences to be included, instead of splitting more subtopics.

True, there have been a fair amount, and it's been ramping up. Not a bad thing, it's nice that people have curiosity about other's canons and sources.

Seems like a lot of work, but doable imo. My concern would be actually getting people to vote for the ask games. Also if an ask game wins, but nobody plays it, then what? Do we just go onto the next one? Would there be a time limit? What if people send things after the time limit? I'd feel like such a dick for not posting it because they didn't send it in on time. This isn't really a final exam at school or your office job with time limits. Literally how do I explain it without sounding like a Super Serious Tool?

People do that for holiday things, you can't stop that from happening. The only reason I put a time limit for holidays is so nobody gets triggered after they remove a tag from their blacklist, assuming nobody celebrates Fathers Day 2 weeks afterwards. You know what I mean? Not to mention this blog is very active. People may not see prompts until long after the time limit, and they may still want to participate. Also who thinks up themes, if there will be any?

Though maybe we don't vote on them. Like you mentioned, people might get upset if theirs isn't picked. I suppose we could just do it chronologically, as they're sent in. I'm not sure how to manage this. Save the future ask games to drafts and hope I don't lose them? Probably.

Anonymous asked: Going to agree with the anon, there is a bit too many ask games ngl, like I like them but there is so many of them at this point and like I even blacklist the tags but they still get through. I just wish that there was a bit less of them or that there was a seperate blog :(

The thing about the auxiliary blog is that it won't have the same amount of traffic and might go dead. Not a bad thing, such is life. But I think part of the appeal of ask games replies and confessions is that this is a fairly high traffic blog. People want to be seen, even if it's anonymous. I wouldn't mind running a side blog, or at least getting it active enough to let someone else handle it.

Anonymous asked: Hello MPC! You don’t have to post this, but I saw that you were asking for opinions and I can’t actually find somewhere to vote on a poll (unless it was metaphorical? I can’t tell honestly), so feel free to delete this if it’s just taking up space- but I kind of agree with the anon who spoke up about the ask games. It’s not really a bad thing they exist, but when you have so many going at one time, it’s hard to keep track of and sometimes the pinned post/asks become incredibly long. It also feels like it goes against the whole ‘this is not a canon call’ mindset of the blog because it can and does spark up conversations between people, if that makes sense? It’s not a bad thing people are involved, but I feel like it takes away from the point of the blog a little. I think having the ask games be cleaned up and a new system put into place to make it easier to block the tag/find them would be super helpful, but I know that can be stressful. All in all, I’m sure everyone will support your decision!! Thank you for everything you put into this blog MPC 🖤

The voting poll post is here if you haven't found it already. Thank you for your input, you have some good points. https://www.tumblr.com/fictionkinfessions/724128639169544192 It's true that the ask game post is incredibly, tediously long. Even with tags, it's hard to ignore.

I don't know about the canon call thing, I haven't really seen people implying they should be contacted over x y z happening in their canon due to an ask game reply. Honestly I'm not fighting that battle very hard anyways.

I get the feeling that ask games are going to stay. But we did get some ideas on how to manage them better than their current form.

Summary of suggestions

Limit amount of active ask games per week or per month. Maybe 3 per week?

Create a catch all tag for ask game responses

Ask game topics per week or month. Maybe can be voteable as well?

Create side blog solely for ask games regardless??

[avnycrentals-blog]

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[rheawritessometimes]

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Childe gets an owie while sparing. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Violence, Swearing, Angry Reader, Injury, Physical Intimacy (Kissing).

{ Notes } Hurting Childe just a little because he refused to come home for me. Lost the 50/50. Reader is a sword user. Reader is suggested to be the Traveler. Self-indulgent again because all my writing is. This one is a real trainwreck but I didn't want to go too long without posting. Something better than nothing? Masterlist

{ Word Count } 2,404

Meeting Childe at the Golden House every week had been your routine for a while now. Right after you had defeated him the first time, he immediately begged you to train with him and you gave in, unable to bear those puppy-dog eyes. And the entire week he spent pestering you about it.

The whole fiasco with Osial had been put behind the both of you. It was probably true that you were too quick to forgive Childe, but he was just so charming. Not to mention he often paid for your meals, suggesting going out to eat after your sessions or if he saw you around the harbor. On a few occasions, you had been out eating with friends or on your own and found he had picked up your tab.

Since Liyue hadn't been destroyed and you got free food out of it, you really weren't all too upset about the situation. The Snezhnayan was actually pretty easy to get along with when Fatui matters weren't involved. He made you laugh too, so you supposed you could tolerate the once-weekly sparing sessions with him.

Childe called it sparing, but normal people didn't spar with actual weapons and fight like they were going to kill their partner. At first, you had tried to convince him it would be much better and safer for the both of you to use practice weapons instead of sharpened blades and arrows. He was quick to decline, saying something about both of you being competent enough not to get seriously hurt. You thought about refuting that on the basis that he had yet to beat you even once.

Even so, every week you found yourself pushing through the doors to the chamber Childe was always patiently waiting in. You'd never gotten there before him and wondered if he intentionally came early. You wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, he probably paced the room plotting his seemingly unobtainable victory.

The hydro vision paired with his combat experience and skill made him a difficult opponent, but he didn't seem terribly good at strategy. He might have been careless because it wasn't a real fight, but somehow you doubted that. He seemed the type to always give it his all. It could be that was his problem, since his loss usually came due to his exhaustion. Maybe if he didn't spend so much energy trying to show off he'd actually be a proper challenge.

"You're finally here," Childe proclaimed dramatically, voice echoing off the walls, "I thought you might have gotten lost on the way or something. Was starting to worry I'd need to go out and rescue you."

"I'm fifteen minutes early, Childe. How long have you been waiting?" you asked dryly, raising your eyebrow questioningly. You took a moment to shrug your adventuring pack off your shoulders and drop it near the door. You rolled your shoulders, relieved to be free of the weight.

"Ahah, anyways, we should get started. I have some business to attend to today," he responded, indiscreetly ignoring your question. It shouldn't have been very surprising that he didn't wait for your response before sending an arrow flying in your direction, but he'd always waited for you to signal you were ready before starting in the past.

Materializing your sword out of habit more than anything else, you raised it to block the arrow with the flat of the blade. The arrow bounced off the metal with a weak dink, clattering to the ground. If you'd reacted a moment later it would have pierced you.

You shot Childe a dirty look, irate from the cheap shot. He responded by grinning wider and taking aim again. You silently promised that he would face your wrath shortly.

Advancing towards him, you swatted the arrow flying your way with your sword. A bow would be less effective at close range, so you intended to close the distance. The redhead laughed, a hint of nervousness creeping into the sound at the pace of your advance. Or perhaps it was the building rage in your eyes.

The bow dematerialized, now Childe held dual hydro-blades in his hands in anticipation of close combat. Once in range, he immediately swiped at you with a blade. You stepped back out of the way, quickly bringing up your sword to parry the next slash coming from the opposite blade.

Childe seemed encouraged by you backing away, a smug look crossing his face. You furrowed your brows, he was so unthoughtful. He insists on using real weapons, shoots at you before you're ready, and now he has the audacity to get cocky.

You raise your blade to swing down at him and he catches your sword on crossed hydro-blades. He lets out a little huff of air, not expecting you to strike with such force, but his arms hold steady. You swiftly draw your blade back to slash at him again. Thorough training has you swiping at him with practiced ease while Childe is forced to switch to the defensive.

It gives you a sort of satisfaction to see his expression change to one of worry, it was your first time seeing such a look on him. You had no intention of actually hurting him, but it was nice to scare him a little. Maybe after this, he'd take the dangers of sparing with actual weapons a little more seriously. But probably not.

You're hardly thinking when his hydro-blades finally fail to parry your blows, the flat of your blade slamming into the side of his chest resulting in a soft crack barely loud enough to reach your ears. A look of surprise crosses your face when he lets out a pained grunt, what had happened finally being processed in your mind.

Immediately you drop your sword, ignoring it as it clatters to the ground before dematerializing. You were internally relieved to see his hydro-blades dissipate too, it would have been terribly unsportsmanly of him to stab you now. Stepping forward on instinct, you pause as you realize you're not exactly sure what to do.

Childe clutches his chest as he coughs a few times and a flood of panic washes over you. If you broke his ribs, his lungs could have been punctured. That would be bad.

"Fuck, that hurts," he huffed out before he attempted to gingerly sit down, right in the middle of the Golden House. Childe winced at the movement, but he managed to settle, leaning on his arms for support. His breathing was heavy from the strain of sparing and you felt extremely guilty, broken ribs had a tendency to hurt terribly and pain would flare up with every breath. At least he seemed to be breathing okay, so his lungs were probably intact.

"Let me get something to ease the pain," you said hastily, jogging towards the door to grab your bag. Your first thought was to numb him up before bringing him to Bubu Pharmacy to get some proper help.

"Aw, are you actually worried about me?" he cooed teasingly, maintaining that signature annoying grin despite the pain that followed him speaking. It was easy to ignore him as you rummaged through your bag for something useful.

It crossed your mind that it would be exceedingly difficult to get him all the way back to Liyue if you gave him anything strong. That limited your options rather greatly, adding that on to your lacking medical knowledge and limited variety of resources left you with fewer options than you would have liked. He probably could make it back without any anesthetic but it would be slow and you'd feel terrible for it.

Even with your lack of selection, you were thankful to have some knowledge and materials for this sort of thing, adventuring made you better at improvising and you learned a lot along the way. Taking everything into consideration, you decided it would be best to go with something topical. You could make a salve to numb up the area and then hopefully drag him to Bubu Pharmacy.

"I'm really sorry, Childe," you apologized, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Oh don't worry about it, this isn't the first time I've broken my ribs. Probably won't be the last, either," he replied with a laugh, which caused him to wince. You only frowned at him as you pulled out some plants to grind up. A rock would have worked, but you kept a mortar and pestle for this kind of thing after realizing you'd be doing it often.

You were soon mashing some leaves and a few petals into a paste, with some water Childe so graciously provided. Having a hydro user around was rather convenient when practicing field medicine.

"Whatcha makin'?" Childe asks after a short period of silence, leaning over to get a closer look. You wonder if he's actually curious or if he just can't tolerate the quiet. It seemed the two of you were always talking when you were together, save for when your sparing got too intense to spare the breath.

"A salve to numb you up so I can drag you to Bubu Pharmacy," you responded, still mostly focused on getting the paste to the right consistency.

"What? No, I can't go. I've got work to do," he argued, moving to stand up now.

You were quick to grab his wrist to prevent him from getting up, furrowing your brows. Childe paused, waiting for your explanation.

"You have at least one broken rib, whatever you need to do can wait," you told him sternly, maintaining eye contact. He turned his gaze away from you to hum in contemplation. He knew well enough that giving injuries time to heal was important, but so was his job.

"Fine, I guess what I was supposed to do today isn't that important," he relented, leaning back into a comfortable position once more. Childe had a feeling that if he had insisted on working you'd have found a way to stop him anyway.

"Can you take off your shirt?" you asked, trying to sound as casual and not awkward as possible once you were satisfied with the consistency of the paste. You would have offered to allow him to apply it himself but you figured it would be less painful this way, plus you'd need to bandage his chest afterward, so it didn't make much of a difference.

"Oh my, you're not usually this bold," he teased, reaching to begin undoing the clasps holding his jacket together. His remark made you decide against offering your assistance despite the awareness that even just wriggling out of the jacket probably hurt. It's okay to be a little petty sometimes. As a treat.

Once his torso was bare you shifted your position to be a bit closer and examined his side. There was already the beginning of bruising, but it would get much darker by tomorrow. You ignored the scars and other bruises that were present, very aware of the fact the redhead would tease you for staring if you looked any longer.

"I promise I'll be gentle," you assured, "But it'll probably hurt a little."

Childe just hummed, waving off your warning, so you gathered some of the salve on your fingers. You silently wished you'd had gloves that weren't absorbent with you so your hands wouldn't grow numb later.

It was a quick process of spreading the paste over his ribs, but his eyes remained on you the entire time. You couldn't be sure if he was just interested in what you were doing, but it surprised you that he remained entirely silent.

"It'll take a little while to numb up. I'm going to bandage your chest for support. This will hurt more," you informed him, dragging your pack towards you to dig out a roll of bandages.

"Don't worry, I'm a tough boy," he laughed in response, and you could only smile and shake your head at him. You had faith in his strength, but that didn't stop the guilt you felt over being responsible for his pain. It did make you feel better when he started reminiscing on past injuries he'd sustained in battle once you began bandaging him. How he could look back on them so fondly was a mystery to you.

At first, you were mindful to touch him as little as possible while you were wrapping the bandages. They needed to be a little tight to provide support but you tried to ensure they put as little pressure on his ribs as possible. Unfortunately, your fingers started to grow numb and you hadn't realized you'd been bandaging too tightly until Childe let out a soft grunt of pain.

"Fuck, sorry," you apologized, quickly unraveling the last section of bandaging to rewrap it more loosely.

"Don't worry about it," he said, thinking for a moment before adding, "But, if you want to make it up to me, a kiss would make me feel better."

Pausing in your ministrations, you looked up to see a cheeky grin on his face. You raised a brow, giving him an entirely unimpressed expression. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to flirt like this, trying to get a reaction out of you. But as you reached one hand up to gently grab his chin, it was his turn to become flustered.

Leaning up, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before moving away and releasing your hold on him. You patted his cheek twice, giving him an amused grin.

"You're welcome."

"Hey! That doesn't count!" Childe immediately whined, pouting at you. You could only laugh at his playful antics as you finally finished wrapping his chest.

"You're cruel, you know that?" the Snezhnayan grumbled, eyebrows still furrowed as he continued to pout. He really did seem like a spoiled kid at this moment and you laughed again, causing his frown to deepen.

You knew his demeanor was all theatrical, but as you stared at his expression you found yourself leaning towards him again. You gently pressed your lips to his, smiling into the kiss when his hands eagerly flew up to your face. You indulged in the kiss for a few moments, smirking when he followed you as you pulled away. Putting a hand on his shoulder, you halted his attempt to continue.

"You can have another kiss once you get checked out at Bubu Pharmacy."

-

If you read all that, I'm sorry lol. I wanted to spend more time on it but I don't want to take too long posting things. Anyways, if you have any better ideas for what I should write send them in. Please.

There's a part two now: Part 2

[stxleslyds]

It’s very interesting to see your thoughts on Winnik cause personally while I like that he made jason a bit unhinged and fun in utrh his other characterizations of his were eh at best. Like why would jason not care about the world and why would he take over the drug trade of all things considering his history. I feel like Winnick had a very surface level understanding of Jason. There was a lot of his past to explore but it wasn’t explored that deeply. Plus I absolutely HATED his Bruce and talia characterization. And how he wrote Talia in both utrh and lost days was absolutely disgusting and his explanation for why he did it was that Jason loves Talia and that they were both messed up ppl??? Which is where I can’t forgive him. I feel like he was a one hit wonder because ever since utrh his Jason story started to go downhill. I also feel like it’s because DC doesn’t know how to write a character that’s from a poor background and that’s a huge disservice to Jason. I do hope that Rosenberg or another writer (hopefully female) does a good job on him. He’s been suffering under shitty writing for so long. Sorry for the long ask I really enjoy reading your posts.

Hi Anon, thank you for sending your ask!

Well, this is a great question because I love giving my opinions on Winick’s UtRH and Lost Days. I know those books (or some moments in them) are not everyone’s cup of tea and I had and have some problems with some of them but I have also come to understand them or even accept them as a writer bringing up a morally grey area in his books and doing it well (or at least I saw it that way after re-reading and researching a bit about his thoughts on those matters).

This is going to be a long post (I suppose) because there is a lot to cover and I want to let you know in a clear way why I think that what Winick wrote works beautifully for Jason. I will try to answer this as coherently as I can, so I will talk about the points you made in your ask separately so I make sure I don’t forget anything.

Let’s begin!

“Why would Jason not care about the world?”

I assume with that you meant about what happened in Bludhaven when Chemo was dropped there by the Society? That is valid but that really wasn’t Winick’s fault (I believe), that whole thing was shown in the book because back then the Bat-related books were more interconnected and that was what was happening in Dick’s Nightwing run at the time, which I think was used to explain why Dick suddenly stopped helping Bruce in Gotham.

And then I think Jason and Bruce watching that happen when they were having that conversation on that roof was very well planned out. I think Winick used that opportunity for Jason to be his peak level of little shit and make Bruce feel bad about not arriving in time to save another one of his kids. Even though Jason later revealed that he never blamed Batman for not arriving in time to save him, I believe Jason said that about Dick to make Bruce hurt more. Jason was trying to make Bruce stay in Gotham so either Bruce or him killed the Joker that night. Winick on the other hand had to finish his story, him branching out and having Batman go to Bludhaven would have benefited absolutely no one either, and it just didn’t fit the story that was being told in Under the Red Hood.

That’s why I think that Jason reacted that way to the Bludhaven and Chemo situation. If by caring about the world you meant something else let me know! (He obviously cared about Gotham in UtRH and other people in Lost Days).

“Why would he take over the drug trade of all things considering his history?”

Well, I have to be honest with you Jason wanting to control the drug trade in Gotham makes absolute sense to me, and even more when I think about Jason’s past history.

Jason and Bruce have always been (to me) clear opposites in various angles, and in UtRH, Winick talks about that a little bit too.

Batman was created to eradicate crime from Gotham after Bruce witnessed the death of his parents, that was the tragedy that set him off, and even though it was tragic and awful he had everything outside of his parents, he had a home, a support system, people that cared and gave him love, and money. He never had to be in contact with the cruel reality that was Gotham. We know through various stories that Gotham is deeply rotten and corrupted.

But Jason did know how corrupted, rotten and devoid of hope his city really was, he lived in the streets and in an abandoned apartment alone because he didn’t trust the police or social workers (he didn’t believe the system was helpful). He had seen his mother die at the hands of drugs after his father was sent to jail due to his criminal behaviour. Probably his father was a drug dealer and was the person that got his mother into drugs, (I believe that was later made canon, I might be wrong). But why did he do that? Maybe because he came from a poor and complicated background and nobody wanted to employ him so the real bad people of Gotham, like Black Mask, Cobblepot and many others, saw his vulnerability and his desperation to make money and they gave him a job as a drug dealer.

Considering that Jason was made out to have very deep problems with people selling drugs in schools and all that, I can estimate that maybe one of the big Drug Lords at the time employed Jason’s father when he was barely a teenager, that way he earned money, he stopped going to school and sold drugs to his peers so the bad people could control more people while they were vulnerable.

If all of that is true then Jason wanting to control the drug trade in Gotham, by becoming a Drug Lord himself, makes perfect sense to me. I mean let’s talk about this, what were his other options?

Kill every drug lord?

What if that set off a gang war in Gotham over who got to be the next big Drug Lord? I mean, it would be like real life, if someone dies in that sort of position there would always be someone else to take their place. Drugs are clearly (in Gotham) a great way to get money and power.

Also, if he killed all the drug lords then what happened to the people that were working for them, how could Jason help them get another job?

Explode every warehouse and facility with drugs in them?

And then what? Wait for Black Mask and the others to buy more and put a target on his back? Maybe kill some innocents so they can send a message to Red Hood that if he keeps destroying their drugs or whatever people will pay for it?

Maybe all the drug lords would come together and kill the Red Hood themselves, what could one man do against everyone else? Black Mask and the others had vulnerable people on a payroll, if they stopped working or went against what their boss said they would have been killed and then families would still be vulnerable and desperate to survive in Gotham.

Come forward as Jason Todd, the not so dead son of Bruce Wayne, and start a campaign against drugs?

Jason would have ended up dead in seconds, everywhere you look there are corrupt people. What could have been the point of that? What could have Jason be able to give families like his so they could stop living under the control of drugs and Drug Lords?

-

Jason being a Drug Lord himself was the best option because Jason KNOWS the reality of Gotham and Gotham’s people. His way of dealing with drugs could control the drug trade in the first 10 years and then eradicate it after that time. His plan was genius!

Jason knew that for people not to suffer as his family did, he had to take the slow and hard path of becoming the thing that he hated the most. He needed to attack the monster from within. So, when he made his first move he controlled the street-level dealers, he told them “I will protect you from both Black Mask and Batman if you stop dealing drugs to kids and in schoolyards if you do that, you are dead”, it is genius! By being clear about not wanting to have kids and high schoolers involved with drugs he set out a new path where those people weren’t forced into drugs and driven away from school. And that’s the way Winick made us see Jason’s not so new morals, he protects Gotham’s kids and he will kill you without hesitation if you endanger them.

From that he built, Winick made it clear, at first Jason would convince the people working for other Drug Lords to work for him if they followed his rules (and he offered them protection!). If Jason worked on the drug trade, he could have controlled who was inserted in the drug life or could have made it exclusive to the rich or club exclusive. In his intention of taking over the drug trade, he could have moved drugs away from Gotham’s most vulnerable.

And if he employed those vulnerable people, he would have made them work for him on other levels, that way those vulnerable people still had jobs and were protected from people like Black Mask. And in due time, fewer young and poor people would be involved with drugs or the drug trade.

Red Hood employs poor people and makes them not sell to other poor people or kids, he pays his employees good money so their families make a better life for themselves and their kids go to school, they are all protected by the Red Hood and his team (Jason could have trained others and make a team or gang that focused entirely on security), those people then get to retire with their families far away from drugs and maybe Gotham too.

I mean, Winick never did those things but I think that was the way he was thinking about it, he really set a golden path for future writers, his story had to finish Jason’s dilemma with Bruce and Joker but then his life as the Red Hood continued. And it could have been good if other writers used the characterization that Winick had given Jason: protector of children, killer of rapists and everyone that endangered women, children and teenagers. All of that was thrown away for a mythical fight with Ra’s al Ghul for people that were as trashy as Ra’s.

“I feel like Winick had a very surface-level understanding of Jason”.

I have to disagree. I think he understood Jason’s character before his death well and then built a grown-up version of him with those morals more developed after he suffered more and then saw how the world and Batman’s ways hadn’t changed after his murder.

We are talking about post-crisis Jason here; he was sweet and he loved being Robin but he also saw the world differently from Bruce and Batman. He lived a very different life than the one that Bruce lived when he was a kid. Jason even said that he “could fend for himself just fine” and that he had “graduated from the streets of crime alley”.

To me Winick understood this completely, he knew that Jason had had close contact with how drugs could affect people and what a criminal record could lead you to, but he also understood that Jason was a survivor of "crime alley" and all its worst people. He probably knew of things that people were doing of he saw them happening. He knew how to protect himself from those things but understood that not everyone could do it. And when Batman took him to Ma Gunn’s school Jason learned that Batman was ignorant of how awful and manipulative Gotham’s people could be. Ma Gunn wasn’t running an orphanage or cool school; she was teaching children how to steal and harm others. He hated it, he was “okay” when he was alone and now, he was locked in with older kids that beat him and Ma Gunn who was exploiting children’s vulnerability.

I assume Winick took that and maybe decided that was the moment when Jason knew that even if Batman was trying to do good, he still didn’t see Gotham (or that side of Gotham) for what it truly was.

When Jason became Robin and worked along with Batman, we could already see that Jason thought very differently about what should be done with rapists, and abusers of all kinds, Jason saw the world differently when he was a kid and a teenager and then after his death, Winick used that to build a Jason Todd that as a young adult still saw Gotham for what it truly was.

“There was a lot of his past to explore but it wasn’t explored that deeply”.

I am really confused by this (and I am very dumb), did you mean that his past before his death wasn’t explored? Because that was not the point of this book, the information was already there with Jason’s previous appearances in comics, and even then, Winick explored through flashbacks in UtRH how he saw Jason and what it was that Jason thought about crime.

If you didn’t mean that and you meant his past before the events of UtRH but after his death then, well, I would say that Winick couldn’t have fit that in UtRH but he did write a story about that time in 2010 when he wrote Red Hood: Lost Days.

“I absolutely hated his Bruce and Talia characterization”

I will only talk about the Bruce part here because you mentioned Talia later in your ask.

To me his Bruce was perfect. I really think that his characterization of him was spot on, but maybe I am biased because I don’t like Bruce at all? I suppose that you are talking about Bruce’s characterization in those last moments in "crime alley" with Jason and Joker? And how he decided that making Jason drop the weapon by throwing a batarang to his throat and saving Joker was a better option than Jason killing the Joker?

If it is that then I would love to see what you think Bruce would have done at that moment because I didn’t really see Bruce using a gun (in any way) as an in-character thing for him, and even though DC has always danced with the idea of Bruce actually killing somebody I know that they wouldn’t have him do it, and even less when it comes to killing the Joker.

I mean, Bruce brought back Joker from the dead when Dick finally killed that piece of shit so, yeah, I don’t know.

I feel like Winick was trying to show just how loyal and squared Bruce is when it comes to his own no killing rule. Jason wasn’t asking for Bruce to go on a killing spree he just wanted Bruce to kill the Joker and he didn’t. Winick even had Bruce say that about him not wanting to kill one person because he felt that if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to stop and I think that’s pretty true. Maybe it is a bit too much but I don’t think it’s a lie.

“How he wrote Talia in both UtRH and Lost Days was absolutely disgusting”

That is absolutely valid, listen, if you didn’t like how he wrote her at all I really can’t say anything against that. My first real and solid contact with Talia’s character was in that book, so when I read UtRH I really liked how he wrote Talia in that, it seemed to have that aspect of Talia’s love for Bruce being so strong that when she saw Jason was alive, she wanted to help him so Bruce could see how much he loved her. It is messed up but I believed it fitted her character, she had good intentions but her reasoning was a little bit wonky.

With Lost Days, I thought that her character was well written, she isn’t a hero and she isn’t a villain, she is just a player in the game that is the League of Assassins and that world. That obviously changed up until we had that scene happen between her and Jason, I was grossed out and I didn’t understand why that had happened which leads me to what you said next in your ask.

“His explanation for why he did it was that Jason loves Talia and that they were both messed up people”.

This is a part of the interview where Judd Winick answered a question about Jason and Talia sleeping together. The interview was done by Sara Lima in ComicVine’s podcast.

“SL: Why did you decide to write the romantic scene between Jason and Talia in Lost Days?

JW: For those playing at home, Jason Todd, at the end of Red Hood: Lost Days, and Talia slept together. I did that because it was really disturbing and to shine a light on the fact that these are not really well people. A lot of people didn’t like that, which was correct. “You weren’t supposed to like that. That was supposed to be, ‘oh God, stop that, what are you doing?’ It really was. As well as, for Talia, her reasons, being that Bruce had wound up inadvertently killing her father and she was ragingly angry with him and went from love to pure hate and still loving him at the same time. And Jason, given the opportunity to have sex with just about the only woman who Bruce has had sex with or really cares about, ‘Yeah, I’ll go there.’

SL: He’s like, ‘yeah, cause I hate that guy.’

JW: Yeah! ‘I hate that guy!’ And I think that Jason probably had the hots for Talia. She’s hot, he doesn’t exactly have a lot of relationships going on – It’s not a good thing for either of them. These are two people who murder people, two people who are screwed up, screwed up emotionally. There’s this question that why would he do that and Talia only loves Bruce. She might only love Bruce, but she does have sex with other people because that’s just sex. And we’re all grown-ups here. I think those who shake their fist and get angry at this kind of thing might be some of our older readers. I’m an older reader, but I acknowledge the fact that people aren’t that chaste and grow up: people have sex. That’s why I ended it like that; It was messed up.

Maybe it was in another interview or something but this is the only time that I have seen Winick talk about that and I don’t think he mentioned Jason loving Talia but he did say said that “These are two people who murder people, two people who are screwed up, screwed up emotionally”.

When I looked it up, I found that someone that is described as screwed up is a person that is “emotionally disturbed”. That description is one that I feel is valid for both Jason and Talia at the time, they both had a lot going on and were fighting some demons so maybe it’s not a nice thing to say but I can’t say that the statement isn’t true. Or at least that’s how I see it.

When I came across that interview for the first time, I wasn’t expecting Winick to apologise for writing that interaction but I did want an explanation so after he said, “A lot of people didn’t like that, which was correct. “You weren’t supposed to like that. That was supposed to be, ‘oh God, stop that, what are you doing?’ It really was” and “for Talia, her reasons, being that Bruce had wound up inadvertently killing her father and she was ragingly angry with him and went from love to pure hate and still loving him at the same time. And Jason, given the opportunity to have sex with just about the only woman who Bruce has had sex with or really cares about, ‘Yeah, I’ll go there.’”

I felt like that was enough, granted I didn’t like it and I still don’t like it but I don’t see it as Winick writing something disturbing with evil intentions, I just see it as him writing these two morally grey people doing some very morally grey stuff.

This is not me saying that this is how things have to be taken, I know and understand many people who absolutely don’t like this at all and that’s valid. I am not here to change your mind about that, personally when I read the why he wrote that I felt like that explanation was enough but that is just me.

“I feel like he was a one-hit-wonder because ever since UtRH his Jason story started to go downhill”

I think Winick was only meant to write Jason’s comeback to comics, around the time he was writing Outsiders and Green Arrow. And there was also the “Infinite Crisis” (Winick wasn’t involved with that one) event going on in the middle that explained some stuff like how Jason was resurrected which was explored in Batman Annual #25 in 2006 (like a year after the UtRH book had come out and it was also written by Winick). Then with the popularity of the UtRH book the animated movie was made (written by Judd Winick) and because that was coming out DC allowed Winick to write the six-issue mini of Red Hood: The Lost Days in 2010.

The UtRH story didn’t go downhill, DC simply couldn’t handle that level of mature storytelling at the time, just after that event ended DC was already planning on changing stuff and then the New 52 came years later.

Winick’s Jason even made an appearance in Outsiders #44-46, there Red Hood wanted to help the Outsiders break out a good man (Black Lightning) out of prison because he hadn’t killed anyone (it had actually been Slade). Jason/Red Hood’s characterization and story going downhill wasn't on Winick, it was on DC and their lack of interest in making their characters complex and dual.

“DC doesn’t know how to write a character that’s from a poor background and that’s a huge disservice to Jason”

Absolutely. But in my case, I do think that Winick did work with Jason’s background very well. To me, he set a path and no one could follow it but I might also be horribly wrong.

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I also hope that Rosenberg does an amazing job! I absolutely love his work, as I have said before he is super funny and isn’t scared of writing characters who kill. I feel like he will bring back the sarcastic little shit that Jason once was but he will also bring back that sense of seriousness and dedication that Jason has for the work that he is doing. Rosenberg even showed us some of that in that prelude to Task Force Z in Detective Comics, I absolutely recommend them if you haven’t read them, issues #1041 and #1042 were the ones with that backup story.

I can see that we have very different opinions but that’s just a part of the comic world, we all perceive these comics differently and that’s valid! I am glad you enjoy reading my posts and I hope that even though we have those different opinions you were still able to enjoy my answer! If you think that I misunderstood anything that you say please let me know, sometimes my brain just doesn’t click.

Hope you have a fantastic week!

[repetitionsings]

Sorting Cabin Pressure

I return! Briefly, because tumblr still hates me, and yet triumphant, because I’ve spent the last week re-listening to Cabin Pressure, and I want to talk about sorting the MJN crew. So let’s do some Sorting Hat Chats!

As usual, my view on these characters may not be yours, and if you have different thoughts, I’d love to hear them. :D Discussion spans the entire 27 episodes, so let’s say spoilers just to be safe.

Martin

Despite probably having the biggest, best-defined character arc, I'm finding Martin the main character I'm least set on. 

Secondary-wise, I'd say he's definitely a built secondary; very little of Martin's improvisations seem to come comfortable to him. His insistence on doing things right and by-the-book feels fairly Badger, but his ability to be lured into shortcuts and moments of unprofessional behavior feels to me like a Bird who thinks that Badger hard word and toil is the best option. It also seems to fit with the way he becomes calm and confident once something works out for him, and then immediately loses it once things go wrong and he feels unprepared again. The few episodes where he really gets to be confident and succeed particularly feel Bird-y to me: relying on knowledge in Johannesburg especially stand out.

(That said, Badger also seems to ring consistently with the way he handles a lot of things -- his dedication to his job, his hard work, even the way half the time he does get confident, it's either because Douglas isn't there to bring him down, or he seems to be pretending to be him.)

Primary-wise, though, that's where I get tripped up. Not a Snake, I think; even his hesitancy to leave MJN is half about his own goals and issues, not fully founded in caring about others. Badger doesn't quite seem right either -- "being loyal and true to things or people that exist is more important than sticking to grander but more abstract ideals or concepts" does not sound like Martin at all. My first thought was Lion, just one that's still struggling to be as decisive as they usually are -- despite his hesitancy, and his instincts being 'follow the rules written by others', a lot of the Lion stuff seems to apply to him. "They are willing to sacrifice their safety, social harmony, and a certain amount of logic to do what they feel is right." "There is right and there is wrong. Things are black and white. Shades of gray are places where people go to play games, twist the truth, and to be cowards."

But... he does bend the rules, or sit back and let Douglas do so. If nobody who makes him feel like he has to put on the act is there -- see Newcastle and Qikiqtarjuaq -- he'll bend them pretty far. Trying to drop candy on a kids' birthday party (Johannesburg) and lying to a passenger about where they're flying (Timbuktu) levels of far.

So who's around seems to be a big part of it, which maybe could point back in a loyalist direction. I think in the end, though, I'm going to throw up my hands and say, maybe a Bird whose system is in progress from something fairly immature and black-and-white to something more complicated? Martin's devotion to his passion and his job above all else feels pretty Idealist to me, and this seems a little more fitting than him being an extremely malleable Lion.

Douglas

Douglas "at any given moment I never have fewer than seven ulterior motives" Richardson? Douglas "did something clever and now everything's fine" Richardson? Douglas "pretending very hard not to care about anything, actually cares very deeply, but only about specific things and specific people" Richardson? Is there even any point to considering an answer besides double Snake here? Douglas might as well be the model of it. Trickery is his first language. He schemes, charms, adapts, and lucks out in order to achieve anything in his sights, whether that's as small as a relief from boredom or as big as saving the day.

Motivation is trickier -- but it becomes clearer and clearer as time goes on how far Douglas is willing to go to save MJN, and outside his own desires to be the captain again, that seems like the biggest thing that ever drives him. Combine that with his hedonism, and the way he's happy to lie, cheat, and steal to accomplish most other things with no notable guilt or shame, I don't even see hints of a model or structure built over it; the things that matter to him are his own reputation and status (and even that in very specific, particular ways), and saving GERTI and her crew.

(That said, the more I think about it, I do think you could make a solid argument for Douglas as a rapid-fire Bird Secondary. Mostly built around Zurich -- his confession that his confidence started, not just as a mask, but wholesale imitating somebody else. There's also this excerpt from Finnemore's Farewell Bear Facts: "Douglas prefers to hang back, let other people make mistakes, work out the 'something clever' he's going to do in secret, and then present it with a flourish." While that could be Snake-y, I could see it as a Bird's planning working for someone whose very invested in his own reputation. That said, I still think Double Snake seems the most applicable overall.)

Carolyn

Carolyn's drives are a kind of mirror to Douglas', which is interesting to reflect back on. The two things she cares most about are how she's seen, and -- even if she sometimes shows it in her own strange way -- Arthur. Then Douglas and Martin start to rank in there over time, and eventually so does Herc. (Martin moreso than Douglas -- speculation, but I think it's probably because everyone knows Douglas will take care of himself first, so he doesn't need to be worried about so much.) Money matters to her of course, but several times it comes down to show that if money was the most important thing, she'd probably have given up GERTI a long time ago. We get it set out plainly as early as Douz: "Because I am the Chief Executive Officer of MJN Air. It’s a good thing to be. It’s better than... a little old lady."

I think it's possible to read Carolyn as an extremely burned Badger; there's something in how she reacts to her sister that makes me think I can see it. But in general, I'm more inclined to say Snake Primary. One that isn't fully burned -- Arthur's never really out of her circle, I think -- but does have a hell of a time opening up her circle to new people by the time of the series. Just look at the trial Herc goes through before he gets there.

Lion Secondary, I think. She's the immovable object to Douglas' unstoppable force, and Martin is the thing unfortunately trapped between them at times. She's stubborn and honest, hates playing at being nicer than she is and only does it when absolutely necessary, and cares about her rules being followed but not the rules in general so much. She's whip-smart, but she doesn't actually tend to be tricky or slippery in the same way as Douglas -- and in fact, the one time we really see her try to be actively tricky, in Timbuktu, she loses. She's more likely to ignore opposition or tell someone else to solve it, and even when she pulls something, it's usually pretty straight-forward. (For example, calling Hester's fans in Cremona -- it's an underhanded move against someone who's earned her ire, but not really a complicated scheme.)

Arthur 

I think Arthur shares his mother's Lion Secondary. He's a force in his own right as much as she is, even if he's more of a tornado to her steel barrier. He's honest to a fault and very much always himself, no matter what the situation, or how much better it might be to try and do something else.

As Primary goes, it's hard to tell if this is just Arthur's optimism shining against everyone else, but my first instinct is Badger. He wants to be helpful, oftentimes too much so, and he likes them so much it tends to be notable when he doesn't like somebody. His focus tends to be the people in front of him at the time, but that does extend to include other people when they're there -- it's not just the crew at all times. While I think it's possible to see him in other lights, Badger seems to make the most sense and work with what we see of his wants through the series.

Herc 

While most of the other minor or reoccurring characters don't show up enough for me to have even an idea, I think we do get enough of Herc to narrow it down some, if not make a completely secure conclusion.

My first instinct is that he's yet another Snake Primary in the mix. It works with his role as a foil for Douglas, and with his willingness to give up his position to be with Carolyn by the end of the series. (That said, I feel like his speech on why he's a vegetarian in Ottery St. Mary could point towards Bird Primary as well, and would make sense with everything we see of him.)

He seems straightforward in a way that doesn't line up with a Snake Secondary to me -- that could be a matter of the situations we see him in, but I still just don't see it in his conversations with Carolyn. I'd say maybe a Lion Secondary, in the way the two of them clash and he stands his ground. Bird Secondary also makes sense, but admittedly I'm having trouble pointing to anything specific that made me think so; there's just something in the way his manner bounces off the others, and in the way he seems to almost take on and off All-Knowing Air Captain mode.

In conclusion --

Martin: Double Bird with a Badger Secondary model Douglas: Double Snake Carolyn: Snake Primary/Lion Secondary Arthur: Badger Primary/Lion Secondary Herc: tentatively Snake Primary/Lion or Bird Secondary

or, as they say in Limerick... But for Arthur, they're all quite constructed With the Snakes bickering interrupted By a worrying Bird From the Captain's chair heard Til the newest of Snakes is inducted

Carolyn's Lion is strong and won't coddle Martin's Bird, leaning against his model Or the Lion she raised By the Snake she's unfazed And thank you all, for reading my twaddle

[ohmygarlands]

No Goodbyes

(Warning: this story deals with heavy subject matter)

Gene rushed to the house on Evanview as fast as he could, barely stopping even for the red lights. As soon as he heard the desperation in Vincente’s voice, he knew it was serious. He slammed the car door behind him and dashed inside, tearing up the stairs to follow the sounds of Vincente’s sharp knocks against the bathroom door.

“Judy! Darling, please come out…” Vince begged, his hand on the doorknob.

“What the hell’s going on?” Gene asked, breathing heavy.

“She locked herself in, I can’t get her out!” He was becoming hysterical himself, “I don’t know what to do, Gene! I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Fuck!” Gene muttered, standing in front of the door, “how long has she been in there?”

“About a half an hour, I tried everything. I thought maybe she might listen to you…”

Vincente learned of their affair shortly after The Pirate. He saw them carelessly stealing kisses at the wrap party nearly a year ago. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother him anywhere near as much as he thought it would. He felt almost relieved. When Gene was in the picture, she was happy, stable, and much less erratic. It took a load off his shoulders and he was able to look the other way, sinking himself into his work. But when things started to go sideways and her moods became more turbulent than ever, he could look away no more.

Gene knocked twice first before trying the door handle, “Judy… it’s me,” he said as calmly as he could. He could hear her breathy sobs on the other side of the door, “Open the door…”

“I can’t,” she said in a strained voice.

“Why can’t you open the door, Judy?”

Vincente grabbed Gene’s shoulder, “Maybe we can jimmy the lock, I’ll go get a knife.”

Gene nodded before turning his attention back to Judy, “Judy, why can’t you open the door? Talk to me…”

“GO AWAY!!” She suddenly screamed.

“I’m not going anywhere, do you hear me?”

“Please, just leave,” she cried.

“Tell me what happened…”

“I can’t,” her voice was shaking.

When Vincente returned with a knife, Judy’s manager Carlton Alsop followed behind him. He too tried to get her to open the door but their attempts, including the knife, were futile .

“Vince, what the fuck happened to her?!” Gene asked, becoming irate.

“She came home from the lot, tired. I didn’t think anything of it. She said she was going to lay down for a while. All of the sudden, I heard her screaming and found her locked in the goddamn bathroom!”

Carlton bolted into her bedroom, in search of what he knew he’d find. When he returned, he carried an empty pill bottle. Gene’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“We need to get her out of there!” Carlton said, “keep talking to her Gene! Keep her alert. This was full yesterday, she needs a doctor,” he said frantically rushing for the phone in her room.

Gene could feel a lump forming in his throat as his eyes began to water, “Judy…”

“I just want to sleep…” her voice became soft and lazy.

“Then why don’t you unlock the door, and we’ll get you into bed. You can sleep as long as long as you like, please…” Gene begged.

Vincente turned to face the wall opposite the door, leaning his forearms against the wallpaper.

“They’ve done it, they’ve killed her! They finally killed my beautiful wife!” He cried.

Gene leapt up and grabbed Vince by the collar of his shirt, “shut the fuck up!!”

Just then, Carlton came back and broke them up. He pulled Vincente aside and tried to calm him down so Gene could focus his attention on Judy. Suddenly, the sound of a glass breaking followed by another loud sob came through the door. The three men looked at each other in horror.

“JUDY!!” Gene cried, sliding down to his knees with his hand on the door knob.

“Please just let me go…” She sobbed.

“Judy,” Gene’s voice became quiet, “don’t do this… I’m begging you.”

Judy’s cries became a little clearer, he could tell she was now up against the opposite side of the door. He leaned his forehead against it, “my life began when I met you, Judy, you gave me a purpose, you taught me how to live my dream. You never gave up on me, not once… and I’m not giving up on you. Not now, not ever…”

Judy’s sobs had settled to skipping breaths. He glanced over at Carlton and Vince, feeling their eyes piercing through him.

“Please, please unlock this door…”

A few moments later, he heard a click in the doorknob and Gene jumped up to open it, finding Judy leaning against the wall holding her legs as she cried. Gene could no longer fight his own tears as he gathered her in his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she wept into his chest. Gene bunched her sweaty hair in his hands, sweeping it away from her forehead.

“Shhh,” he whispered, rocking her like a small child.

As her doctor tended to her in her bedroom with Vincente, Gene and Carlton made their way downstairs, giving them privacy. They went down to the kitchen and sat at the large island. His hands still shaking, he lit a cigarette, inhaling for what seemed like minutes.

“What do we do now?” He asked, the smoke falling from his mouth.

“She needs help, Gene.”

“Right, what do we do?” He repeated.

“You’re not understanding me. She needs more help than you or I, or Vince could ever give her.”

“How do you know? Maybe there’s something we can do.”

“She’s been getting worse by the day, Gene. Her moments of clarity and of joy are becoming fewer and farther between. Her mood swings are more violent than ever, one minute she’s laughing and—“

“The next, she’s in tears,” he finished his sentence.

“I visited her last week on Annie… I stopped by to see her, she was so happy to see me, she was all over me… I made a harmless joke about the feather in her hair and she completely lost it. It’s like she took on an entirely different personality, I didn’t even recognize her voice.”

“Then you know…”

“I didn’t know what to make of it. I remember what she went through when we made the Pirate.”

“This is different. If we don’t do something fast, she’s not going to make it much longer.”

Gene sighed, slamming his cigarette in the ashtray as his jaw clenched, trying to hold back another wave of tears.

“There’s a hospital in Boston I’ve been trying to get her into for several weeks. The second I realized the path she was going down, I reached out to their top doctor.”

“Boston?”

“They specialize in this sort of thing. It might be exactly what she needs.”

“It’s on the other side of the country!” Gene began to panic.“Why can’t we help her here? Her family is here, her friends… I’m…” he stopped himself, glancing down at the table in front of him.

“Los Angeles is like a prison cell to Judy, this is the last place she needs to be.”

“Have you told Vince about this idea of yours?”

“Yes…”

“And?”

“He’s not happy about it but he’s willing to let her go.”

Gene leaned back in his chair, he knew it would be best for her but after tonight’s episode, he had a very hard time pushing his selfishness away. He wanted more than ever to be with her, to hold her and never let her go.

To their sheer relief, the doctor informed all three of them that Judy had caused no serious harm and that they managed to get the pills out of her system before anything damaging could happen. Carlton left that evening shortly after the doctor did, and after making sure Vincente and Gene were both ok. The gentlemen had discussed further the notion of sending Judy to Boston. Carlton agreed to work with her doctor here to ensure they could set up an admittance appointment as soon as possible.

Sitting at her bedside, Gene watched as she slept. He gently swept his fingers up and down her bare arm, he knew how much that relaxed her. Her skin immediately responded to his scarce caresses. She rolled over and slowly opened her wet eyes.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Gene whispered with a slight smile.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” she said, her voice so weak it broke him all over again. He shook his head and moved his fingers up to her face, running his thumb along her eyebrow and down her cheek.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“Well, you’re going to go see some more doctors, and we’re going to sort everything out, I promise you. You’re going to be just fine.”

“But what if I’m not?”

“I’m sorry, Garland, that option just isn’t on the table.”

“I’m so scared,” she began to cry again.

“I know you are, baby, I am too…”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I told you I’m not going anywhere… We’re going to get through this. I will do whatever I need to to make you better.”

“ I love you,” she reached for his hand.

“I love you…” He leaned in, placing a soft lingering kiss against her forehead.

Gene couldn’t sleep. He laid in bed, more wide awake than he had ever been. He stopped checking the time when it passed two a.m. The only thoughts that went through his mind were of Judy. Their intertwining lives had become more strained than before. Carlton was right, her moods were all over the place, particularly so when she started filming Annie. Regretfully, their time together had been much less frequent. He was in the thick of post-production work for one of his biggest features, On the Town, which at one point took him away from her all together. They saw each other when they could but part of him couldn’t help but to place the blame on his absence. He helped her navigate through the flames on The Pirate, but as Carlton said, this was different. She was falling deeper and deeper into an illness that he couldn’t even begin to understand.

He threw the linen sheet that was covering him from the waist down to the side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He knew if he laid there a minute longer, he would drive himself to hysteria. Instead, he decided to drive himself to a bar. He threw on a sweater and grabbed his keys. He stumbled into the Mocambo, the club was nearly empty except for a few couples huddled anonymously in the back of their booths. He sat himself at the bar and signalled for an Irish whiskey. He was handed his drink when a sudden slap on the back startled him, making him spill a little on his sweater.

“What the fuck?” He hissed, turning to find Frank beside him.

“Sorry, Shanty, didn’t mean to scare ya. I just saw you come in, what the hell are you doing here this time of night?”

“I was thirsty,” he flatly replied, downing the remainder of his drink.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, listen,” he began, taking the seat beside him, “I got a favour to ask you…”

“What?”

“I’m planning a romantic getaway with Ava and I’m in need of the perfect locale, that’s where you come in,” he grinned. Gene shot him a side-eyed glance.

“Your boat!” He blurted, “are you planning on using it this weekend?”

“No,” he answered, tapping his fingers on the bar to get the bartender's attention.

“Well how ‘bout it then? May I borrow it?”

Gene took a moment to answer, sighing.

“I’ll be your best friend!” He begged, pathetically.

Gene shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t care, take it.”

“That’s my boy!” He pulled Gene in by his neck but Gene pushed him off.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” He asked, backing into his seat.

“Forget it.”

“Uh oh, troubles with a certain brunette we both know? Just tell her she was right, buy her some flowers, you’ll be outta the dog house in no time.”

Gene snickered, if only the solution were that easy, he thought.

“Sure,”

Frank paused for a moment, looking at him analytically. He was a little taken aback by his whitewashed and expressionless face, “What’s going on with you? Are you alright?”

Gene shook his head ‘no’, tightening his lips.

“I’m failing her, Frank.”

“What?”

“Ever since her and I collided nine years ago, she gave me somebody to be. She never gave up on me, she never let me fall, I exist because of her. And now… she needs my help and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do for her.”

Frank crossed his arms, his elbows resting on the bartop, he took a deep breath in before trying to respond, “I heard about what happened,”

Gene furrowed his eyebrows, how the news about her travelled so quickly, he didn’t know. It was one thing he fucking hated about this town.

“You never know what’s true and what’s fiction in those god awful columns. But it’s true, isn’t it?”

Gene closed his eyes as a single tear fell down his cheek, “I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life.”

“Listen, I don’t know the whole story, but I do know one thing, you’re not failing her, Gene. Mayer is failing her, even Minnelli is failing her. You? You are providing her with an escape. She once told me a long time ago now that she forgets ‘Judy Garland’ exists when she’s with you. You make everything she’s ever been afraid of disappear.”

“Then why can’t I make this disappear?”

Frank didn’t have the answers Gene was looking for. He and Gene sat silently together, and he watched as Gene drowned himself with another double. He saw to it that he didn’t drive home that night and instead opted to take him back to his place where he could dry out in relative peace. He didn’t want Betsy to see her husband like that – Gene had moved into his own bedroom, their marriage as they knew it had ended months ago but they both decided to remain under the same roof in order to keep things simple and beneficial to Kerry – but Frank wasn’t sure how much of Judy’s situation Betsy was privy to, nor did he want her to see how it affected her husband.

Gene and Stanley Donen were overseeing the editing process for On the Town in a building clear across the studio lot. He kept quiet while Stanley interjected his thoughts. Gene was usually the vocal one, especially when it came to perfecting a film that he poured his blood, sweat and tears into. Gene quietly excused himself, making his way through the large doors that led outside to get some air. As though it were on queue, Judy appeared right in front of him. His heart sank as it always did when he saw her, but when it was an unexpected encounter, it hit him differently.

“Judy…” he spoke.

“Oh, thank God I found you!” She said breathlessly, placing her arms on his elbows.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asked, putting his arms around her waist without a care for who may be nearby.

“They’re making me go away for awhile…” her brown eyes began to fill, “to Boston. I’m being admitted to a hospital there for a rest.” Gene’s reaction was a blank one which took Judy aback, she didn’t know he had been in on the conversation between her husband and Carleton.

“I’m, I’m leaving tomorrow,” she continued.

“What?!” He exclaimed.

Judy’s face crumpled before a stream of tears fell from her eyes.

“Ok, ok…” he pondered, trying unrealistically to figure out a last minute way he could make all her troubles vanish into thin air. He knew she would be leaving, it was only a matter of time. But the suddenness of her departure threw him completely. Judy pressed her cheek against his chest and he held her. “You’re leaving tomorrow?! I didn’t think you’d be going so soon… I thought we could… I,” he stumbled and Judy pulled back, looking up at him.

“You knew?”

Gene softly nodded, “Of course, I knew.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?” She asked him, her tears suddenly stopping.

Gene exhaled deeply through his nose, “No, baby. You’re not crazy, you’re just… tired. You need rest, you need routine,” he paused, “you need help.”

“You don’t think you can help?” She asked, her tone beginning to change in an uncomfortably familiar way.

“Don’t.”

“I just asked a question.”

“Don’t try to pick a fight with me the day before you leave, I know exactly what you’re doing and I’m sorry, but it’s not going to work, not this time,” he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. Judy raised her head slightly and his lips travelled naturally to her mouth, holding her in his warmth.

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” he whispered.

“What?”

“I want to take you out tonight… on a proper date. A romantic dinner, maybe a stroll along the pier, just the two of us. What do you say?”

“I have so much to do, Gene,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

“Please… I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to, I need you.”

Judy widened her eyes and coyly smirked, “that’s a tempting offer,”

“I’m a desperate fool, what can I say?”

“Pick me up at our usual spot at 10. Don’t be late,” she smiled, pulling away from him.

Judy and Gene walked hand in hand along the beach, each carrying their own shoes as they felt the cool sand between their toes. The moon reflected beautifully on the Pacific and they stopped for a moment to admire the sight in front of them.

“I have to hand it to you, Mr. Kelly, that was probably the nicest evening I’ve had in a long time,” she cooed, wrapping her arm around his waist.

“Oh, my darling, you don’t think it’s over do you?”

Judy looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “We’ve had a lovely dinner, walked along the beach, hmm, whatever else could you possibly have in mind?” She purred seductively, leaning her forehead against his.

“Judy Garland, you vulgar little thing, you,” he teased, Judy’s mouth dropped. “I was merely pointing out that we have a lot more beach to walk,” he said, holding his arm out parallel to the shoreline. Judy laughed that delicious laugh of hers and for a split second, Gene all at once felt like everything would be O.K. again. He pulled her into his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder. As they stood there quietly, listening to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the opening bars of Bing Crosby’s Only Forever faintly travelled from a radio belonging to a couple in the distance. Judy’s mouth quickly shaped into an evocative smile.

“What?” Gene matched her expression when he looked down, catching her.

“Listen…” She whispered.

Gene was quiet, cocking his head to the side, “What is it?”

“You don’t remember?” Judy asked him, wide eyed, “The night we met, all those years ago, this is the song we shared our first dance to at the Copacabana.”

Gene closed his eyes and hung his head in shame, “Of course it is…” he murmured.

“My knees were shaking,” she reminisced.

“My heart was racing,” he added, pressing his forehead against hers, “you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

“I looked like a duck,”

Gene laughed, pulling her in closer against his body, “a swan.”

“What was going through your mind when we were dancing together that night?” She asked as they swayed back and forth to the faint music.

Gene let out a smiling sigh, “well firstly, I was scared to death that I’d be mauled if I even made the slightest wrong move with you. Remember there was a circle of eyes upon us?”

It was Judy’s turn to laugh, “Oh, yes, I remember that, all too well. What else were you thinking?”

“Well… there was one brief moment that I can remember so vividly. We were cheek to cheek, moving slowly on the dance floor, much like we’re moving right now, and I must have cracked a joke or something –I’m assuming about how uncomfortable it was with everyone watching,” his voice became whisper-soft, “and you pulled back to look at me, almost as though you just needed me to see that I could make you laugh. I can’t explain it, but in that moment, you made me feel like I was the most important person in your world. What was I thinking? Well, darling, I never wanted to kiss somebody so badly in my entire life,” he smirked.

She pulled back in his hold, just as she had done at the Copacabana, only this time, she placed her lips on his and they kissed to the sound of Bing Crosby and the waves hitting the shoreline. Her tongue sweeping over his was euphoric. Their mouths always melded perfectly together and it took all of his willpower not to devour her right then and there. When their lips finally broke and their foreheads leaned against each other again, he spoke.

“What were you thinking when you locked yourself in the bathroom last week?” His question was so quiet it was barely audible. Judy’s eyes opened and found his peering back at her. The sound of his heart pounding was deafening in the silence between them.

“I didn’t want to die…” she explained. “I have a lot to live for, I have my baby,”

“You have me,” he interjected.

“I can’t explain what I was thinking, darling, all I could hear was constant noise in my head and I just wanted it to stop. I’m so tired. I just wanted to go to sleep, and stay that way.”

Gene breathed out through his nose, his eyes closed as he processed her response. He swallowed hard in an attempt to keep his own emotions in check.

“That’s why I need to go away… I need to sort out that constant noise in my head. Everyone thinks I’m crazy. I’m not. I’ve never been more ashamed of anything in my entire life than I am for trying that, you know.”

“I know, baby. What can I do? I need you to let me help…”

“You’ve done more for me than I could ever ask for.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,”

“Then you’re just going to have to take my word for it,” Judy placed her palms on his cheek and raised his face to hers, “you know what you could do for me?”

“What’s that?”

“Take me somewhere… with a bed.”

Gene laughed, halting his tears from spilling.

Room 204 at the Roosevelt was their room, it always had been, and by chance, it was vacant when they arrived at the front counter. They no longer cared who saw them in the foyer, Judy was already in the paper for a suicide attempt, and she joked in the car on the way there that the bar couldn’t be set any lower with the media.

It was their bodies melding together now, even more perfectly than their mouths. Gene had rolled over and turned on the soft bedside lamp when Judy climbed on top of him. Their future was a complete blur and the likelihood of being with her again any time soon was becoming dimmer and dimmer. He wanted to soak up every second with her and memorize every square inch of her incredible body. When the soft yellow glow illuminated the room, he was met with her tender smile as she placed her hand over his sternum. He drew in a sharp breath as she lowered herself onto him. Her smile shifted into an “O” and her eyes closed as her head fell back. He slid his hands up her thighs to her sides to grab a hold of her hips  as she rocked back and forth in an intoxicating rhythm.

He loved the way she rode him but the sensation now was too overwhelming and he was becoming more and more uninhibited with every stroke. He pulled her against his chest and swiftly flipped her onto her back, making her squeal laughing.

“You drive me crazy when you do that, you know?”

“I know,” she purred, sliding her hand down his cheek. He turned his face into her palm and placed a gentle kiss on the little creases.

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to let you go,” he murmured.

Judy slid her hand to his mouth, pressing her index finger to his lips, “Don’t.”

Gene leaned forward and kissed her, reaching down for her wrist to bring it above her head as he entered her once more. Their fingers intertwined and the soft moans against his lips let him know he had effortlessly found her spot.

“No letting go,” she breathed in tune to their rhythm, “no goodbyes,”

“Whatever you say, Garland,” he purred.

They made love for hours, alternating between kissing, caressing, fucking, and laughing until the sun had begun to poke out over the horizon. The thin ray of sun that shone through the hotel curtains illuminated a perfect line up Judy’s spine as she laid on her belly with her arms tucked underneath her body. Her eyes were growing increasingly heavy as Gene’s fingers scarcely traced the beam of sun on her back.

“What time do you leave?” He whispered.

“Not until later,” she replied, her voice cracking.

“You should get some sleep.”

Judy unravelled one arm from underneath her torso and reached for Gene’s wrist, gripping it as though she were just trying to anchor herself to him. He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on each knuckle. By the time he reached her thumb, her breathing had deepened and she was fast asleep.

With a smile on his face, Gene’s eyes fluttered open and his arm immediately fell to Judy’s side of the bed. He shot up when he realized it was empty. When he went to grab his watch from the bedside table, he noticed a folded note standing on it’s side.

No Goodbyes.

See you soon, my darling.

All my unbridled love,

-J

[a-la-la-llama]

The One Where Marinette Kicks Butt #7

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 8

  It was a normal day at work, Marinette helped Ivy tend to the plants. Said flowers complained about everything and no matter what, could never decide what music they wanted to listen to to help them grow! After the whole you are not safe without the kwami’s protection, Marinette had to stop Plagg from eating flowers he deemed were cheese. Tikki kept eyeing the aphids and would snack on them when no one was looking. Sass kept coiling his tail too tight around the stems. Nooroo wouldn’t stop drinking the nectars. Pollen was pollinating. Then lastly, Orikko was plucking the daisies petals off one by one. To sum it all up, it was a pretty normal day.

Closing was easy since they didn’t have any last minute orders for the next day. Once the doors were locked, Ivy waved her off and they went in different directions.

  They always closed at six-thirty and were out by seven o’clock. Gotham was beginning to change towards fall in late September, however, so the sun would start setting at seven instead of the usual eight to eight-thirty. Marinette lived fifteen minutes away and was a relatively small stature girl. She also had on her school uniform which meant everyone who saw her knew she was just a teenager. Do you see the problem yet? Can you guess what was bound to happen? Let’s set the scene, shall we!

  Marinette had noticed them when she was walking by and one of the two men brushed her with his shoulder. Even though he was the one to run into her Marinette swiftly apologised and went on her way. She was eight minutes from her apartment and turning a corner when she noticed that they were not far behind her.

The problem was that they had been going the opposite way beforehand. So she tried to do what a normal person without pocket gods would do in this situation. She didn’t want to lead them home so she stuck with the few crowds there, trying to lose them. But night was approaching, slowly fewer and fewer people were out.

Marinette considered going into a coffee shop that was open but what good would that do if they just waited for her to exit. It’s not like she could afford to have a phone and even then she only knew a few people in Gotham. She was just deciding on how to locate a police or fire station when she was yanked backwards by her arm. Into a gosh darn alleyway.

Seriously, if they have the highest crime rates, and most of them happened in alleys, why do they have so many alleyways! Especially dark and dead end ones like where Marinette was standing. A normal person would be terrified but Marinette wasn’t a normal girl, but she couldn’t let them know that. For all they knew, they just cornered   a helpless girl that was scared of the two men twice her size. When really they were the ones who fell into the trap of a powerful god wielding girl with no escape.

“Look who we finally caught, can’t run now.”, the blonde one taughted.

“She almost looks like a Wayne. If we could convince the boss, she’ll be worth a lot more than those other girls.”, the brunette one suggested.

Who was even a Wayne and why did she look like them? Was it the blue hair, she’d never seen others that had a natural blue like her besides her mom and Kagami. It must be her eyes, but lots of people could have blue eyes, especially in America. The blonde pulled a needle out of his pocket.

“Now just make this easy and stay still so we don’t have to hurt that pretty little face of yours!”, he sneered.

Kwami, what were these awful attempts of being intimidating? She’s seen chihuahuas do much better. Plagg’s destructive energy was pulsing through her backpack, along with everyone else but he was the strongest. Why did cats have to be so territorial, she would have to put an end to this before the magic got out of hand. None of them wanted another Pompeii, Atlantis, or Black Death on their hands. She allowed them to inch closer towards her as she started rambling nonsense in French. Better if they thought she didn’t know what was going on, they’re more likely to make arrogant mistakes. The blonde could tell she was overwhelmed and about to bolt so he quickly lunged at her, but she was faster. Next thing he knew, the needle meant for her neck was in his own as he fell unconscious.

Turning towards the brunette, he had pulled out a simple pocket knife. It wouldn’t do anything more than a flesh wound unless he hit a major artery or organ. She didn’t really want to fight the two just, you know, stop them from hurting her.

Taking off her backpack, she swung it by the strap and knocked the weapon out his hands. Tackling him was the next step and she used all of her body weight to keep him down long enough to slam the bag on his head. The egg shaped Kwami box felt like a load of brick. She should know, Marinette had dropped it on her toes multiple times! Just two hits and both her attackers were out cold.

Setting her bag back onto her bag, she stood up and straightened out her skirt. Good thing she didn’t tear any of her clothes or the two would have definitely woken up with black eyes. Marinette heard two feet gently land behind her at the entrance of the alley. Wouldn’t you know it, the blue-bird that Selina had told her about and decided to drop in. Of course, right after she finished dealing with the two herself!

“Je suis désolé de ce que je leur ai fait. Ils essayaient de me prendre mais je n'allais pas laisser ça arriver. Je dois y aller maintenant monsieur!”, she said, still playing the foreign card.

( I'm sorry about what I did to them. They were trying to take me but I wasn't going to let that happen. I must be going now sir! )

“C'est bien petite dame! Êtes-vous d'accord, vous ont-ils fait du mal?”, he answered. Marinette certainly didn’t expect him to know what she had said.

( It's alright little lady! Are you okay, did they hurt you? )

“Je vais bien. Je suis pressé, je dois y aller!”, she announced and rushed past him.

( I'm fine. I'm in a hurry, I have to go! )

  Nightwing looked at what the tiny French left behind. Foreigners sure knew how to get the job done. What was even in that backpack of hers. The dude would surely have a concussion, but in the end he deserved it for trying to kidnap the girl. Gothamites could surely learn a thing or two from people like her. Now the question was what to do with the criminals. He could turn them into the police or inform Red Hood about them. One had mentioned other girls, so Red Hood would be the better option. He could investigate and find the chain and most likely rescue those who weren’t so lucky and already caught. Plus, the man had a soft-spot for any and all kids.

  Nightwing thought back to the French girl. She really did look like a Wayne! Dark hair, blue eyes, seemed to have gotten herself in and out of trouble before. All she had to do was be an orphan and she’d fit the memo. The girl had a Gotham Academy uniform, maybe Damian knew her? Second thought, Damian probably didn’t talk to anybody in that darn school unless he had to, so that was out of the question. Something just wasn’t sitting right with him. He had seen her before but where? No, not her, those eyes. Nightwing had seen those eyes before.

He didn’t know how long he stood thinking in the alley but the realization hit him like a truck.

She was the freaking ghost that stole his favorite blanket!

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[crystalelemental]

Eirika: “Alright, listen up!  We, as the winners of Brave alts, must now discuss division of the weapon colors!  No two units can share, and we have to get this figured out!”

Gatekeeper: “Greetings, everyone!  Nothing to report!”

Marth, crying: “How did I lose to a meme?!”

Marianne: “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m here.  I don’t deserve this.”

Eirika, under her breath: “Oooooh gods…”

Eirika: “Okay, listen.  No one’s happy about this.  We’re just going to have to do the best we can to make this work.  One red, one blue, one green, one colorless.  We have to figure this out as best we can, okay?  Anyone want to get a point of discussion rolling?”

Marth: “I call sword!  It’s iconic, like me, the mascot the multiverse!”

Eirika: “The hell do you mean ‘mascot of the multiverse?’”

Marth: “I was here first so I am the most important of all!”

Eirika: “Uh-huh.  Anyone have objections to Marth taking sword?”

Marianne: “Well, I wasn’t sure what to take, but I was thinking I could use a sword.  Since my relic weapon is a sword.  And I think people would really like a sword cavalier, since there aren’t many of them.”

Eirika: “Alright, Marianne contests the sword.”

Marth: “No! You can’t take this from me too!  It’s all I have left!”

Marianne: “Oh!  I-I’m so sorry, forget I said anything…”

Eirika: “Complaint withdrawn.  Any other contesting for the sword?”

Gatekeeper: “Nothing to report!”

Eirika: “Then the motion passes, and Marth will take sword.”

Marth: “Yes!”

Eirika: “That leaves blue, green, and colorless.  Any takers?”

Gatekeeper, raising his lance: “Greetings!”

Eirika: “Okay.  Marianne, any opposition?”

Marianne: “I was thinking about blue, based on the holy magic.”

Eirika: “Yes, but that can be Green too, so you have to decide which one you want.”

Marianne: “Um...well, what about you?”

Eirika: “I’m not taking blue.  If you want it you can have it.”

Marianne: “Um...I think I’ll be okay.  He can have that.  If he wants.”

Eirika: “Very well.  Uncontested, Gatekeeper will take Blue as a lance unit.”

Gatekeeper, raising his lance: “Nothing to report!”

Eirika: “That leaves you and me for Green and Colorless, Marianne.”

Marianne: “Oh, well...I don’t really feel like it’s my decision, so...why don’t you pick first?”

Eirika: “Well, Latona and Excalibur are the only sacred twins left from Magvel not in use.  Which are Colorless and Green respectively.  So I could go either way.  But unfortunately, that’s not how this works.  Much as I hate to admit it, you outrank me, so you get first pick.”

Marianne: “Then...maybe I can take Green magic...”

Eirika: *shaking her head ominously*

Marianne: “U-um, no, maybe Colorless is better?  I am a healer, after all.”

Eirika: “That’s a fair pick.  Then I can take Green.  I wonder if Ephraim will give me Garm…”

Marianne: “If you had a preference, you should have just said so…”

Eirika: “Hey, you beat me, fair and square, right?  That means you get first pick, and what matters is that it was your choice, right?”

Marianne: “I-I’m sorry…”

Eirika: “So there we go.  Marth red, Gatekeeper blue, Marianne colorless, me green.  We’ll submit our preferences and hope for the best.”

Marth: “Wait, it’s not guaranteed?!”

Eirika: “Of course not.  Concessions have to be made.  The first CYL, everyone wanted sword.  It was a disaster, and no one came out of that one happy.  But you outrank Marianne and I, so you likely get first pick.”

Marianne: “Well, not always.  CYL1 did prove they do give priority to lower ranked options as needed.”

Marth: “But...my sword...”

Eirika: “Look, I don’t want it.  I can use magic and staves, and am dead last.  I’m not going to be sword.”

Marianne: “And I have Blutgang for sword, holy magic that can be blue or green, and healing for colorless.  I could be anything, and there are two people who mainly use swords.  I don’t think they would give it to me over you, especially when you outrank me.”

Marth: “That is true...okay, that’s a reli-wait.  What do you mean you don’t want it?”

Eirika: “Why would I ever voluntarily make myself the worst of the four?”

Marth: “What does that mean?!”

Eirika: “Sword always sucks, and you will also suck.”

Marth: “That’s not true!  You’re lying!”

Eirika: “Marth, let me level with you.  You’re going to be the billionth sword infantry unit in the game.  There will be almost nothing you could do that sets you apart, especially since Alm exists with a Falchion variant, sealing the dragonslayer focus.  And he was the worst of his batch by far.  Worse, he’s up for a refine just before our Braves arrive.  Not to mention you came in second, so you don’t even get a unique skill to help you stand out like he did.  You’re dead on arrival, dude.”

Marth: “You...you cheated!  You tricked me into take sword!”

Eirika: “Sure did!  Tough shit, loser.”

Marth, crying: “You’ll see!  I’m gonna get a super good Falchion that will totally make me unique and work well, and then you’ll be sorry!”

Alm, also crying: “You tell them, Marth!”

Eirika: “Who the hell let you in here?!  Who was supposed to be guarding the door?!”

Gatekeeper: “Nothing to report!”

Eirika: “I shouldn’t be surprised...”

Marianne: “Well, I don’t know how strong I’ll be, but I’ll do my best.”

Eirika: “As long as you take Colorless, you’re fine.  Colorless is always the best.”

Marth: “It’s not that good!”

Eirika: “Oh yeah, it only had Lyn and Veronica, two of the most dominant units of their era.”

Marth: “Just because it used to be the best doesn’t mean it is anymore!”

Eirika: “Right, like Camilla didn’t get the best kit of CYL3, and Claude didn’t get the most future-proofed kit.  Colorless is always the best and she will be too.”

Marianne: “Wow...thank you, Eirika.”

Eirika: “It’s just the truth.  As long as you take Colorless and stay away from my Green alt!”

Marianne: “U-Understood!”

Gatekeeper, raising hand: “Greetings?”

Eirika: “No, blue sucks, and you’ll suck.”

Dimitri: “I don’t know about that.  Blue has worked well for me.”

Eirika: “Seriously, stop letting people in here!  Do your damn job!”

Gatekeeper: “Nothing to report!”

Dimitri: “I’m just saying, blue turns out well sometimes.”

Eirika: “I guess so!  And hey, he got more votes than you did last year, so I guess he’ll be better than you!”

Dimitri: “Is that so?  Congratulations, then!”

Gatekeeper: “Greetings!”

Eirika: “I hate you people.  Why can’t you be as irritated about this as the rest of us?”

Dimitri: “Because, this event acknowledges everyone.  We’re all popular, so we’re guaranteed alts, including the Braves, eventually.”

Chrom, who’s been waiting four years, and whose game has gotten one (1) alt in two years, and fewer characters on their New Heroes banner: “Yeah...yeah, eventually.”

Marianne, who still is not in the game despite ranking 8th in the female division last year: “Um…”

Eirika, whose game has one of the lowest alt counts, and who’s waited a year and a half for a Duo or Harmonic when her brother was the second to get one: “God I hate your entitled ass.”

Dimitri, whose game got 4 banners exclusive to them and 2 alts last year alone: “What do you mean?  Everyone gets the things they want here, right?”

Eirika: “Just...fuck off already.  The point is I will be the best brave alt.”

Marianne: “But, um...you said Colorless was…”

Eirika: “You’ll be the strongest, but I’ll be the best.  I always get hit with red, and green is the perfect color coverage.  I’ll be getting what’s best for me.”

Marianne: “Oh.  Well, I suppose that is fair…”

Marth, crying: “I hate you all so much!”

Gatekeeper: “Greetings!”

Alm, still crying: “And I’m gonna get an amazing refine and then Micaiah, Eliwood, and Camilla will be sorry!”

Dimitri: “I don’t get why everyone’s so mad.”

Eirika: “God I hate this event.  At least I’ll never have to deal with this shit again...”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Trump admits voter suppression

Trump went on Fox and Friends to talk about switching the 2020 election to mail-in, and said, that if you allowed everyone to vote, "you'd never have a Republican elected in this country again."

Jon Queally calls it "Saying the quiet part out loud."

https://www.commondreams.org/news/2020/03/30/saying-quiet-part-very-loud-trump-admits-youd-never-have-republican-elected-country

It's a pretty consequential slip, though. Trump was discussing the GOPs opposition to providing funding to states to retool for postal voting, which is likely to result in high-stakes litigation. And courtrooms - even ones presided over by GOP appointees - take these frank admissions of intent to heart.

Just look at the weird tale of Thomas Hofeller, creator of REDMAP and architect of the GOP's nationwide gerrymandering campaign.

Hofeller's key insight was the redistricting was "an election in reverse" where, "instead of voters choosing their politicians, politicians choose their voters." He convinced GOP donors that funding state-level gerrymanders was a huge bargain on political influence.

We know what happened next: the US became more antimajoritarian than ever and started to elect antimajoritarian politicians - politicians who embrace the core right-wing tenet that some people are better than others and those people should be in charge.

White nationalists want whites in charge. Dominionists want rule by Christian men. Libertarians want rule by bosses. But they all believe that nature made some to rule and others to be ruled.

This is a hard ideology to make work in a democracy, which is notionally a majoritarian project. To get elected, antimajoritarians have two main tactics.

The first is scapegoating. White supremacy is how the GOP gets turkeys to vote for Christmas:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/24/grandparents-optional-party/#turkey-shoot

LBJ's Southern Strategy was remarkably frank about this: "If you can convince the lowest white man he's better than the best colored man, he won't notice you're picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he'll empty his pockets for you."

Right now, the GOP and its state media organ, Fox, have opted to put its main base (old white people) into harm's way by converting high-risk activity into a marker of tribal loyalty. They could kill of a LOT of their base. It's a weird flex.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/19/gb-whatsapp/#fox-cult

But then there's the other antimajoritarian way to win: cheating (i.e. gerrymandering), which brings me back to Hoeffler.

Hoeffler was really careful about never saying the quiet part out loud.

Not only did he never admit he was gerrymandering on racial lines, he also exhorted his allies to never write down anything like this, not to send emails or make notes to themselves about it.

But Hoeffler wasn't good at following his own advice. When he died suddenly in 2018, he left behind computers and thumb-drives stuffed with frank admissions that REDMAP was a cheat, designed to steal the votes of nonwhites and other traditional Democratic voters.

Worse (for Hoeffler and the GOP), the person who inherited his data was his estranged, anarchist daughter, Stephanie. She put all that data online:

https://archive.syndicate.si/hofeller/

She dumped it all in raw form, so no one could accuse her of putting Hoeffler's deeds and intentions in a false negative light -- it's all there, including materials that reflect badly on Stephanie. She was more interested in truth than her own feelings.

Before Stephanie doxed her father, court cases over REDMAP gerrymandering had been stalled and nosediving. Afterwards courts - presided over by GOP-appointed judges - had no choice but to find in favor of the plaintiffs, against GOP redistricting.

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/pked4v/the-anarchist-daughter-of-the-gops-gerrymandering-mastermind-just-dumped-all-his-maps-and-files-on-google-drive

Proving intent is key to prevailing in court challenges to redistricting and other election fuckery. It's really hard. The bar is set incredibly high. If the redistricters can make ANY sort of claim of a legit purpose for the new boundaries, they usually win.

But not when they come right out and say the quiet part out loud. When the President goes on NATIONAL TELEVISION and announces that he wants fewer people to vote because otherwise, "you'd never have a Republican elected in this country again," well...

Both figuratively and literally, Trump has a really hard time keeping it in his pants. He ALWAYS says the quiet part out loud from "rapists and drug traffickers" to his statement that he would withhold aid from states whose governors criticized him.

He's really good at running across the river hopping from the back of one alligator to the next before the jaws snap closed, but that's a strategy much better suited to owning the news cycle than the courtroom.

Because courts don't lose focus when your outlandish deeds are chased by more outlandish ones, obliterating the previous scandal from the public mind. They are deliberative, slow, plodding.

Remorseless.

Remember when Trump's Muslim ban got struck down because courts weighed his statement that it wasn't a Muslim ban against his tweets where he said it was? Saying the quiet part out loud is good antimajoritarian electioneering. It's a terrible legal strategy.

Running across a river on the back of alligators works great...until it doesn't. It's hard to keep running once you lose a leg.

Trump no longer has a leg to stand on.

[aviv-kasyanenko]

NEW YEAR’S EVE 2020 [1 of 3?]:

You’re going to think I enjoyed writing this, but please know that I didn’t.

Date: December 31st, 2020. About 11:30pm. Warnings: Idk, mob stuff. I don’t want to spoil it but if this is too much for you then why are you even here reading Russian shit rn lbr.

Well, he had to hand it to them: they could sure carry on a party in the face of just about anything.

Though Vorya had been plunged into darkness—not unlike the rest of the city, if stories recounted by drunken tongues were to be believed—the Russians had point-blank refused to allow their New Year’s Eve celebrations to be interrupted. The alcohol continued to flow as freely as one would expect from them, and even those who weren’t affiliated with the Vorshevsky family in some way had decided to stick around and ride out whatever was going on. It seemed unlikely there would be a better time to be found anywhere else.

Naturally, his immediate reaction to the blackout had been to blame the weather.

When hushed whispers started to circulate a rumour there’d been an explosion on the other side of the river, however, his mind wandered into uncomfortable territory only another glass of vodka could put to ease. The anxieties he’d been trying to avoid since he’d landed in the shit hole he now called home were only compounded by the text from their boss; evidence in itself that the man wasn’t worried about whatever this was.

Bombs were hardly the style of the French, and the Rutherfords had no reason to make such an ugly scar on the face of a city they were still battling desperately to keep under their control.

So if there had been an explosion the three main culprits weren’t responsible for, it really only left two options:

Either Arkady gave even fewer fucks about London than he’d initially thought, and would jump on just about any tragedy that he thought could be of benefit, or a not so unfamiliar enemy was rearing its ugly fucking head on a country it’d already spent years tormenting, and the old man already knew it was coming.

Aviv’s relationship with the HCA was well understood to be a complicated one. Whilst he couldn’t begrudge the Russian mob doing business with them—money was fucking money, and at the end of the day, that was all that mattered—that didn’t mean he hadn’t made his aversion to their goals abundantly clear. Those who affiliated with the Vorshevskys varied in their opinions; some of the Russians sympathised with the group’s goals, where others thought they were fucking insane. For those who’d originated from the former USSR countries the terrorist organization once again sought to control, however, it was a little more personal.

The Ukrainians, in particular, had been dealt a shitty hand by those cunts. Maybe the Kurylenkos had been in Launceston so long it didn’t matter to them.

Aviv didn’t much feel like looking past it, though.

Though he’d been sat at the bar in relative silence, enjoying a moment’s calm from what he was sure would be a party that carried on until the sun was all the light they needed to get home, it was interrupted just as he was about to request another refill.

“Aviv, can you help me with something?”

The Israeli had turned to the Kurylenko loyalist with a glare that said: No.                                

Even in the dimly lit room, it didn’t take long for him to realise that the expression he wore carried more anxiety than any of the inner turmoil he’d been fighting. All it took was a second for his gut to sink. The expectation had loomed heavy over all of their heads after the shit show that had been last year’s celebration, but now, as he looked back at a man visibly sweating, he was sure that their night was finally set to unravel. Something was very wrong.

Deciding the spare the others any concern until he was absolutely sure it was necessary, the fighter got to his feet and followed the green-as-grass security kid out to the back room.

The scene he was met with was not what he’d been expecting.

A second Kurylenko loyalist was stood in front of them, shining a torch downward to illuminate a pristinely wrapped Christmas gift; gold ribbon holding it together like it was the most innocent thing in the fucking world.

Were they joking?

“Bit fucking late for Chanukah, boys,” he mocked.

The man with the torch said nothing.

It was then Aviv noticed that his hands were red.

“We didn’t open it, but—”

Words seemed to fail Artyom, the man who had come to find him at the bar, at that point, and instead he gestured toward the box as if to say ‘take a look.’ It was rare that Aviv ever found himself feeling apprehensive, but as he realised the same red on the hands of the man opposite had since pooled around the bottom of the gift, it was impossible to ignore.

It looked like blood.

Hesitant to touch, he reached out just enough to tilt the label into view.

It read simply: ‘Joyeux Noël.’

“Who delivered this?” Aviv snapped, looking to each of them in turn. “Where’d you find it?”

“Some guy in a suit left it on the doorstep.”

“French?”

“I don’t know, he sounded American. I—”

With each word, Aviv could feel the blood in his veins begin to boil.

“What did he look like?”

“Uh, I don’t know. It was dark, he—” Artyom stuttered.

“Average height. Beard,” the other began in an attempt to save his friend from getting his head slammed into the fucking wall, “expensive looking suit.”

Didn’t narrow it down in the fucking slightest, but who else but a French piece of shit would’ve left such an obvious ‘fuck you’ right at the height of their party?

After a moment’s hesitation he usually wouldn’t have allowed himself, he finally untied the ribbon and removed the lid of the box. The smell hit so fucking fast he was surprised that the container had managed to hold it until now. Unmistakeable every time, pungent and assaulting, the kind that could make anyone sick to their stomach: it smelled like death.

As he looked down into the depths of the box, the view of whatever it was holding was obscured by plastic wrap; bloodied, and obviously not fit for fucking purpose given the swamp it was now sat in. Aviv never had a weak stomach for these things. His time working with the Vorshevskys had desensitised him to the most violent depths of a man’s imagination and the havoc it wrought. It wasn’t the idea of what he was going to find that bothered him, but more so who. The French had taken a lot of hits lately and he’d been glad for every single minute of their suffering. But it seemed unlikely that however they chose to finally get back at their biggest enemies would be anything short of personal.

It’d started with Svetlana, and would end with this.

Peeling back the barrier, the first thing he noted was the hair; beautiful blonde, eerily reminiscent of his dead girlfriend, albeit matted with so much blood it was hard to discern.

A fucking head.

Now that was absolutely a French fucking MO.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Artyom muttered.

“Watch your mouth,” Aviv countered quietly, though unwilling to look up from the hair in his hand.

He almost didn’t want to touch her. But they needed to know.

“Who is it?”

As he eventually pushed back the hair to reveal the face of the victim, he realised that even the worst case scenarios his brain had been cycling through hadn’t been close. All at once, the striking pain of loss returned with unimaginable force and it felt like his chest was being fucking crushed. All the air in his lungs left him. Even if he’d wanted to answer their pig-ignorant question, he wasn’t sure he could’ve found the words to curse them to fucking hell.

Did they not know the place in which they stood?

Aviv wouldn’t pretend to not understand why their enemies had done this, but for what possible reason could they have chosen her beyond pettiness?

“Go and get Maksim,” he finally said. The sound of his own voice seemed foreign to him. “Andrei, too.”

If anyone was going to break it to the family, it should’ve been them.

Maksim could soften the blow for the Kurylenkos, and Andrei was almost certainly better suited than him to tell Mikhail that another one of his sister’s was dead.

“Aviv…who?”

The man didn’t even have it in him to be angry at the persistence.

Aviv had already lived through the pain of losing family once.

Not nearly as much as they had, though…

As he finally tore his eyes away from the decapitated head of Katarina Vorshevsky, he had only three words left to give:

“That’s my sister.”

[uhgoodmoni]

Canis Lupus Familiaris | JHS

Summary: God of the suns: Hoseok has become bored of the life he leads, deciding to uncover the mysteries of life and love on Earth. He becomes overwhelmed with his new discoveries, but one simple creature makes his heart yearn to discover more: a dog.

Warnings: mentions of death - angst - and fluff

Act One: Earth - Act Two: Living (fin :D )

Act Two: Living (4047 words)

They returned swiftly, Hoseok barely managing a farewell to Jimin as he made way to search for Seokjin. After all of these years wandering the universe creating light and having nothing else, wanting nothing else. Hoseok finally wanted something. A companion. 

Although Jimin didn’t realize it, that simple description of what a dog's purpose was. He had made up Hoseok’s mind. The dog needed to fulfill its purpose. Hoseok could never let something so beautiful spend its time alone. Something so joyful and innocent and pure. Hoseok wanted to help the dog fulfill its purpose, to maybe have a new purpose of his own.

Hoseok knew where Jin would be. If he weren’t by the pool he would be eventually. So he found it himself. Seeing Jin just where he thought he would be. 

“Seokjin…” He was nervous, especially after Jimin telling him that the answer would probably be no. But oh how he wished he would say yes. 

Jin raised his brow to the arrival of Hoseok, smiling wide as he greeted him. “Yes, what is it?” He puzzled after seeing the expression on Hoseok’s face. 

Hoseok willed himself to explain. “I went to Earth with Jimin… and there is something I would like to take home.” Jin did not seem to understand. 

Out of their view, Jimin had not returned to his own work. He needed to know the answer himself. If Jin were to say yes to Hoseok then this would change everything. So he watched, as Hoseok made his plea. 

“There is a dog, and I would like to bring it back here with me.” Hoseok finally managed, looking up to the elder with hopeful eyes, 

“What?” 

Hoseok’s eyes widened, of course. Jin would not know what a dog is. “The genus, it’s Canis Lupus Familiaris…”

“No no, I know what a dog is…” He scoffed, shaking his head. “What do you mean you wish to bring it here?” 

Hoseok was shaken by this response, only knowing Jin to be level-headed. “I… this dog, it was alone, it can't be alone. I want it as my companion.” He squeezed his fists, never being denied anything before in his life. However, he had never asked for anything before either. 

Jin pursed his lips, “Did Jimin get this idea in your head?” He said almost bitterly. Hoseok only shook his head, for it was quite the opposite. “Do you really believe that you can bring a living creature here? With us?” 

Hoseok didn’t know how to respond so he didn’t.

“The mortal creatures need more than we, even simple dogs can be more complicated than you would think.” Jin was livid, his eyes burning in a fire that Hoseok had never seen in all his thousands of years. Hoseok was so confused, he bit back tears, a feeling he had never felt before welled up in his chest. “It needs oxygen, water, food,” Jin listed, “Your connection to the thing is not going to keep it alive.” Hoseok swallowed, he knew that. He knew all those things now. He thought maybe they could figure it out. “It’s on Earth for a reason. We are here. For a reason.” 

Jimin felt bad for Hoseok, he truly did. But he was grateful that Jin didn’t change his mind. Jimin didn’t know what he would do if he had. It would compel him to be at his worst. He would hate Seokjin.

Seokjin sighed, his eyes softening as he looked over Hoseok whose face had never looked so dejected. “Hoseok I’m sorry. I should not have reacted like that.” He tried to smile at him, but Hoseok just stared down at his feet. “You cannot have the dog.”

Hoseok’s heart had broken for the first time in his life. A tear trickled down his cheek and he lifted a finger to touch it. He knew what it was, but the feeling of it brought confusion. So this is what sadness feels like?

He clenched his teeth, “We are the gods. We can do anything.” His sad tone was masked with anger, “Including caring for the mortals. That’s our job isn’t it?” 

Jin’s anger returned, not expecting this kind of reaction from Hoseok. “Not your job.” He reminded him, “You tend to the suns, and that is all.” 

Hoseok squinted at Jin. All of these harsh words? Over a dog. He turned away, leaving Seokjin by the pool, and Jimin still idly watching. 

Hoseok was more than his job. He knew that. Jin knew that. But why did it feel like Jin was right? That was all he ever did. Nothing less, nothing more. Negative thoughts filled his mind. Maybe it would be better if he stuck to the life he always had. It had always pleased him back then. But he felt that something had been missing. Whatever it was that Jimin had been feeling. Hoseok wanted that. He wanted love.

“Hoseok what’s wrong?” Jungkook had just arrived, shocked to see Hoseok in tears. There was no response as he vanished. Jungkook shook his head looking around to get answers. There was Jimin who had a small frown. “What happened?” 

Jimin sighed, “Hoseok wants to bring a dog here.” 

Jungkook nodded, “And Jin said no.” Jimin didn’t have to respond, he knew. 

Hoseok didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Who to talk to. He normally would go to Yoongi, but he knew that Yoongi would not understand his want for the dog. He just wanted to bring his companion home. But he couldn’t. Jin was right. If the dog came home with him it would die, simple as that. Hoseok didn’t know of any way to fix that. 

He wanted to hide away from the others, and there were endless possibilities. He could go to any planet, any sun, anywhere. He could disappear if he really wanted to. With a sigh, he considered his options. Deep down he didn’t want to disappear, but he didn’t want to stay here that was for sure.

Once again he was yearning to feel that light, to have the same glow that he associated with Jimin. That he associated with love. He wanted to see his newfound companion. So with a new determination, he set his sights on planet Earth. He flits away from the pool and the others, heading straight for where he believed Jimin had taken him.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Hoseok jumped at the voice of Jungkook, shocked to see that he was following him. Jungkook had his arms crossed, with a smug look on his face. Hoseok however was not in the mood for his playful side. 

“I’ll figure it out.” He said indignantly, continuing on his trek. 

“You won’t though. Do you even know the name of the continent you were on?” Hoseok squints not understanding, Jungkook smirks, “Country? City?” Hoseok gives no response, not that Jungkook was expecting one. Hoseok blindly continues forward, Jungkook rolling his eyes and keeping after him. 

Jungkook was quick to catch up to his pace, grabbing his arm, “Listen I’ll take you there how about that?” Hoseok still doesn’t answer but he’s thinking, considering. But then Hoseok wouldn’t be alone, he couldn’t disappear when Jungkook came along. 

“Listen I know that this is a new feeling for you but honestly if you just run off because of a dog that’s really petty.” Jungkook gives a chuckle, but Hoseok only squints. This was serious to him, he didn’t even know what petty means. Jungkook shook his head, “Sorry, listen, you want to see the dog right?” Hoseok nodded, “Well I’ll take you there.” 

With a sigh, Hoseok gave in to him, letting Jungkook lead the way to Earth. Jungkook looked like a mortal on most days, all he needed to do was dress the part. So he did, wearing all black, which now Hoseok found quite disturbing. Hoseok did not understand Jungkook, but he didn’t dislike him, in fact, he always found him pleasant to be around. 

However, now he only imagined how many lights he stole from the eyes of the mortals. Each single happy thriving creature he chose to kill that day. What if he were to choose this dog? Hoseok’s eyes widened realizing that one-day Jungkook would come to take the soul of that very creature. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook watched as Hoseok stared into the distance, dressing in the same thing he wore before. 

Hoseok finally willed himself to ask, “How many deaths do you cause at any given time?” 

Jungkook was taken aback by the question, expecting to be focused on the task at hand. “Well…” He had to think for a moment, the last time he answered the question the answer was much different, the population changed over hundreds and hundreds of years. All the different planets in the universe with life… The answer was shocking. “Just here on Earth alone, a human dies every moment, more even.” He answered plainly. 

“What about dogs?” Hoseok frowned at this answer. Every moment, a life taken. Each fleeting moment, how many creatures’ lights were dimming?

“Way less of a rate, however, there are fewer dogs than there are humans.” Jungkook was puzzled by his questions but understood that Hoseok knew nothing about death. 

“How long do dogs live?” He kept shooting questions to the other, needing to know. Curious.

Jungkook sighed with a pout, “they average up to thirteen human years…” Hoseok’s face fell, in his own lifetime that was but a fleeting moment in itself. How old was the dog now? Five? It already had lived half of its life and Hoseok was nowhere near that point himself. 

Hoseok was feeling hopeless. All he wanted was this friend. It would mean so much to him if he could have this one thing. Maybe it was selfish of him, after all he could have almost anything he wanted. But… something was compelling about the sweet creature. Be it as complex as its innocence towards loving things, or simply because he wanted to pet its soft coat for eternity. He just wanted that dog. His whole being wanted that dog. It was just so?

“Hoseok,” Jungkook’s voice brought Hoseok’s attention back to the world, “Why do you even want this dog?” Hoseok’s eyes were soft when they met Jungkooks, and he almost regretted asking. It just made him feel worse. 

“It’s just so….” He pouted, holding out his hands, unable to explain. 

Jungkook smirked after a moment, “cute?” 

Hoseok shrugged, “Yes. But so much more than that.”

“Oh my god, you’re smitten for a puppy.” He laughed, leaving Hoseok even more confused. “Okay let's find this dog.” They had arrived in the same field as before. Hoseok squinting staring out into the horizon, down the path. There was a haze in the air, hotter than it was before. Even though part of him wanted to soak up the environment, he just wanted one thing. 

Jungkook figured the best way to find it was to call for it. By what name? Who knew, but they would try regardless. 

“Here puppy, puppy, puppy!” He called out into the air, knowing fairly well that the search could be hopeless. Endless cornfields, the city nearby. The dog could have gone anywhere. It would be easier to find if he could float around but who knew if there were any farmers around. 

“Here dog! Here dog!” Hoseok was desperate, but Jungkook still found humor in the way he was calling the thing. How would Hoseok even care for the dog? He didn’t know one thing about them. Almost any human would be better at this than he.

The two of them strolled down away from the city, endless fields ahead of them. Jungkook was shielding his face from the sun, he hated acting like a mortal, dropping his godly defenses in case any human were to walk by. 

“Here puppy puppy!” He called out, spinning back towards the way they came, “Oh shit.” Hoseok turned at this, wondering why Jungkook spoke so out of turn. Dust churned up as a green machine chugged towards them. Hoseok’s eyes widened. What is that?

Jungkook sighs, “Okay don’t worry if they say anything let me talk.” Hoseok relaxes slightly, stepping behind the younger. He remembered Jimin said this too, and that worked out for him. 

The tractor as Jungkook called it got closer, a man sweating and red faced was seated in it. The face he had was absolutely unpleasant, not that Hoseok would know the difference, but he certainly enjoyed looking at that woman in the restaurant a lot more. 

“The hell are you doing here?” He curled up his lip, speaking threateningly to Jungkook. 

Jungkook smiles wishing he didn’t have to deal with this, “We are just walking sir.” 

The man deepens his glare, glancing back and forth between the two. “Private property.” He spat, Jungkook frowning awkwardly. 

“Sorry we didn’t know, we’ll go immediately,” Jungkook said, quickly, staring back towards where the path had begun. Hoseok shook his head, what did he mean they were going?

“Jungkook wh…” Hoseok froze as Jungkook shot back a glare, softening as he realized Hoseok didn’t know what was going on. “What about the dog?” He mumbled, and Jungkook sighed as they got out of range from the man. 

“We’ll figure it out but we aren’t allowed here.” Jungkook patted Hoseok’s shoulder, looking back at the man. He huffed in annoyance, the man was still watching, staring as they walked away. Jungkook rolled his eyes, thinking about what a creep he was. 

“What if the dog is here? This is where the dog was last time?” Hoseok’s voice was raised slightly, and Jungkook pursed his lips. Hoseok was getting annoyed and Jungkook didn’t exactly know what to tell him. There was a high chance that they would never find the damn dog. “What do we do if we can’t  find him elsewhere?” Jungkook wanted to tell him that if they didn’t find it then oh fucking well, but the look of despair on Hoseok’s face told him to keep his mouth shut. 

“Don’t worry we aren’t done looking.” He assured him lightly, looking back and seeing that the man was slowly following them. Jungkook clenched his jaw, was he really making sure they were leaving? That alone made Jungkook want to stay put, but he wouldn’t.

Instead, they walked off a little faster finally making it to the sidewalks and building of the small town. Jungkook looked around, seeing not many people out and about. It was a particularly hot day and they were likely all inside. Maybe he could ask someone if they had seen a stray dog around. 

“What was that?” Hoseok stared back towards the fields. 

Jungkook sighed, “The man owns the property and no one else is allowed on it without his permission.” He found himself looking back at the field as well. “It could be that he owns the dog.”

Hoseok took a deep breath, hoping secretly that that wasn’t true. Even though he would be happy that the dog hadn’t been alone after all. Jungkook did not wait for a response, instead started along the path. He hoped that along one of the alleyways the dog would be laying in the shade. 

So they walked, walked and walked until the sun was starting to go down. Jungkook was bored, Hoseok was completely absorbed in finding the dog, it was almost ridiculous. Jungkook finally took a seat on a bench, Hoseok watching in confusion. 

He patted the seat next to him. “Come on let’s take a break.” He was tired, there was no sign of any dog and he even asked someone earlier who had no idea what he was talking about. 

Jungkook at this point knew the chances of finding the dog were slim to none, but for Hoseok he didn’t want to give up just yet. After all, these were Hoseok’s first moments on Earth, he didn’t want to teach him that it was a world of lost dreams even though it definitely was. 

Hoseok came next to him, deciding to give the other a moment, after all, Jungkook surely had better things to do than help him. Better things to do…

“Jungkook what is it like?” He glanced over the god, he had always noticed this but he was colored much darker than some of the others. It was as if each of them had their own pallets, streams of colors that seemed to radiate from them no matter the time even here in this mortal world. 

Jungkook tilted his head, his hair falling over his eyebrows, “What is what like?” 

Hoseok shrugged, “killing people?”

Jungkook choked on nothing, flipping around both sides of the sidewalk. No one in sight. “Shit Hoseok you can’t just say things like that here.” He cracked a smile after he realized they were safe. “Damn…” He raised his eyebrows in thought, his smile quickly falling. 

Hoseok sighed, looking out across the street, some lights coming on to light the path as the sun slowly disappeared. Was it just like that? The sun departing from the sky, falling over the horizon out of view for anyone left on this side. Hoseok didn’t even know what was on the other side. Darkness there too?

“I don’t know how to really answer.” Jungkook takes a deep breath, “It just happens when it happens for them, usually they don't see it coming. But I do.” He purses his lips, his eyes reflecting the last ray of sun peeking up over. 

“Do you feel it?” Hoseok pondered. 

With a shrug Jungkook leaned back onto the bench, “I used to, but it happens so often now that it's just…” He bit his inner cheek, Hoseok wondering maybe if he didn’t want to talk about it. “just numb…” He finished, staring off into the sky. “Each life comes and goes in a flash compared to my own.” 

Hoseok frowned, “What does it feel like for them.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “depends on how, but the actual death doesn’t feel like anything.” They sat there for a moment of silence, “They just stop feeling all together. Completely. Just. Gone.”

No words. Hoseok still didn't quite understand. Maybe he never would. After all they didn’t know if they could even die, and he didn’t know if being mortal felt different than being a god. Surely they were weaker. Their pain was felt deeper, maybe longer. But none of them really knew that for sure. 

“Oh fuck…” Jungkook sat up, shaking Hoseok’s thigh. 

Hoseok shook his head, “What?” 

There in front of them sniffing at a black trash bag, was the dog. Hoseok gasped, standing up suddenly and making the dog jump back. 

Jungkook smiled, “Don’t scare him.” Hoseok frowned, remembering how easily the dog came to him the first time. “Here,” He made smooching noises and the small thing tiptoed forward, eyeing Hoseok and then bounding ahead. Nosing at his pants and recognizing the scent from before. Jungkook watched as a happiness enveloped his friend, seeing Hoseok smile again was a huge relief. So much so that Jungkook couldn’t keep his own lips tamed.

Hoseok leaned down petting the fur of the dog with both hands. Both he and the dog were overjoyed to see one another. Jungkook stood, watching over the two of them. Hoseok deserved this. Jungkook wished for it to be easier, it just… Well maybe…

“Maybe you don’t have to take the dog to the pool?” Jungkook’s comment caused Hoseok to lift his face to him, but not halt his affections towards the dog. “Well, I don’t know why no one thought of this before but I have a home…” 

“A home?” Hoseok asked softly, he had been calmed by the presence of the creature. Something not only Jungkook noticed but that Hoseok was aware of himself. He couldn’t help himself from smiling around the fluffy four legged pet. 

“Yeah there's a place that you and the dog can both go if you want.” the corner of Jungkook’s lip curled up in a half smirk, “It would be safe there for the dog and you could stay there any time and care for him.”

“It’s your place?” Hoseok returned his gaze to the dog, poking at its nose. The creature was soaking up the warm presence of Hoseok. Returning the favor of his pampering with many kisses. The dog himself, oblivious to the conversation and Hoseok’s desires, was fond of staying like this forever, tongue lagging and hear wiggling. Hoseok was suddenly intrigued once morem “Why would you have a home here?”

“Oh,” Jungkook thought for a moment. The simple answer was that it was easier staying on Earth for work. Another answer was that he preferred staying down in the presence of death, reminding himself of the pain he caused. He decided neither of those answers were the ones he would share with Hoseok. “I like living.” 

“Living…” Hoseok only gave the word a moment of attention, before smiling “You would let me stay there?”  Jungkook wanted to talk more, but understood that for now Hoseok was overwhelmed as it was. He’d share his thoughts on the life he wanted to lead another time. 

Hoseok’s question made Jungkook crack a laugh, “Of course, I don’t see why that would be a problem?” This was exactly the kind of news that Hoseok wanted to hear. The dog would be able to fulfil its purpose. Hoseok would feel this way forever? Well he didn’t know that, but he wanted to have companionship for however long he could. 

Jungkook squeezed the shoulder of the elder, who was entirely focused and enjoying patting the dog down. “So you gonna name him or what?” 

With furrowed brows he stared down at the thing, releasing his hands from the tongue of the furball for a moment. “Name? Isn’t it, dog?” He shrugged, “Or canis…”

“No no no..” Jungkook shook his head, resting his hand on his forehead, “like you and I have names, or a human isn’t called a human but has a name.” Hoseok nodded, wondering. He had to give it a name? It was a shame it spoke no language. It would be that much easier if the dog could just communicate what it wanted to be called. 

“Name it after something it reminds you of?” Jungkook offered, knowing that he would need some ideas. “Or,”

“Star…” Hoseok giggled, glancing down at the dog who stared right back. Their eyes matched, glowing in adoration for one another and Jungkook completely understood the name. At least from his conversations with Hoseok he knew what Hoseok wanted, what he understood. The dog was a shining light that Hoseok couldn’t keep his hands off of. After all the stars were also the suns and Hoseok’s job was to manage those suns. 

“Okay let's get out of here.” Jungkook said, realizing the stars really were coming out, and no sign of the sun remained. Hoseok agreed, tentatively picking up the dog in his arms after Jungkook told him it was okay to do so. They were off, and Hoseok hoped that the dog would be happy with him, though deep down he knew that the dog would be. He was more worried about the others. Would Jin be angry with him? This was a welcome solution after all Hoseok didn’t always have to be observing the suns, and Jungkook seemed happy to offer up his home. They could come visit and maybe then Jin would understand why he wanted this so bad. A compromise had been made, and Jungkook and Hoseok believed it had been successful. What Hoseok didn’t know was that Jimin was holding a grudge, one of many years. If Hoseok could have this Jimin did not understand why he couldn’t have what he wanted. A compromise could have been made for him as well. This may force Jin to be more harsh, enforcing hard rules on the gods. Rules that Hoseok and Jimin wouldn't want to follow. But like I said. Hoseok didn’t know that yet, and so for now he and that dog would live happily with one another. Hoseok finally understanding what love and life were like. 

~~~

Hey! let me know if I should make this a series I left it open for one in case anyone wanted to have shorts with the other boys! 

This is part of a series (A year of fics with han)

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [9/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Entering a beautiful woman’s house, cold and wet, then having her clothes disappearing to where she wouldn’t be able to have access to them. Whatever was a woman to do?

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief. 

Sabrina did not come down for breakfast. It was raining, heavy outside and Zelda was willing to push her anger aside to ensure her niece was taken to the school safely, but while she was drinking her morning coffee over breakfast, she heard the noise of someone trying to quietly sneak their way down the stairs, before the door opened and shut.

When Zelda walked around, an aching sensation gnawing at her stomach, she peered out of the foyer’s windows and noticed that Harvey had picked up Sabrina.

She hardly trusted a teenager to drive safely on the roads. Still, despite her frustration that her niece was clearly trying to sneak her way around her, it was nonetheless sweet to see the boy come to the door the Spellman home with an umbrella, so Sabrina didn’t get wet from the short distance between the veranda and the car.

As it was, Zelda had a meeting with Prudence that morning and needed to leave early anyway, this way at least, she didn’t need to drop Sabrina off on the opposite end of the town on her way to work.

It was raining heavily, and she pulled up at the parking lot, she grabbed her own umbrella to make her way onto campus as the rain continued to wash down.

Sometimes, with the rain they were heaving like this, the main road would flood and block her from coming in. She was already considering cancelling classes for the day unless it let up, but would review how many people actually lived off-campus before making that decision.

Setting her computer up in her office, she removed her coat and sat her umbrella aside before sitting down just as Prudence turned up. “Professor Spellman,” she said with a tight surprise. “Have you read your emails this morning?”

Zelda fixed her damp hair, opening her laptop up as she settled in her chair. “Not yet, should I have?”

“It’s just that…um, the grades you put up are wrong.”

Zelda paused, “How so?”

“You gave Dorcas, Nick Scratch’s results and Agatha now has Nick’s, which works in her favour, I suppose. But…it’s like that across your entire class.”

Zelda’s stomach clenched as she saw a dozen emails from students, questioning their marks. Flicking into the system, she opened it up and reviewed. She wasn’t sure how that had occurred. She wasn’t even sure how many it affected but knew that it was going to be an absolute pain to undo.

Once a grade had been placed up in the system, it wasn’t something easy to undo. It was far easier to screw up the system and adversely affect a person’s weighted score than it was to undo it––the easiest way to fix it would be to manually work out what everyone’s weight score should be and then add in extra credit to move the weighted score up or down, but that would take hours of work.

Literal hours that she could not place onto Prudence’s plate.

Zelda combed her fingers through her hair, feeling a wave of dizziness rush over her. On top of this, she would have to go to Faustus and advise as to what had occurred, explaining the error and what she planned on doing to fix it.

Given that she was apart of the Liberal Arts, there were fewer scholarships that would be affected, but she wasn’t entirelywithout scholarship students. After all, Prudence was one herself.

“I see,” Zelda, wishing she could scream. She swallowed back the frustration and anger, feeling it turn into a lump in her throat. She needed to fix this fast.

“Professor?” Prudence asked softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“This is my mess, Prudence. I will fix it.” She paused, drawing in a tight breath before noticing that the woman remained hovering in her office. “Do you mind if we reschedule this meeting, I need to fix this as fast as possible, before any of the scholarships are adversely affected.”

“Of course,” Prudence said. “Did you want me to take your first class this morning?”

Zelda looked to the time, and then out at her window to the heavy rain. “No, I think classes should be cancelled, given the weather. Are you okay to make it back to your dormitory?”

“I’ll probably go to the cafeteria,” Prudence responded. “But you have my number if you need me?”

Zelda nodded, gesturing loosely in agreement. The truth was, she didn’t know what was easier. A part of her wanted to double down on the mistake and affirm that it was correct––absurd as the idea was––and another part of her wanted to just up and quit, never to be seen again. The amount of work it would take felt overwhelming. She’d been stressed before, but this, after everything else, felt near impossible.

She began by putting her anxiety aside and sending out an email to Faustus to let him know what had occurred before any complaints were raised. Then she sent out a following email to the affected classes, letting them know she was aware of the error and would rectify it by the day’s end.

She cleared her schedule, pulled out her calculator and tried to remember basic maths before setting to work.

She didn’t eat, didn’t bother taking so much as a cigarette break. Instead, she had a pot of coffee made and set to work, moving from her desk only to attend the bathroom.

It seemed almost a saviour that the rain had occurred, allowing her a reason to cancel the classes and focus on the task at hand.

Once it was done, only then did she take the time to look at the clock and notice it was the end of her office hours, with nothing completed but a rectified mistake and half a dozen emails assuring the scholarship students that were any questions to rise, she would personally fix the issue herself.

Zelda packed her bag up, switched her heels for flats as a heaviness weighed on her shoulders before she made her way through the storm, back to her car, feeling as if the day was wasted. She sat in her car, sitting back in the leather seat as sheets of rain ran down her windscreen.

She wanted to cry or scream or do something, but she didn’t have the energy for any of it. Instead, she put her seatbelt on, turned on the engine, removed the hand brake before reversing out of the parking lot.

The rain narrowed her vision, and as she went to return home, she found herself notably blocked by flashing lights, warning her that she couldn’t take the main road.

Side road it was then—typical of today.

Zelda grew up by the forest. She knew forest roads better than most––though her time dating a ranger and firefighter (separately) certainly added to that knowledge––leaving her to use the mud slicken paths to find her way home.

But it was dark, and it was storming, and she was prideful, eventually finding her car inevitably bogged in a puddle deeper than she’d estimated.

She stepped out of the car, pulling out her umbrella to look at the wheels and knew there was no way in Hell she’d be able to get the wheel out herself. Especially in the rain, the mud was too thick; even now her shoes were sinking in the ground.

No, instead she was stuck having to climb back in her car, soaked from the rain and see if she had service (she did not, because of course the storm was interfering with that).

It left her with two options. Option one was to stay in the car and wait for the storm to recede, when she could go and get help. Option two was to go out and get help now.

It was likely safer to keep with option one, far more practical, but it’d been a shit day. If she was honest, a masochistic part of herself was hoping that something else would go wrong so she could truly scream out at the world and just let out all the frustration and anger she was feeling.

Pulling her coat firmer around herself, she took out her umbrella.

The flats she wore were only markedly more practical for the weather than her heels, but not by much. Zelda climbed out of her car, clicked the doors locked (though if she was going to get robbed, may as well being in the middle of fucking nowhere) and then made her way eastward through the forest on the fire trail, knowing that it would lead to one road or another, where she could try and signal down a driver.

The forest was wet, and the foliage was slippery. More than once, she slid, catching on a nearby tree to stop herself from falling into the mud. But with all the shrubbery, it didn’t seem to matter. Her stockings were soaked and mud-splattered (ruined forever, and she’d barely worn them, so that annoyed her too), her dress clung to her, completely soaked even with the protection of the coat.

It was all too much. She could feel the tears pricking in her eyes, a sob making its way up her throat.

She knew she should turn back. Go back to the car and wait for the storm to clear—however long that would take––but didn’t. Instead, her stubbornness kept her walking through the forest until she saw a flicker of light.

Gold and red, perhaps headlights, or a home. If it was a house, she might be able to request some neighbourly help and hope to God that they were home and would let her use their phone. Otherwise, she was uncertain as to what she was going to do.

The house was a cottage, alone on the old highway. But the lights were on at least.

Zelda made her way up the wooden step, happy for cover from the rain as her back spasmed with shivers, freezing as she knocked on the door.

There was a pause inside, and Zelda knew it was likely someone not expecting any company. And then the door opened, and Zelda found herself face to face with the last person she expected to live in a cottage.

“Lilith?”

“What are you doing here?” Lilith asked at the same time.

Zelda shivered from the cold, feeling the wash of warmth come through from the house with the smell of a wood fire going. “I got bogged. I didn’t know you lived here. I just need to use your…your…” she shivered again, teeth chattering and suddenly the door was being opened wider and Lilith was ushering her inside.

“Bogged?”

“The road was sh-shut due to the r-river o-over f-flowing,” Zelda said, allowing herself to be tugged towards the fire. There, she stripped off her jack, water still dripping off her in a puddle around her feet––embarrassing if it weren’t for how dreadfully cold she felt.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling it wetly stick to her face.

“Where did you get bogged?”

“F-forest road. I k-know the roads,” she said, kneeling before the fire.

“Not that well, it seems,” Lilith muttered as she took the jacket. Zelda didn’t see where it disappeared to, only that Lilith returned and began unzipping Zelda from her dress.

“I’m fine,” Zelda insisted. “I just n-need your telephone.”

“Well, the lines are down, and I don’t get service out here,” she admitted. “So you’ll have to wait, now stand up and let me undress you before I get cross.”

“Wouldn’t want that.”

“My crop is never too far away,” she warned.

Zelda turned and shot her a look, “I thought you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“You don’t listen, do you?” Lilith sighed, unzipping the black dress and helping Zelda to get out of it.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a clever girl, work it out,” the words were spoken sharply, and Zelda realised that the events still hurt the woman.

No, that wasn’t necessarily true. She was hurt by what Zelda had said.

Taking the dress, Lilith wrapped a towel over her and gave her a heavy look before she disappeared with the dress. Zelda huffed, turning back to the fire and feeling the shaking ease. Her muscles remained tight, a bone-chill holding onto her as she tried to inch closer and closer to the hearth to feel the warmth.

“I’ve run you a bath,” Lilith said, returning suddenly. “We can try the phone lines again after you warm up.”

“I don’t need a bath.”

“The fact that you’re still shaking tells me otherwise. Now it’s either this or I bend you over my knee and give you an enema to stop you from getting hypothermia,” Lilith said, her brows raised. “Is that what you want?”

Zelda rose to her feet, disgusted at the implication and allowing herself to be led down the hall, where she was shown to the bathroom. The bath was positively ancient-looking, and the water had been run halfway, deep enough for her to submerge herself into.

Zelda removed her slip and then with clumsy hands began to try and undress herself. Lilith worked faster, unclipping her garter belt and helping her to slide out of stockings before she undressed her.

It was terrible intimate, and twice Zelda slapped her hands away only for Lilith to arch a brow and step back, allowing her to fumble before she took over again.

Finally, Zelda was able to climb into the bath.

The heat scorched her body, but pushing past it, she submerged herself in the heat and felt it slip over her, watching as Lilith picked up her clothes and disappeared with a short, “Don’t get up to trouble.”

If Zelda was honest, this was traversing a fine line between fantasy-nightmare. Entering a beautiful woman’s house, cold and wet, then having her clothes disappearing to where she wouldn’t be able to have access to them. Whatever was a woman to do?

Sinking in the bath, she thought about the implications of it. Truthfully she doubted that Lilith had any bad intentions, no matter how snide her comments were. And yet a part of her couldn’t admit to hoping a little bit for wicked intentions.

She could hear the shuffling around, telling her that Lilith was up to something. Zelda felt the heart of the water soothe her aching muscles, the cold drifting from her bones at the very idea of what could occur. After all, she had stumbled across Lilith’s cottage, her sanctum, so to speak. Likely the woman wouldn’t be terribly pleased…

And yet, as lovely as the idea was, Zelda knew that realistically speaking what was likely to occur was Lilith having her clothes dried by the fire, as she tried the phone line again, unimpressed with the situation.

“Here,” Lilith said, entering the bathroom. “Your clothes were filthy––unfortunately your stockings were beyond saving, but I’ve put everything else in the wash so you’ll just have to wear this for the time being,” she said, setting down a nightgown with a dressing robe beside it and a new, fresh towel.

“Thank you,” Zelda said. “You don’t need––“

“To stop you from dying? Unfortunately, a duty of care is written into the law, and I could be charged with willful neglect,” she said. “Despite what you may wish.”

“I was hardly close to being pneumonic,” Zelda snapped. “It was a bit of rain, not a snowstorm.”

“You were half-drowned,” Lilith said, with an air of disregard, as if she couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Now out you get before you do drown.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Aren’t you?” Lilith said, her smile wicked. Though when Zelda stepped out of the bath, Lilith hands came out and patted her dry with the towel, brushing over her body in a way that Zelda felt the woman enjoyed doing too much if the wicked smile was anything to go by.

Then Lilith was stepping back, and Zelda was finally allowed to dress in the gown and dress, a warm flush dropping over her as Lilith hand her the towel to dry her hair.

The water was murky from the mud and dirt, and more than a few leaves floated in it as Lilith pulled the chain from the plug and set it aside to drain, leaving the bathroom in such a way that Zelda’s eyes followed her movement, familiar with the walk leading her up to her bedroom floor.

“Are you following?” Lilith sang down the hall, and Zelda hated how her heart skipped and an urgency to follow filled her.

Despite her frustration with her, the woman remained to hold a tight control, in a way that was utterly freeing at the best of times and entirely frustrating every other time.

Nonetheless, she followed down the hall, shutting the bathroom door behind her, its lights clicked off.

Lilith led her into the kitchen, where she’d already made a pot of tea, setting it down before her, not unlike their aftercare sessions. Zelda looked to the stove, where it was clear the woman had been halfway through cooking her tea when she’d interrupted her.

And on queue, her stomach gurgled. Zelda flushed, looking away, thankful for the tea.

“Sit down,” Lilith said, shooing her to the kitchen table. And then Zelda watched as she set out two dishes and opened the oven, pulling out a small casserole dish.

“I don’t need––“

“Don’t be impolite. I wasn’t joking about finding my crop, and if need be, I will pull out the wooden spoon if you continue to be rude,” she looked over her shoulder, giving a purposeful look. “Now sit there and wait for dinner to be served, like a good girl, and then we can check the phone lines.”

Zelda didn’t see why she couldn’t check them now, but she sat obediently at the table, her finger pushing at the fork with disinterest. She was embarrassed overall by the situation and further humiliated by the fact that she was just sitting here, waiting for this like it wasn’t her own fault for being here whilst Lilith treater her like a temperamental child.

It didn’t ease the urgency in her to apologise, and there was still a part of her that wanted to stomp off, back to the woods to find her car. She wouldn’t because that was stupid, but the feeling remained there.

Lilith took her plate and began serving the meal. “If I didn’t know how utterly stubborn you were, I would never believe such a story as you getting bogged on the fire trails. Most people would have turned back and waited until the storm passed,” Lilith said with a look.

“I’m not most people,” Zelda said, hating how the woman made her feel like a child under the scrutiny of a teacher. “The fire roads go directly to the Spellman house, and usually it’s fine. I’ve driven it through rain before.”

“But this time you were unlucky.”

“Yes, well, the hole was significant. I would argue it was man-made, but it could just as easily have been created by an animal, digging for something,” she said. “And then the rain just happened to be getting worse.”

“Yes, well, here you are. You’re lucky I live here. Not so long ago, no one lived here, and it was just an old, decrypted house.”

Zelda rose her eyebrows. “So you haven’t always lived in Greendale, then?”

“No. I moved about…oh, a year ago,” she said with a soft hum. There was a softness to her face. “But I was familiar with Greendale. I used to have a few regular clients from here and Riverdale that would pay me to come to visit them for a weekend.”

“Why?” Zelda asked.

Lilith looked at her, tilting her head, “and why not?” she asked.

Knowing she’d overstepped, Zelda felt like she should apologise, but as the woman’s expression stared at her as if waiting for her to argue, Zelda couldn’t hold back from her comment. “Why would someone need a whole weekend of sex and kink?”

“For many reasons that include the fact that it’s not just about sex and kink,” Lilith said, setting Zelda’s plate down before her as she took her own dish to her side of the table and sat down. “You should try it out for yourself and see.”

“Is that your sales pitch?”

“It is,” Lilith said, her eyes sparkling with humour. “Now, explain to me again what occurred. You were coming home from a day of work, saw that the main road was cut off and decided…to go through the fire roads, even though there was a storm?”

As if on cue, thunder roared outside with a flash of light.

“Yes,” Zelda agreed. There was little more to it than that.

“And…you had no idea I lived here?”

Ah, Zelda realised. “You think I drove through the forest road, and intentionally got bogged and decided to traverse through the storm to your cottage? That’s counting on a lot of things to occur at the right moment.”

“Your story is that you got bogged, for all I know, your car is parked a little way up the road.”

“For what purpose?” Zelda said. “Certainly you don’t think that I would be so insecure as to manufacture a moment.”

“I’m never certain about these things. Comes with the territory.”

Zelda quirked her head, studying the woman’s expression. If she had to make an educated guess about what the woman was inferring to, she’d say that there had been a time someone had come across her private residence under false pretences.

“I have better things to do with my life than chase after a woman,” Zelda advised shortly. Privately adding that she was not interested in anyone who had terminated their services because she had some moral compass to show off.

“And what does a woman like you do to occupy her time––outside of soliciting the services of a dominatrix?” Lilith enquired

Zelda smirked. “I work at the university, as you know.”

“Mm, there’s more to it than that.”

“Yes. I complete my own academic papers, but I’m behind on them at the moment.”

“What are your papers on?”

“Language. I had one on the context of language and how it shifts with religious texts, changing the meaning. But my most recent one is more-so about the development of language in cultures and how it shifts––mostly around youth culture, I suppose.” She sighed, thinking fondly upon all the academic books she’d lost when the technician had accidentally deleted all of her stuff due to a virus on her computer––though he said it was more common with university students and suggested raising it with the school.

“Sounds fascinating.”

“In a sense,” Zelda said. “Most people would advise it’s dry. And I suppose it is in their own ways. The students I have hope to become translators or work for the EU in some capacity. Few of them would ever think to follow an academic path, so what I find interesting, they very rarely agree.”

“What did you hope to be when you studied?”

Zelda hummed, realising what the woman was doing, and yet she couldn’t help herself from revealing the truths, “I had an aptitude for language and followed it for that sake alone. I wanted to travel, so I did, spending much of inheritance and earned money travelling the world and learning different dialects. Then I returned home and took up studying for a PhD.”

“Why, Greendale?”

“Because it’s home,” Zelda said, but that was a lie. “Because Sabrina couldn’t live in the city,” she admitted with more honestly. “She deserved a good school and being able to walk home without fear of something happening.”

Lilith nodded. “Understandable,” she said. “When I used to live in the city, I was mugged once. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what that felt like. Though looking back, I don’t think he even had a weapon, just the threat of one and that was enough.” She tilted her head, and her eyes narrowed as if she was scrutinising a thought.

“So why did you move to Greendale?”

“Change of scenery,” Lilith said, her smile tight as she set the fork down. Zelda nodded, dropping the question there. Whatever the reasoning, it was still raw and tight, enough that it fractured the woman’s mask.

They chatted politely over the rest of the meal, Lilith enquiring as to her work, and Zelda asking about the school. The topic remained not dissimilar to what you might have over a work conference with a stranger because it was polite to network rather than taking an absolute interest in what the person was saying.

And when dinner was finished, Zelda rose, taking their dishes to the sink, before beginning to wash up.

Lilith watched her with interest, making no polite comment that she didn’t need to. Although Zelda knew it was an expected social factor to wash dishes if the other person cooked, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed by the fact that Lilith didn’t argue.

It was like when the receipt was placed down for dinner, and the other person doesn’t make a move for it, knowing you’ll pay. It was polite to do the social dance.

“You can try the phone,” Lilith said. “It seems to be back up, but I would suspect that you’re likely to stay the night.”

“And why is that?” Zelda asked, aghast at the woman’s presumptuous way of speaking.

“Because the road remains washed out, and I highly doubt that you’re looking to get your sister bogged on the same fire road as you did.”

Zelda pressed her lips shut and looked away. It was a valid argument. Though she was sure someone she knew had an appropriate car, it was far too late now to ask for such a favour and…

…she wasn’t entirely displeased at the idea of staying the night. It would provide her with more opportunity to…

She stopped the thought there, reminding herself that Lilith had terminated those services, demanding she see a therapist first. Huffing, she stepped away from the sink, pulling out the plug and drying her hands before walking over the phone like that hung on the wall.

It was corded, which seemed all the more ridiculous as she lifted the receiver and heard the familiar sound of a dial tone. Clicking the numbers, she heard the phone ring before it was picked up.

“Spellman residence, this is Hilda.”

“Hilda, it’s Zelda,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know––“

“Oh Zelds, I was worried when I heard the road was flooded. I tried your office, but it rang out.”

“Yes, well, I’m safe, but I likely won’t be home until tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know that I was fine.”

“Wonderful news. Are you staying with the Blackwoods?”

Zelda paused, torn between lying to her sister for simplicities sake, or admitting the truth. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, thank you, Hilda,” she said before hanging up the phone.

Lilith looked at her, brow’s raising but didn’t seem to argue either way. “Well,” Lilith said with a flutter of her eyes. “I suppose the question is…what did you want to do now?”

Zelda drew in a breath, feeling a low flutter in her belly. She knew what some part of her wanted, but there was no way she was going to admit that. Instead, she returned the question to Lilith, “And what are the options?”

“Hmm, I have some books, we could play a game. Otherwise, we could just adjourn to the living room.”

“And do what?”

Lilith smiled at her. There was demureness to it and were Zelda not so distrusting of the woman. She may have believed it to be genuine. Truthfully, the demure look only made her all the more suspicious. Nonetheless, Lilith led her to the fire and sat down on the lounge, reclining across in a way that had Zelda averting her gaze from her legs as she sat down in the armchair.

For the first time, she swept her eyes over the home. There was a strangeness to it in contrast to the other house. This house seemed smaller with the narrow rooms, though it was definitely twice as large given that it had more rooms. The furniture was old, and as Zelda’s eyes wandered over the mantle and strange collection of knick-knacks, she wondered how much of it belonged to Lilith.

Certainly, she wouldn’t have placed muted colours as a choice of the woman––especially with how modern and bright the other place had been.

“Is this your home?” she asked.

“As much as any other place I live in has been,” Lilith responded. “Why do you ask?”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

Lilith laughed. “No, I suppose it does not. I didn’t decorate it, but it suits me well enough,” she said with a tight smile.

“Did you decorate the other place?”

“Yes, and no,” she answered. “I chose the art and the bed, everything else just came with time.”

The answered puzzled Zelda. As she understood, Lilith had only been living in Greendale shortly. The wealth depicted in two homes cast a strong contract. Here, everything looked old, like it’d been owned for decades and whomever the owner was, had intentionally picked the pieces to match. In contrast, the other place had a more contemporary feel to it.

But Lilith’s answers were deliberately misleading, and Zelda knew that if she wanted to clarify, she would have done so already. Instead, she’d chosen to remain a mystery by design.

It left an awkward silence, one that provided Zelda with too much time to go over the other day, remembering Lilith’s words. Telling her that she wouldn’t engage in her alleged self-harm––and yet, she’d gone out of her way to flirt with her today, to the point that it left no mystery that should Zelda return it, the woman would happily engage in a service.

Right now, she was lying on the lounge in a way that was intended to look casual, but Zelda knew very well was posed, having done similar acts of seduction herself. While she appreciated it, it left her confused.

“What did you mean by earlier?” Zelda asked. “When you said that I don’t listen.”

“You don’t listen, what is there to interpret in that?”

“I listen quite well,” Zelda countered. “You’re just vague, which says more about you than it does me.”

“That may be true, but you don’t listen. You half listen and then extrapolate whatever answer you want from that––in this case, it seems to cast yourself as the victim.”

Zelda’s jaw clicked, a fit of furious anger rising inside of her. “And what in God’s name do you mean by that?”

Lilith smiled. “Why haven’t you booked another appointment with me?” Lilith asked.

Zelda blinked, taken aback by the comment, “You said I couldn’t.”

“I said no such thing. In fact, I offered to leave your last session as free given that we didn’t finish it, which was awfully kind on my end, despite how rudely you stormed off.”

“I was not rude, and you said that you wouldn’t complete the requested services anymore.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I said I wouldn’t engage in your self-harm; there’s a difference. We can still engage in BDSM. It just means that if I say it’s over, it’s over. You don’t get to push your limits without negotiating them with me first.”

Zelda’s chest tightened as she looked away. “I wasn’t trying to push my limits.”

“No, you were trying to punish yourself. I won’t engage in that, the only person who gets to punish you, is me. When you engage my services, you’re mine, do you understand?”

Zelda flushed, staring at the fire. The words your mine rolled through, echoing softly. She quite liked the way that sounded. “I don’t want to punish myself.”

Lilith sighed, sinking in the chair like she was terribly bored. “The therapist I gave you is good. I used her services myself.”

“And what did you need them for?” Zelda asked. “Were you punishing yourself?”

“Don’t do that,” Lilith said, looking her sharply in the eye. For a moment, all humoured had failed, and the woman was looking at her intently. “You’re better than that.”

Zelda shifted, biting back the seething comment. “And who made you the authority?”

“I did by being a dominatrix, and you placed yourself as the submissive.”

“I didn’t appreciate it.”

“No,” Lilith agreed and then she drew in a tight breath. “I will admit, I went about it the wrong way. When I went through…something similar, it was difficult to see that I needed help. You don’t need to see a therapist if you don’t want to, but I do ask that you consider it.”

“I have, and I’ve elected not to.”

Lilith nodded, her expression tight. “Then I won’t push again. But should you ever want a recommendation to a therapist, I will provide it to you.”

“Thank you.”

“And now just comes the matter of you storming off and being quite rude. Are you going to apologise for that, or should I find my cane?”

Zelda shivered and looked away to the fire again, not wanting the woman to see how intently she would enjoy such a thing. The idea of being bent over a surface and feeling the cane crack over her skin. It was enough to make her deeply aware of the lack of underwear underneath the gown.

“Unless that is something you want?” Lilith said, a low, soft laughing ringing from her lips as she sat up.

“No, I––” Zelda said, but her voice was swollen with arousal. All she could think about was Lilith’s hand running over the welts, telling her how good she was being.

Her face felt hot as she bit her lip.

Lilith was standing in front of her before Zelda was even aware of standing. And then, as Zelda looked up, into her eyes, she watched as Lilith bent before her, hands on either side of the armchair, so Zelda sat up straight and pressed back in the seat, watching as the woman’s eyes came to level with hers. “You don’t need to lie to me, if you want me to spank you, all you need to do is ask me nicely.”

Zelda swallowed, staring back, afraid that if she blinked, the woman would devour her.

She could smell her perfume––faded, but sweet coming from her skin as one hand lifted and seemed to curl under her chin, tilting it up. “Ask me nicely,” Lilith said. The words were softly spoken, but there was no mistaking the authority in the command.

“And what would ‘nicely’ look like?” she asked.

“You’re a clever girl, I’m sure you’ll work it out,” Lilith grinned, and it only fed into the situation as Zelda found herself growing bold.

If Lilith wanted to play, she could play. She’d had enough of being seduced––Lilith may have experience of ruling her authority over others, but Zelda had never had a complaint with her own techniques.

“Do I just say, ‘please, Principle Wardwell, won’t you bend me over your knee’?” she asked, grinning as she watched the woman’s smirked falter, her pupils dilating. Zelda leant closer and felt Lilith’s fingers slide down her throat. “Or should I just get on my knees and beg?”

Lilith’s eyes darkened, and she gave a wolfish grin. “I like the idea of you begging.”

“You’re going to need to try harder to get me to beg for you. I’m sure a clever girl like you can work it out.”

“Disrespectful,” Lilith said, her hand coming to slip around Zelda’s throat, holding it steady but not painfully. “You can try to wind me up all you want, but you still need to ask me nicely.”

Zelda drew in a deep breath, knowing she was already under the woman’s skin. “Please, Principal Wardwell,” she purred, and Lilith smirked at her, her fingers tightening as she leant forward and kissed her. Zelda’s eyes fluttered shut, her mouth soft and pliant as she felt the woman climb on top of her, one leg on either side, effectively pinning in her place as she used both hands to cup her face, kissing her softly, and then hard, her teeth coming out to catch against Zelda’s bottom lip before she sucked on it until Zelda moaned.

And then Lilith was kissing down her throat, and Zelda didn’t know how this was going to end up with her getting spanked, but she could feel the flickering warmth in her belly as lips kissed over her neck, each one soft and tender until the woman’s teeth sunk against her shoulder.

Zelda’s nails dug in the woman’s thighs as she rocked forward,

Lilith laughed as she pulled away, giving the spot a lick before she stared into Zelda’s eyes, flicking between them as if she was trying to read her thoughts.

“I’m going to punish you in a way that you’re not going to like,” she said. “It won’t be what you want.”

“And, pray tell, what do you think I want?”

“I think you want me to pull you over my knee and spank you until you’re absolutely soaked, and then you want me to fuck you while you squirm in my lap and listen to me tell you what a good girl you were for taking such a punishment.”

Zelda shifted at the words, feeling the flush brush over her. She swallowed the words, afraid that if she tried to deny it, she’d only make a fool out of herself.

“Don’t worry, I’m still going to spank you, but you were very disrespectful for me in my own home, and naughty girls get punished before they get treats,” she stepped away then and then Lilith was taking Zelda’s hand and tugging her out of the armchair, up the steps to the second floor and into Lilith’s bedroom.

Her real bedroom, that had a simple bed, with simple covers and a thick, fur throw strewn over it to keep the heat in.

Lilith shut the bedroom door behind her and then grinned at Zelda. “What’s your safe word?” she asked.

“Music box.”

Lilith smiled, her fingers running over the satin collar of the dressing gown Zelda wore as she pushed it off her shoulders. “I’m going to make you beg, Zelda Spellman. You came into my territory, in my home. You’re mine.”

“Am I, now?” Zelda asked, feeling her heart flutter.

Lilith’s smile only widened as her fingers played with the straps of the nightgown, pushing them off Zelda’s shoulders too, so the dress fell, catching over her hips before Zelda tugged them down, standing obediently before her.

Lilith leant forward and kissed her again, and Zelda pressed into her, her fingers settling on Lilith’s hips. She didn’t understand how the woman could threaten her and make her feel safe at the same time as if she was in complete control and giving it all up at the same time, but Zelda softened against her, mouth parting to slip her tongue over Lilith’s.

She was eager and nervous, uncertain about what was to follow.

And then Lilith was pulling away and tucking hair behind her ear before she whispered. “On the bed, in the centre for me, please.” And then she stepped back and watched her, teeth biting her bottom lip as she nodded for Zelda to get into position.

Zelda climbed onto the bed, sitting in the centre.

“Oh no, on all fours, facing the head of the bed.”

Zelda drew in a breath, her heart beating faster. It would leave her exposed. Very exposed. But Lilith just waited where she stood, eyebrows raised as she waited for her to either obey or disagree.

Those were her two options. She could do what was asked of her, or she could refuse, demand something she wanted.

She didn’t want anything else.

Zelda obeyed, rolling onto her hands and knees, back straight as she stared at the head of the bed.

“That’s my girl,” Lilith said, and then Zelda could hear her walking around the bedroom, liking admiring her position. “Scooch back a bit,” Lilith said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Zelda bit her lip, manoeuvring herself backwards. There was no graceful way to do it, and she suspected that that had been Lilith’s plan, to humiliate her just a bit as she was crawling backwards on the bed.

“Stop.”

Zelda paused and then looked over her shoulder, feeling the heat rush across her face, down her body despite how the cool air felt against her naked body (especially to where her sex remained exposed).

“Eyes ahead. Good girl,” Lilith said, and Zelda felt her hand slip down, over her back, across her backside. “Now, stay right there, don’t move,” she said.

Zelda shivered as she felt the hand lift away, listening as Lilith walked around the room, opening up a drawer and pulling something that sounded reasonably heavy out from it. And then, Zelda felt Lilith touch over her ankle, a cuff wrapping around it but Zelda felt what was like a bar press over her other leg, and then Lilith was moving her other ankle, adjusting it, so her thighs were quite wide apart.

“A spreader?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” Lilith confirmed, buckling her other ankle into a cuff. “It leaves you so beautifully exposed before me.” And then when all was done and buckled, Lilith’s hands were dropping over her waist, sliding down her backside and thighs as she ran her nails bluntly over the skin.

Zelda shivered, but try as she might, the bar kept her legs spread and she was unable to press her thighs together.

She was just open. The woman could do and see as she pleased.

Zelda drew in a deep breath, calming her beating heart as Lilith hand’s continued to run over her, petting her softly. It was both patronising and yet calming at the same time, and Zelda wished that she could find it annoying.

“Now, I would say…five for each infraction, does that sound fair?”

“Yes.”

“Yes…?” Lilith prompted.

“Yes, Principle Wardwell.”

Lilith laughed before Zelda heard her draw in a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever tyre of hearing you say that.”

And then Zelda felt her hands running over her again, pressing across her lower back and drawing her nails down the muscles. “Five lashes for each infraction, I’ve counted your rudeness three times.”

“Three?”

“Mmhmm. Three times I threatened to spank you, so here you are. Fifteen lashes that we’ll do in lots of five.” And then she was quiet again, and Zelda was taking a deep breath, waiting for the first strike to hit.

It came sudden and firm against the left cheek, and Zelda squeaked, surprised by it but otherwise fine. The second was as firm on the other side. She bit back her sound, digging her hands in the fur throw and waited. Another strike came, low and managing to hit both of her upper thighs, stinging it enough that Zelda gasped.

Three strikes.

Was she meant to be counting them? She couldn’t remember.

Another strike came, and Zelda felt it rock over her. Her ass was warmed already by the strikes, a heat pulsating across it that paused as she felt the cane gently kiss against her. Holding her breath, she wondered briefly if that was meant to be number five.

And then she saw the shadow flicker, giving her enough time to brace as the strike hit her hard and true on her upper thigh, stinging across it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, taking in a deep breath as she breathed through the pain, feeling it pulsate over her.

“You did well,” Lilith advised, her fingers coolly pressing over the marks, running across the welted lines.

Zelda squirmed at the touch, feeling her own wetness grow slick––it was somehow all the more embarrassing to know how on show she was, how easily Lilith could see how wet she was getting it.

Zelda ducked her head, staring at the fur throw and drew in a tight breath. As humiliating as it felt, she still squirmed at the sensation, wanting to feel Lilith’s fingers continue to draw over, mixing plain with pleasure.

“Ready for the second lot?”

Zelda nodded, and then squeaked too late as she felt Lilith pinch a welt in warning, “Yes, Principle Wardwell.”

“Good, you’re learning.” Lilith stepped back and drew over her thighs. “Let’s see, shall we. I could be very, very cruel but I don’t think I will. I think I’ll be nice.”

Zelda whined.

“I know what you want, but this isn’t about that,” Lilith said, her hand running over her back, stroking across the curve of her skin. And then the next strike came, and Zelda’s eyes squeezed shut as it cracked over her ass, hitting the very edges of her vulva with deliberate intention. It stung enough that she felt tears prick into her eyes, but Zelda’s fingers curled into the throw, breathing out hard as she pressed against the spreader between her calves.

She couldn’t lie. It hurt, but it hurt good. Like she could feel the impact and the pain rolling over her, but also the endorphins flooding through her bloodstream.

“Would you look at that,” Lilith teased and then her fingers were sliding over the outer labia, and Zelda was whimpering at the light touch, feeling the woman spread her wider. “My, my, you do enjoy a good spanking, don’t you?”

“Yes, Principal Wardwell.”

“Mm, perhaps I should get creative, think of other ways to punish you for rude behaviour. Maybe make you––“ she was cut off as a ding sounded, far below in the home. “Excellent, the washing machine’s done. Do be a dear and stay where you are. I’ll be quite cross if I’ve seen you’ve moved.”

“Yes, Principal Wardwell.”

Zelda held her position, waiting, and then feel the faintest touch on her back, before she felt Lilith’s fingers comb through her hair, moving it in place. And then she was gone, feet padding out of the room.

Zelda could hear the stairs creak with the weight on them, before that too faded, leaving the house quiet.

There was the sound of a door opening, and then there was silence, and Zelda waited and waited and waited. Feeling seconds tick as the heat and sting on her skin turned cold and then faded to a dull ache. There was only quiet and her thoughts.

And all she could think about was that if anyone walked in except Lilith, she would be terribly on show. Every part of her naked and exposed for view. Realistically, she was safe. It was unlikely that someone else would make their way to the house, be invited inside and then make their way up the stairs to Lilith’s bedroom.

And yet, despite the knowledge of this, Zelda couldn’t help but feel the prick of anticipation. It wasn’t entirely impossible, just improbably. It could happen. Someone could come across the lone house and visit her.

A stair creaked, and Zelda felt the anticipation break across her skin. She was almost helpless.

What would happen if someone were to––

“Look at that,” Lilith said, and Zelda prided herself in the fact that she didn’t jump, despite her surprise. “You remained perfectly in position. Aren’t you just an obediently little woman?” Zelda could hear her steps down, listening as they stepped over her to behind her, taking the cane from the bed.

“Are my clothes––“

The cane struck low, on the side of her thigh and Zelda gasped, surprised by it. “Subordinates are quiet unless spoken to,” Lilith reminded her. “Now, where were we?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Zelda refrained from allowing a response to be pulled from her as she felt the woman walk around the bed, seeming to take her form in. “I think two more lashes should do it.”

Zelda’s brow pinched. She was certain that there was at least eight outstanding.

But Lilith’s fingers touched over the welts and Zelda hissed at the touch. Two spots were more painful than the others, and Zelda felt Lilith’s fingers glide over it, rubbing the nerves raw. It twisted painfully inside of her, and although there was certainly enjoyment to be found, for the most part, she felt the pain act like pins against her emotions, pricking her pain until she felt like she was going to cry.

“You’ve done well,” Lilith said. “I’m reducing them because your skin's a little more delicate than I anticipated. But I’m proud of you, so don’t think that’s it’s for any other reason.” And then the weight shifted, and Zelda felt her head bow. The strike came, hard and firm, pressing over one of the smaller welt and Zelda moaned, feeling it spark up her spine. Tears were pricking in her eyes now.

And she wasn’t sure if it was from the strike or the words I’m proud of you that were running through her head. It was absurd to get so worked up over the phrase. Absurd to feel them prick sharply into her, harder than any strike. Anything at all.

Proud of you.

God have mercy; she ached.

The last strike came, and like a crumbling damn, Zelda’s body bent over. She wasn’t going to cry; she was determined not to cry.

And yet Lilith’s fingers were fast, and the spreader was unbuckled and removed, and then the woman was on the bed, and Zelda was pulled into her lap. And Zelda hated it, hated how the woman’s fingers drew over her hair, how she hushed her and ran hands over her body and whispered how good she’d been.

Because it hurt, it hurt more than it should, and Zelda wanted it again. She wanted Lilith to whisper into her ear and press kisses to her shoulder, and tell her that she’d done really well, even if it wasn’t true. She wanted it so badly.

She closed her eyes and felt the combing stop, but Lilith’s hands remained on her, one settled on her head, the other curled around her body, pressing against her chest, steadying her.

And then when the pain was over, Zelda drew a breath and rose, feeling the embarrassment wash over her again, just as it had in their first session.

She licked her lips, trying to think of a dry comment to make or something to say to soften what had occurred but Lilith only looked into her eyes, and all the words died in her mouth.

“I’m going to insist this time that I put cream on it since you’ll be staying the night.”

Zelda made a noise of disagreement but shifted away, winching as she pressed against a welt. “Fine,” she agreed. “Only because I won’t have access to my own.”

Lilith gave her a look and then shifted off from the bed, going over to her dresser when she shuffled through the drawers, before pulling out a container of cream.

She returned to the bed, and tugged at a pillow, pulling it down next to Zelda, “Lie down, and I’ll place it on,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Zelda obeyed, rolling onto the stomach and resting her arms over the pillow, placing her head on it in a way she was comfortable.

And then she settled, feeling the fur of the throw press against her as the cream was unrolled and the woman’s fingers were dipping in it. “Do you do this for your clients, too?”

“I do,” Lilith answered. “Some, like you, are stubborn, which makes it harder to provide adequate care. But I usually find a way.”

Zelda hissed as the cream touched over a welt before she softened again. The woman’s touch was firm, rubbing it into the skin, and she felt her stomach twist at the intimacy of the situation. It came at no surprise to herself that sex and kink were easier than allowing someone to rub cream into the welts.

“None of them have broken,” Lilith said, as her fingers drew down her thighs, both hands rubbing over her left, the thumb firmly rubbing it in––and yet despite how intimate it was, it didn’t feel like foreplay. It felt like what it was, aftercare. As if Zelda was an invalid needing cream for bedsores. “They won’t scar, but they’ll sting for a few days.”

“Wonderful,” Zelda responded dryly.

“Oh, yes,” Lilith said. “One of my favourite things is knowing that even after you leave, you’re going to think of me,” she said, drawing the cream on the other side now. “When you get in your car, when you sit in your office when you’re at the dining table, you’re going to feel it press, and you’re going to think of me.”

“They won’t be happy thoughts.”

“They will be,” Lilith said. “You’re a masochist, Zelda. Try as much as you like. You do like this.”

She felt a bite rise in her. “And yet you said that it was self-harm.”

“Mm, there’s a difference,” Zelda felt Lilith's fingers draw away, and despite how much easier it was to relax when they weren’t there, she missed the touch, the feeling of her drawing over the skin. “What you wanted the other week was complete destruction. You were pushing yourself, refusing to stop. This was different.”

“I didn’t cry last time.”

“Crying isn’t always a sign of pushed limits,” Lilith said. “I think you know the difference between today and the other day and are trying to be deliberately obtuse, so you get what you want.”

Pushing up, Zelda felt a flare of frustration rise at the woman’s words. “Which is what?” she asked, her jaw clenching as she anticipated the woman’s indifference to her fight.

But Lilith only smirked at her. “you know what, Zelda. I’ll play with you on negotiated terms, but I’m not your partner. I can’t be the emotional support you need.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Zelda huffed, pushing up onto her hands and knees before she paused, wincing as she felt the pain sting over her. The welts hurt differently than before. This was a dull ache that throbbed, rather than the sharp sting.

But she pressed on, moving to push off the bed. Not that there was far she could go. She was stuck in the woman’s house until the storm ended––or, more realistically, until tomorrow. A part of her wanted to seduce the other woman, dominate her in a different way that she’d been until Lilith was left wet and wanton against her mouth, but she had a sneaking suspicion that sex was off the table for the moment.

Taking the nightgown from the floor, she placed it on, before pulling on the dressing gown and drew her hair over her shoulder.

Lilith remained sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with mild interest as if she wasn’t sure what might occur next.

“What time is it?”

“Relatively early,” Lilith said, “though I have some administration work to do. Did you want a cup of tea?”

“Please,” Zelda agreed.

_________________

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THIS ONE IS REAL

Those are pretty expensive. If they were obviously good, someone would already be writing stuff on top of it. He made cars, which had been a luxury item, into a commodity. But maybe the older generation would laugh at me for opinions expressed here, remember that anything you see here that's not in the middle. I once wrote that startup founders should be at least 23, and that one should just go to grad school.1 Why do you think so? Could you turn theorems into a commodity, and they were still mostly in denial about problems. When we got real funding near the end of it, but regardless it's certainly constraining.

Soon after we arrived at Yahoo, we got an email from Filo, who had been crawling around our directory hierarchy, asking if it was really necessary to store so much of it. At each step, flow down. Our generation wants to get paid for doing work you love, you're practically there. I said a good rule of thumb for recognizing when you have competitors, because it's painful to observe the gap between them. But when I finally tried living there for a bit last year, and the Bible is quite explicit on the subject of homosexuality. Though unprecedented, I predict this situation is also temporary. They can't hire smart people anymore, but they don't get blamed for it. This one is real. But unfortunately you run into a chicken and egg problem here. And when you see something that's taking advantage of new technology to give people something they want that they couldn't have before, you're probably looking at a winner. In a field like math or physics, where no audience matters except your peers, and judging ability is sufficiently straightforward that hiring and admissions committees can do it without setting off the kind of work you do, and since you have to jump through in school.2 So Dad, there's this company called Apple.

Err. And indeed, a lot of meetings; don't have chunks of code that multiple people own; don't have chunks of code that multiple people own; don't have chunks of code that multiple people own; don't have a cofounder, but that there be few of them. Afterward I wondered, what am I even measuring? And that's fine. If you're a hacker thinking about starting a startup in New York admire more.3 Even Einstein probably had moments when he wanted to have a meeting about it. Don't maltreat users is a subset of a more general technique: making things easier.

At least, it has to look professional. My only leisure activities were running, which I think even Spamhaus would admit is a rough guess at the top spammers. Wealth is defined democratically. While you're at it, you should get a job. After all, a Web 2. But an online square is more dangerous than a physical one. Startup ideas are ideas for companies, and sales depends mostly on effort. Surely one had to force oneself to work on, toward things you actually like. By seeming unable even to cut a grapefruit in half let alone go to the store and buy one, he forced other people to use.4 If anyone is dishonest, it's the one with fewer employees that's more impressive.

The intervening years have created a situation that is, someone whose best work was behind him—and hand over the project with copious free advice about how the book should show in positive terms the strength and diversity of the American people, etc, etc. If this were a movie, for example. If you want to stay happy, you have to assume there was someone born in Milan with as much natural ability as Leonardo couldn't beat the force of environment, do you suppose you can? Even if your only goal is to please them, the way to get information out of them. The Bay Area has a lot of time thinking about language design. One reason people who've been out in the world. Thanks to Sam Altman, was 19 at the time.

As I was leaving I offered it to him, as I've done countless times before in the same way the classic airline pilot manner is said to derive from Chuck Yeager. Once publishing—giving people copies—becomes the most natural way of distributing your content, it probably isn't, it tended to pervade the atmosphere of early universities. How many times have you heard hackers speak fondly of how in, say, transportation or communications. But the reason reporters ended up writing stories about this particular truth, rather than by compiler writers. For better or worse, the idea of starting a startup just doesn't require that much intelligence. But it's harder than it looks. Serving web pages is very, very large. Most of us hate to acknowledge this. When the values of the elite. If you're sure of the general area you want to do when they're 12, and just the sort of trifle that breaks deals when investors feel they have the upper hand—over an uncertainty about whether the founders had correctly filed their 83 b forms, if you asked random people on the street if they'd like to do is figure things out, why do you need to in order to store something for them. Most good mathematicians would work on math even if there were no jobs as math professors, whereas in the departments at the other students' without having more than glanced over the book to learn the names of users with the highest average comment scores in orange.

And software sells hardware. I wanted. Taking a shower is like a form of meditation. And the boneheads who designed this stove even had an example of loving their work might help their kids more than an expensive house. The Bay Area has a lot of startups—probaby most startups funded by Y Combinator. It's an old idea that new things come from the margin is simply that you don't have an idea. Java will turn out to be a tradition of startups taking VC money, and work on what you love is very difficult. Responsibility is an occupational disease of eminence. Odd as it might sound, we tell startups that they should try to make friends with as many smart people as you can. Or they could return to their roots and make going to the theater a treat. Well, no.

So what's interesting? The reason we have high level languages is because people can't deal with machine language. How hard would it be to jumpstart a silicon valley? So far the complete list of messages I've picked up from cities is: wealth, style, hipness, physical attractiveness, fame, political power, economic power, intelligence, social class, and quality of life. Audiences have to be derived from working in that field. I learned to program when computer power was scarce.5 This extra cost buys you flexibility. These are the only places I know that Richard and Jonathan Rees have done a lot quicker.

Notes

They would have a bogus political agenda or are feebly executed. Not only do convertible debt, so problems they face are probably not do that. Some who read this essay I'm talking mainly about software design.

Put in chopped garlic, pepper, cumin, and stir. And of course reflects a willful misunderstanding of what you launch with, you might be digital talent. The Civil Service Examinations of Imperial China, many of the definition of important problems includes only those on the subject of language power in Succinctness is Power. But be careful here, I was writing this, but something feminists need to be when it converts you get stock as if you'd just thought of them could as accurately be called acting Japanese.

If this happens it will become increasingly easy to believe your whole future depends on the matter. In sufficiently disordered times, even if they do the opposite: when we created pets. If you're part of an audience of investors want to invest in successive rounds, it will thereby expose it to profitability on a map. But you can eliminate, do not try too hard at fixing bugs—which is the least important of the world wars to say that it will seem as if the fix is at pains to point out that this isn't strictly true, because spam and P nonspam are both genuinely formidable, and only incidentally to tell someone that I hadn't had much success in doing a bad idea has been rewritten to suit present fashions.

Together these were the impressive ones. I switch person. And while this is the way to create a silicon valley out of school. Obviously signalling risk.

Another thing I learned from this experiment: set aside an option to maintain their percentage. What you're looking for something they wanted, so you'd find you couldn't slow the latter without also slowing the former.