#often because they come with nefarious reasons to join the group

[icharchivist]

you know the theory about Belial essentially being the embodiment of Lucio's undesirable traits is really funny to me because most of those are also traits i do not like in Lucio, but i like them just fine in Belial. i think it's the context (see: Belial being pretty unabashed about being toxic and manipulative and morally dubious and never trying to present himself as trustworthy, he's not our friend, and he has the established purpose of "eat hot chip and lie") and not the traits for me but it makes me feel like the "hello, human resources" comic lmao

LKDJFDKJDFLK FAIR.

I adore Lucio personally so i can't relate, but i know this type of double standards very well. I have a friend who hates Sandalphon, while loving a lot of very irredeemable villains at the same time, and it's fully because "i can't believe he tricked me by pretending to accept my friendship before throwing me in the void :(" and everytime they mention that i have to joke that "dude you love Belial. And a hundred others characters who tricked you before." and then they end up being like "I KNOW I CAN'T HELP IT It'S SEXY WHEN THE VILLAINS DO IT, BUT SANDALPHON FOOLED ME!!!"

there's often this type of double standards like this where for some reasons you draw the line with some characters or on the contrary let it slide with others, so it's actually pretty funny.

[kitkatopinions]

If neo gets a redemption arc it will be way worst than emeralds as there was practically no build up beforehand for it at least emerald had some hints she doesn't want to be evil

So to be honest, Neo was one of the characters I singled out in the first few seasons of rwby as the most likely to be able to be redeemed along with Torchwick, Emerald, and Mercury (and Adam, but I'm not touching that conversation atm.)

Because villain redemption arcs don't always look like "I no longer want to be evil anymore" to "I no longer am evil." They often look like "The thing I'm doing no longer benefits me" to "Now I have friends I want to look out for" to "Now I no longer want to be evil."

The "We're making a new world" people are Watts, Hazel, Cinder. The "We want to destroy the world" people are Salem and Tyrian. Meanwhile, Roman is a vicious thief, but one who is out to survive and has a 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' mentality. That's easily turned towards a 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' thing where if he'd realized that Salem was the true threat to him and Neo, he could've aligned himself with the heroes for the sake of convenience, and then eventually developed relationships and eventually wound up starting to naturally change for the better (in my own fanfics, I add onto this possibility by giving him a tragic backstory that includes an ex-friendship with some of the adults and a passive semblance that fucked with his head.) Neo would go with Roman in a redemption arc, but prior to this 'gets possessed by the Cat' thing, post-Roman's-death, Neo has been entirely hellbent on revenge against the wrong person, meaning that if people had managed to talk sense into her (made more possible by Cinder's betrayal) she could've shifted into 'still bad but now a wildcard that the group might feel like they have to work together with,' and for my part with how Ruby sometimes seems a little Torchwick-ish, I always felt like Neo could develop a messed up devotion based on seeing Torchwick in her and therefore projecting Torchwick onto her, and then eventually that could lead to an actual slow burning redemption.

Meanwhile, Mercury is explicitly going wherever the wind takes him more or less and I also think that since he was raised to be an assassin by an abusive horrible father and then immediately got brought into Cinder's team and therefore Salem's (when we know both Cinder and Salem are abusive to their underlings) I always figured that Mercury didn't know much outside of violence, and if he was given a chance, he'd be able to slowly come around. And Emerald is obvious, she's the one who actually almost felt sad about Beacon and then doubted their actions later in Volume six. Her motivations were tied to Cinder, so imo the obstacle for her starting in on her redemption was just removing Cinder either by death or by having Emerald realize Cinder didn't care about her. This is actually one reason why I think her redemption was badly handled, Emerald's devotion to Cinder was really built up and even included in the very volume Em switched sides in, but didn't play any real part in her choice to leave and instead Emerald pretty much just left entirely out of self-preservation. But, her redemption was really likely from jump.

But yeah, I think that as far as redemption goes, I don't just look at 'who seems like they might not actually want to be evil,' I tend to look at things like 'who has a lot to lose,' 'who has motivations that might be easily swayed,' 'who seems like they might not be happy with their life as is,' 'is this person committed to a nefarious goal or is their involvement more by chance?' That kind of thing.

It's like, some redemptions are Zuko in ATLA, by the time he left his father for the last time to join the heroes group, he had completely seen the error of his ways and wanted nothing more than to help others and save the world. Then there are other redemptions that are like Michael in the Good Place, when he joined the group he was still a massive jerk doing bad things for fun, he just also wanted to fry a bigger fish and allied himself with the humans to do it, and it took time to get him from there to 'these guys are my friends and I want them to be safe' to him talking ethics and giving speeches about how humans can always get better while he tried to save the world.

In the longest running (non-published) AU rwby fic I have that my sis and I did after being disappointed in volume 6, Torchwick, Emerald, Mercury, and Neo all more or less got redeemed together - Roman survived the Beacon attack and was trying to seek out Cinder to find out what happened to Neo, who had been captured by Salem, and he ran into Mercury and Emerald who had just run away after the Haven attack (where Cinder actually did die and Emerald became the Fall Maiden) and they joined up with Roman in his quest to join up with Ruby's group because Emerald wanted revenge on Salem for Cinder's sake. And then while they had joined the good side, they consistently got into hateful arguments and Mercury kept talking about ditching, and eventually they managed to free Neo, who stayed 'on the good side' for Roman's sake while continuously trying to convince him to ditch but at this point the semblance I'd given Roman (which is survival) had made it so he felt like he had to stay with Ruby's group because it was the best way to survive. And only after a grueling year-long adventure filled with turmoil, trauma, spending tons of time with the good guys, some of them getting captured by Salem again, temporarily losing their semblances, encountering a Grimm similar to Apathy only it made everyone angry rather than apathetic so they all got into a huge fight where stuff got addressed... Only after all of that did they actually fully really change, and even then, Neo specifically took longer than the others to really change because she took awhile to stop being jealous that Torchwick cared about people other than her and was prioritizing saving the world over just taking care of her. It was a lot of fun! But yeah, I think this post was way way way too long just to say 'actually I think Neo could've been redeemed before getting possessed by the Cat.' XD

[mtjester]

So, back on the BNHA Steampunk AU bullshit train, here’s what I’m thinking:

Basic premise: Midoriya is an poor, unacknowledged engineering/inventor prodigy who lives in the mountains on the outskirts of a small town, working usually as a sheep herder for the town’s wealthy landowning family (the Bakugous) while he tinkers with his stuff. One day, an airship crashes on a nearby peak, and Midoriya find a sole survivor -- Yagi Toshinori (All Might). He and his mother don’t know who he is, but they rush him back to their house and take care of his wounds. He remains in a coma for a while. Midoriya finds an odd contraption near Toshinori, and he starts to tinker with it. He begins to unlock its potential. Toshinori eventually wakes up, sees Midoriya’s progress with the odd contraption and therefore his potential, and invites him to join him at U.A. Academy of Sciences in the Big City.

Once there, Midoriya finds Bakugou, the son of the wealthy landowners in his small town, whom Midoriya knew well growing up. Toshinori goes to attend to his own business, Bakugou begrudgingly shows Midoriya around, and it comes to everyone’s attention over time that some nefarious Science is happening in the criminal underground. Human experiments, a la Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Amnesia: The Dark Descent. Where science doesn’t have answers, horrendous experiments take place to find out. What’s the goal? Immortality? The Ultimate Human Weapon? A new step in human evolution?

Midoriya and Bakugou along with others in the academy who seek to uphold the honor of Science for Good go to join Captain Aizawa’s airship in the hopes of catching the perpetrators of the Evil Science.

Character Stuff under the cut!

The Academy:

Midoriya: He grew up in a small town setting and is overwhelmed by Big City Life. The contraption he finds near Toshinori is the AU’s version of OFA, and it’s a multipurpose machine that can meld to the body, enhance strength, increase mobility, shoot out tethers, etc. Toshinori was only able to unlock the first of these abilities in his tinkering. Now Midoriya, an otherwise underwhelming guy, is a force to be reckoned with.

Bakugou: The only son of a wealthy land-owning family in the same small town Midoriya came from, Bakugou was used to be being a big fish in a small pond. Now the pond his very large, and he’s the same size. He pursues his studies in explosives at the academy, and he has little clue how much of his research is directly responsible for fueling the Empire’s war machine. If he did, he would be horrified. He is adamant that the future will not be Steam but Diesel. He’s putting his stocks in the combustion engine.

Ochako: Ochako is going to be the first person in space! Supposedly. She’s working with all of her colleagues to create a rocket ship that will break through the Earth’s atmosphere, and she spends a lot of her time training for zero gravity in a gyroscope. She is studying gravity and magnetism. When asked how either works, she replies confidently, “I have no idea!”

Todoroki: Todoroki is the youngest son of a prestigious family in the city. His father is captain of one of the airships and has been on multiple expeditions into the Unknown. Todoroki himself is working on thermodynamics at the academy. He is rather fond of steam technology and has his doubts about the rise of diesel. He is considered one of the more successful and promising up-and-coming researchers there at the moment.

Iida: Iida is working on combustion engines and works closely with both Todoroki and Bakugou. He agrees with Bakugou that the future will be Diesel. Like both of them, he is from a well-to-do family, which boasts a long line of pilots. He has trained from a young age to be a pilot as well and has a natural knack for it, but he’s actually rather air-sick. He prefers to stay on land and work on moving vehicles faster more effectively.

Momo: Momo is from a prominent family and knows everything. She has read the entire library, so the rumors say. Her studies focus on the nature of matter, and her research has been inspired by everything from ancient books on alchemy to the most contemporary experiments. She hopes to create an Everything Machine. She is another of the more successful and promising up-and-coming researchers.

Denki: Denki is involved, not surprisingly, with the newer technology of electricity. He is attempting to harness its power more successfully and to figure out new ways to create bigger currents. Like Ochako, he doesn’t actually know what’s going on most of the time, and his experiments are trial-and-error.

Jirou: Jirou works with sound, and she has revolutionized the gramophone industry with her work. She is also working on devices that can pick up sound from miles away. On the side, she does jazz. 

Aoyama: Aoyama is working on light technology. He envisions a future when a beam of light can be used to cut through anything. Nobody puts much confidence in his experiments, and he’s often forgotten. He gravitates to Midoriya, the new guy, for this reason. Midoriya doesn’t brush him off, and he often shows up to help Midoriya off, acting more like a lab assistant than a researcher in his own right.

Sero: Sero is one of many standby engineers who help the researchers out. His preferred tool of the trade is his own tape (patent pending). It is surprisingly effective.

Mina: Mina is another standby engineer with a penchant for welding and chemicals. She is an aspiring chemist, but nobody will agree to help her with her research because of the haphazard way she handles caustic chemicals. Nevertheless, she is well-liked and popular.

Satou: Satou is a standby engineer whose brawn comes in handy. He is an academy favorite because he spends the time he’s not working creating lovely baked goods. In fact, most researchers call for his help last, since they would secretly rather he be baking sweets.

The Experiments:

Tsuyu: Tsuyu was rescued from a freak show, and the freak show discovery is the first step to uncovering the Bad Science. She is the result of a genetic modification experiment. She doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be frog-like, and she doesn’t really mind. But she is grateful to not be in a freak show anymore, and she’ll cooperate with the investigation to the best of her abilities! She becomes Ochako’s lab assistant.

Shoji: He was rescued from the freak show at the same time as Tsuyu. Like her, he doesn’t remember much of his previous life. He remembers more of the facility than Tsuyu does, and his recollection is a big help in the investigation.

Koda: He was rescued from the freak show at the same time as Tsuyu and Shoji. For a long time, he only speaks to animals. If he remembers much, he won’t (or can’t) communicate to the investigation team.

Hagakure: Another freak show rescue. She’s invisible. Sometimes the investigation team forgets she’s there. She’s quick to remind them, and she’s ready to put her sneaky abilities to good use!

Tokoyami: Tokoyami remembers his time in the facilities well. The experiments haunt him. He doesn’t remember the escape from the facility where he was “created” because Dark Shadow did most of the heavy lifting. He has been in the shadows, working as a vigilante for a while now. When the call goes out for people willing to help with the investigation, he shows up, ready to join Aizawa’s crew.

Kirishima: Kirishima and Ojirou are not found until later, when the investigation team uncovers an illegal underground fighting ring. Kirishima’s skin is tough as rock, and he can take a beating. He also has incredibly sharp teeth, and he has been outfitted with a muzzle for that reason. He doesn’t usually bite, but the harsh world of human fighting has made him somewhat more snappy. He does remember the facilities, but he would prefer not to. It seems that whatever the Evildoers were attempting to accomplish with their experiments came a bit closer to fruition through Tokoyami and Kirishima.

Ojirou: Ojirou, like Kirishima, was rescued from the underground fighting operation. Ojirou’s powerful tail gives him an advantage over his opponents, and the martial arts skills from his life before the facilities also give him a good edge. He survives the fighting operation with more of a level head than Kirishima, thanks to his previous training. It spares him the muzzle. 

This is already a lot, so maybe I’ll just stop at the 1-A group for now!

[vagrantblvrd]

Another modern day au? But this time with more ridiculousness.

The one where Grogu is the sole witness to a Nefarious Crime who can identify the Nefarious Crime-doer and is placed in protective custody for his safety.~

But then Nefarious Crime-doer puts the word out they want Grogu dealt with, resulting in their right-hand man, someone named Gideon to oversee things on that front. But, because Nefarious Crime-doer doesn’t want things traced back to them, the job of ~deaing with Grogu gets outsourced.

Which is how Din, bounty hunter and generally speaking Very Tired Man, finds himself accepting a job that turns out to be more than he reckoned for, what with finding a tiny child at the end of it and all.

One who was in the care of federal agents who were gunned down by someoe else claiming to have been hire by the same mn, the one who Din had been told to refer to as “The Client” and apparently set a price on the kid’s head too tempting for anyone not squeamish about killing a kid to pass by.

He wasn’t told it was a kid, wasn’t told others had orders to kill the kid, none of this is what he signed up for and th sight of the dead federal agents, the cold look in the man in front of him tells him he’s already past the point of no return.

(Finish the job or let the man do his, and he’s still fucked because the damn federal agents.)

Din realizing he’s not a heartless bastard as he saves Grogu from someone who is a heartless bastard and takes Grogu and has to go on the run to keep him safe becuase he just killed a man and dear God, what did he just do???

(But then little Grogu and the sight of the other man about to shoot him, and there was really no other choice.)

Adventures! Shenanigans! Din and Grogu dodging people out to kill both of them as he realizes just how much trouble he’s gotten himself into!

But also, Kuil, Karga, Cara and all the others he meets along the way who become allies and friends he knows won’t sell him out.

And, you know. U.S. Marshals and other feds and whatnot looking for the kid and whoever killed the agents assignd to protect him and it’s just.

A lot to deal with okay? A lot.

Meanwhile, Luke is one of the U.S. Marshals tasked with finding Grogu and whoever took him.

There’s this whole thing where he’s the youngest on his team and the son of a legendary agent, he gets his fair of good-natured grief from his co-workers.

But this thing with Grogu is big, big news and a tskforce is put together and the good-natured grief he gets from the people who know him, have worked with him for years suddenly isn’t.

Nothing new there, Anakin Skywalker is a point of contention in the agency due to The Incident that happened shortly before Luke and Leia were born.

Corrupt politician and a powerplay, corrupt federal agents across several agencies and a conspiray theory that still affects those agecies to this day.

Also, the thing where Anakin left the U.S. Marsha service once things were over (with typical Skywalker Dramatics, Obi-Wan had told him laushing at Anakin’s long-suffering groan) and joined the private sector.

Didn’t actually mean to start a mini-exodus when he did, but, well. Charismatic and such, and he and Obi-Wan are fo-founders of a personal protection business that does quite well for itself thanks to its first client being a well-known a respeted politician and such.

(Luke loved hearing that part of the story as a kid, knowing everything his dad did back then had been for love of his mom.)

Luke could have, should have, gone to work for his dad and Obi-Wan, but there was a recruiter. Someone who talked up working for the U.S. Marshals and they need someone like him, and other things.

Anakin is like *sigh* because that’s pretty much how they got him too, you know? But you can bet he keeps an eye on things with Luke in case it turns out he and the others didn’t manage to rip out all the corruption on their way out.)

Luke’s got all that to deal with, a federal agency that’s still finding it’s feet all this time afterwards and...fellow federal agents who look at him and see a problem agent just like his father. (Don’t know the full story, think his dad should be in jail and all that and apples falling from trees, and anyway, he’s lucky to have his team and superiors who know better and it’s not that often he runs into problem like this.)

Anyway, Luke and this taskforce looking for Din, thinking he’s a heartless bastard looking to cash in with the kid - Grogu, according to the - but Luke is like.

He’s That Guy, the one who looks at the crime scene, reads everything they have on Din and goes, “Something doesn’t add up,” because of course he is.

His team’s used to that, learned to trust his instincts on things like that so instead of looking at Din like he’s just another common criminal, violent thug, they look the whole situation from a different perspective, that he’s trying to protect Grogu rather than cash in on him. (His death.)

But because of Luke’s history with the agency the rest of taskforce isn’t inclined to believe that, think Luke’s...who even knows, bubt they’re dismisive of his theories and aren’t subtle about it and there’s a new nesion between the teams on the taskforce.

As Din gets caught up in situation after situation and witness accounts and so on paint Din in a good light - more of the taskforce leans towards Luke and his team’s view on Din not being a bad guy here? But there are still holdouts, bitter about the hand Anakin had in the resturcturing of the agency, old friends and mentors exposed as corrupt and wasting away in jail and personal grudges and so on.

And then!

Luke checking on a lead, going to talk to one of Din’s new associates in  little town in the desert, a former soldier and a guy who runs a bounty hunting business and happens to be in the right place at the right tie to actually see Din.

Grogu’s with him, seems happy enough, not scared of Din, and Din is watching the kid like a hawk.

Right up until a group of guys show up and the shooting starts and it’s Luke’s day off, but he’sworking on the whole work/life balance thing, but is also trying to stay alive.

Also, hey, hi, M. Djarin, fancy meeting you here, as they end up taking cover behind the same overturned table, Cara and Greef grabbing Grogu and getting him the hell out of the line of fire, and anyway, anyway, what a lovely day, wouldn’t you say?

The thing where they have to flee together and Luke gets a little bit shot - nothing fatal, really, just you know.

Fashionably injured in which Din has to haul him to safety and some dingy motel somewhere and medical supplies from a gast station or pharmacy and Luke watching Din as he patches him up so he doesn’t bleed to death.

Calloused hands with old scars on his knuckles tuching him ~gently, with the kind of care that seems at odds with his checkered patch, and the man is all nerves because his situation gets worse every damn day he’s on the run with Grogu.

And now, okay, now he’s got a federal agent’s life in his hands, someone who probably thinks he’s the bad guy here, might put a bullet in him to keep from going to jail and it’s.

A lot, alright? The same it’s been since he took the damn job, set eyes on Grogu and ruined everything he’s worked for his whole damn life.

But Luke, okay. Luke is just wathcing him, relieved his instincts were right about Din because he had no reason, no reason, to help Luke out. Save his life, drag him to safety and the whatnot. No reason to risk being identified when he went out for medical supplies to tend to Luke’s injury, and yet he did.

The whole thing where Din’s just waiting for Luke’s people to bust in, haul him off to jail, but it never happens.

Not even when he falls asleep because he hasn’t gotten nearly enough of it the last few weeks , gives Luke the chance to call for backup, lock Din away.

None of that happens, although there is a moment the next day where Luke tries to talk Din into coming with Luke, trusting him to clear his name and take care of Grogu where he almost, almost thinks Luke means what he says -

But then the baddies find them again and it’s a whirlwind car chase that ends with a shootout and Din sneaking away when the cops show up and Luke has to explain that hey, no, he’s on their side and please don’t shoot him, he’s been shot enough for the time being, thanks.

More shenanigans in which Din and Grogu elude baddies and Luke (and his team, a few from the task force who are one their side) try to catch up to them only to be too late every time.

And then!

There’s a thing where the baddies get their hands on Grogu and Din has no choice but to call Luke for help, doesn’t care what happens to him so long as Grogu’s safe and it’s just.

A lot of Drama and Angst and this whole convoluted plan to draw the baddies out using Din as bait or whatever because he’s a loose end they can’t afford and it’s all very exciting and dramatic.

(Also, Luke making sure he or someone he trusts is with Din the whole time he’s with them preparing to get Grogu back, keeps him from running by just being there, someone he trusts.)

Exciting action climax in which there is shooting - so much shooting - and Daring Feats and also an Evil Monologue or two, who knows.

Din gets fashionably shot as well, makes a shiity joke about him and Luke matching now with the whole being shot thing what is wrong with him and is reunited with Grogu thinking it’s the last time he’ll see him and all.

Because Witness Relocation for Grogu and jail for Din and just, you know how it is.

But there’s Luke watching Din and Grogu, nd he’s thinking, you know?

Luke with connections he only clls on when things are Dire and never for himself, and anyway, anyway.

There’s a thing where Grogu goes into Witness Relocation until the trial and Nefarious Crime-doer goes to jail for a long, long time . Din doesn’t get tossed into a cell, although he does spend a lot of time talking to federal agents of all kinds before they let him go home.

And Luke, okay, Luke is Plotting.

Meanwhile, Din goes about his life best he can after the upheaval and chaos of the last few months.

All these little reminders of Grogu in his life in the form of a toy or shirt or somehing left behind, forgotten until he stumbles accross them and it’s all very Angsty for  bit.

But then there’s a job offer, this personal protectoon company and it doesn’t click in Din’s mind until he’s waiting for the interview that wait, wait.

Skywalker isn’t exactly a common name, and Boba mentioned something about this Anakin Skywalker who almost burned the U.S. Marshal service down over twenty years ago about a conspiracy and whatot.

(Boba meddles in Din’s life even though he’d deny it to his dying day, and he got the whole miserable story about Din’s adventures in keeping Grogu alive and that one federal agent who didn’t think Din was a heartless monster.)

Anyway.

Din gets called in for his interview - didn’t want to take it, but he needs a job and bounty hunting had already lost its shine before he met Grogu, and anyway. Boba insisted.

So he walks into Skywalker’s office, not sure what to expect, but it sure as hell isn’t Luke, and defintiely isn’t Luke and Grogu with an older man who must be Anakin smiling at the two of them as they ply some kind of game and Din really needs to sit down before he does something embarrasing as faint.

Which, you know. Perfect time for Luke to explain that with Nefarious Crime-doer in jail and his criminal organization torn up by the roots, there’s no reason Grogu has to stay in Witness Relocation.

That, circumtances being what they are, he’s up for adoption and would Din happen to know anyone interested?

(Luke has been busy, the last few months, okay. Very busy calling in favors and whatnot and it’s all worth it to see the look on Din’s face, gap-toothed smile on Grogu’s.)

Also, though.

Anakin has heard all about Din from Luke, and he has been looking for more people since business has been good, and Din is just.

Overwhelmed, because too much good happening all at once.

Luke and Anakin share this look because wow, yes, they know the feeling. Luke takes Din and Grogu out for lunch, go to a quiet, out of the way place to let the poor guy think over his options because he really hasn’t had the luxury to do so for a while now.

Grogu is delighted, because he missed the hell out of Din, and Luke’s been pretty great too, and after a while Din stops worrying and pays attention to that, to Grogu.

Sweet kid, really, and Din already knows he’d do anything for him. Adopting him would be the smallest of it.

As the job...he’ll have to think about it a little longer, uncomfortable with the thought Luke got it for him rather than him earning it, and when he eventually mentions that in another meeting with Anking a week or so later, Anakins is just.

“Well, alright then,” and lets Din prove why he deserves the job.

Anakin knows he does already, okay, from what Luke told him about the whole Situation when he was on he run with Grogu and saving Luke’s life and the praise Luke’s team and others have had for Din. But this is about Din needing to know he does, and he’s more than willing to give that to him.

And then!

Once things have settled down in Din’s life, once he’s got his kid and a good job and some semblance of stability for both of them, Luke is kind of just.

There.

Around Din’s work because of Anakin, and the business’ firt client is Luke’s mother, and also Grogu being all :(((((((( becuase he misses Luke, and Din hates it when Grogu’s :(((((((((, so.

Luke is around, and it’s a little awkward at first, takes Din a while to realize that okay, wow, yes, Luke is actually flrting with him and not just being his usual friendly self.

(Cara and the others just shake their head at him when he has that realization because seriously, okay, seriously.)

Anyway, anywy, awkward flirting and dates and a goodnight kiss where Din is like oh, no, because this relationship of theirs is serious and he does’t know how to do this, be a normal human being in a functioning relationship, okay.

(And yes, part of him knew it was serious before then, it hadn’t sunk in yet, and anyway, yes.)

Uncharted territory and all, but Luke is smiling at him and according to several reliable sources (Leia and Han among others) is a human disaster in his own right, so maybe they can figure things out together, you know?

Might be nice.

(It is, though, absolutely the nicest.)

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Repost: Ask on ARMY Fandom Feeling Like a Cult & Cringey Comments on YouTube

Anonymous: Hi! I have kinda weird ask. Now that we are all waiting for a new album, I started seeing posts like: Remember, if... Or: if you don't like something, here's the explanation why (because you are stupid and probably baby ARMY), or: don't you dare be mad if some of the guys get lines and some don't, there's a reason for it (again explicit explanation). My question is this: do you know who are those posts referred to? Lol And the second thing. Every BTS video, MV and bomb has this comment: (I kid you not. Every.) Let's agree that Namjoon, Seokjin etc. are angels. Is this a BTS bot? I just have this feeling sometimes that once you get courage to engage with the fandom, it's like joining a Church of Living Hope (sorry, Hobi). Where is this desire to make them angels, bunnies, saints, tigers etc. come from?

**

Hi anon, (this will be long-form so please grab a seat :))

No worries about this being a weird ask. I appreciate you took the time to ask it rather than leave your (and my) assumptions unexamined. Your ask is split into two things: (1) who are those posts about line distribution etc for and why do ARMYs emphasize certain things during comeback season? (2) Where is this desire to make them angels, bunnies, saints, tigers etc. come from?

I’ll start with (2). I’ve seen those comments and I roll my eyes right along with you. I think it’s important to understand the fanbase is huge. It’s ridiculously big and includes fans from every country on earth including Antarctica (we know because we’ve surveyed this several times and it shows up in real time trends during Vlives and concerts).

A notable chunk of the fandom comprises of children, think ages 14 and below, from countries where English isn’t the 1st language. Children tend to describe their idols primarily that way: angels, bunnies, etc, and they’re the demographic that tends to spam those comments under YouTube videos imo. It’s also the quickest way to get likes on your comments from other teens or young fans who agree with it. It’s also really harmless fun most of the time and I do it too when Jungkook is being cute. I don’t see it as anything nefarious or all that weird. It’s just young fans expressing their love/appreciation and people liking it. You’ll also sometimes find comments asking good questions or actually referring to what’s in the video, but yeah I agree it’s mostly just the types you described.

It’s also true there are people who look up to the members as perfect beings who can do no wrong. Some people do in fact worship the boys and the ground they walk on, and this could be reflected in viewing them as angels or infallible. Although this isn’t all that uncommon in k-pop, these fans would exhibit other very problematic behavior and in my experience, it almost always results in them becoming akgaes. Most ARMYs have more nuanced views of the members I think, but often emphasize the positive because of antis who hyper-fixate on perceived negative qualities or engage in character assassination as a hobby or in favor of who they prefer in a group (or compared against another group/idol). Nobody is 100% saint or from any other species other than human, but at the same time, there’s hardly need to overly emphasize negative qualities of artists who you don’t know based on your perceptions, whose only relation to you is through their idol personas of which you may or may not be a fan.

For your 1st question, I’ve briefly mentioned some ideas common to OT7 ARMYs here and here. Nothing in k-pop is ever really balanced. Things tend to swing from one extreme to the other for even the most mundane things, and this is both indicative of modern internet culture (such as the studied increase in defensive language while online - where people preemptively predict criticisms to their speech and include qualifiers in their tweets and facebook posts, or qualify things with their identity, i.e. As a black person…); and the hyper-competitive nature of k-pop spaces which breeds people like antis, mantis, shippers, etc. And this is before considering the insane entitlement characteristic of k-pop fans. For example, I had an ask a couple of days ago that was so opposed to BTS being invited to present at the UN where they spoke about touring, that common sense explanations seemed like an unreasonable affront. Of course BTS being invited and speaking to their experiences is something some fan might not like, but that opinion is not the only one in the room nor the opinion that’s even relevant in this scenario given it was entirely at the UN’s request and to their pleasure that BTS was present and their comments applauded. The internal motivations and the entire process was known only to the federal government, the United Nations - the people involved. Also BTS were not the first celebrity ambassador to speak to their experiences in a speech or other remarks, yet a random k-pop fan was offended enough to want an explanation. This is also very indicative of the peculiar entitlement k-pop fans exhibit consistently.

Basically, when something as innocuous as a music album is released, you can expect people will be offended by the content and will feel emboldened to table a list of demands to the artist. This happens literally every comeback lol. One group of fans (usually solo stans) will be dissatisfied at how many seconds they can hear their bias on a song, people will have complaints about the music videos, there will be a campaign to boycott the artist and demand apologies for perceived slights to this or that member or because of this or that song. This sometimes happens with other groups as well, but ARMYs are so big that in this case, it will have outsized impacts. And it’s literally the same sets of complaints each time, complaints the members themselves have repeatedly addressed in interviews, documentaries, etc, explaining their process and reasoning, over and over.

I think it’s okay to be dissatisfied with a song or a music direction. For example I could barely stand Butter & PTD, but I know BTS explores dramatically different genres every 2-3 years, and so I enjoyed the songs when I wanted to, and I’m now waiting for their new release. This new album might include English songs or bubble-gum pop music, but based on how they switch genres in each era, I understand it’s unlikely to be exactly like Dynamite + Butter + PTD. Any normal person would listen to music they like, or leave the group/fandom if it’s music they don’t like.

The problem, as I described in the last paragraph, is that for certain types of people/fans, it never stops at just dissatisfaction. They have to question the artists cultural & ethnic identity, their employment contracts, their agency as human beings, table demands or obsessively criticize said group at every given opportunity, and this is something unfortunately too common in k-pop discourse. ARMYs tend to proactively push back on these ideas because it only further the commodification and dehumanizing of k-pop idols.

I can understand why the fandom can feel like a religion/cult (I had to google Church of Living Hope). It feels that way because it sometimes runs that way, which of course has both negative and maybe positive effects, but I don’t think this is uncommon for very big fandoms. For example, I’ve had a very similar experience in the MCU fandom, and even for Wizkid, a very popular Nigerian musician, I’ve had friends tell me it’s starting to feel that way as his fandom base has exploded.

(I found this too funny to not post. I’m personally tired of dealing with the ‘borahae fbi’)

Originally posted: January 17th, 2022 12:45pm

[luxekook]

THE SEVEN || prologue

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: supernatural au with action, angst, smut, and (trace amounts of) fluff

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader fights to survive, attracts a powerful group of demons, and causes general mayhem in a post-apocalyptic new world

⇥ word count: 1.5k

⇥ warnings: nc17, *this fic has scenes of graphic violence*, demons, bloodshed, anarchy, general apocalyptic things, cursing, eventual poly relationship, a made-up language, hints of desire to own, brief mention of abuse, an attempt at world-building

⇥ beta reader: heathy @shadowsremedy​​ - thank u so much!!! i was holding off on beginning this fic for so long, and you really helped me move forward! uwu<3

Prologue

The world has completely gone to shit, I think to myself as my blade slices right through my opponent’s eye. The responding roar of the crowd reinforces that thought as the lifeless body slumps to the ground.

Removing my bloodied knife from the man at my feet, I stand, exhaustion kicking in after yet another adrenaline-fueled fight. Gazing out at the surrounding crowd of humans and demons, I narrow my sights on tonight’s guests of honor – the seven demons who would decide if my performance was deemed worthy enough of payment.

Raising my chin in defiance, my eyes meet those of the pompous greed demon of the Ahgase Seven. Lim Jaebeom lounges on a provisional throne flanked by his six brothers. Their combined beauty is ethereal but leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. 

How is it that creatures so prone to evil can be so lovely to look at?

After glancing briefly at each brother, I finally make eye contact with Jackson Wang, the Ahgase’s pride demon. He inclines his head with a satisfied smirk, simultaneously permitting my payment and ordering my swift dismissal.

The callous disregard of my efforts never fails to ignite a familiar burn of fury within me. I fight to the death to earn a week’s worth of food and shelter, and all I get is a fucking nod in response? Complete and utter bullshit if you ask me.

My teeth grind together as I give the slightest and stiffest bow possible in the Ahgase Seven’s general vicinity and stalk out of the Pit. Reminding myself that I actively choose this fate never really helps, given that the alternatives are equally as shit – if not more-so.

Basically, since the planet lost three-fourths of its population in the Reaping, the old capitalistic way of the world is no longer. Now, the main ways to survive deal with what you have to offer as a resource – your body, your skill, your labor, your loyalty. I choose to fight because, for me, it’s the soundest option.

My prior life had been sketchy at best. I had taught Krav Maga, a form of aggressive self-defense and reflexive fighting, to teens and young adults. I also had used Krav Maga (and other more nefarious methods) on abusive parents or guardians, bullies, or romantic partners - the very reasons my students came to my classes.

My resulting ambiguously gray background probably had influenced heaven and hell’s decisions to leave me behind. Still, killing hadn’t come easy for me in the beginning, but now it seems like second nature. In this new era, there are no rules, no moral codes, no winners, no losers. There are only survivors.

And I’ll be damned if I am not one of them.

Last year, the Reaping left us all in chaos and confusion. The supernatural had become natural. Heaven took those deemed worthy and let Hell deal with the rest. But, as it turns out, Hell was just as picky.

For a few days, demons ruthlessly reaped millions of humans and dragged them below the earth. And then the reaping stopped. The humans that remained were left with burned cities, abandoned homes and a complete absence of law. They were a ruthless bunch with questionable backgrounds and ambiguous morals. It honestly made sense that they were left behind – myself included.

The short period after the Reaping brought with it a general mayhem which resulted in looting, fires, and general destruction. The remainder of society was bare-boned, with only the richest areas having luxuries like running water and electricity. I referred to this time period – the lull before the demon Sevens took over – as the pseudo-Hunger Games. I legit had to pull a full Katniss Everdeen in order to stay alive during those two weeks.

Then, finally, the demons rose again.

The demons that rose were power-hungry and desperate to prove themselves worthy to rule over the New Earth. They looked human until you got too close and felt the negative energy that emanated from them. It's almost a built-in warning for those lower on the metaphorical food-chain not to get close to a source of potential harm.

By possessing a demon of each sin category, Sevens were able to bond together and max out their powers. Often, Sevens took on courts and consorts to siphon additional power, but my intel on demons was mostly built on speculation and rumors. The general consensus seemed to be that humans joined demon factions because of the promise of protection, food, and other resources. However, no one usually survived leaving a faction led by a Seven once they had declared fealty.

I vowed to never willingly enter into a Seven’s territory. My freedom and independence were the only things I had left to hold onto. And that was how I ended up in my current situation as a fighter in the Pit, the rough, man-made arena where fighters battle to the death for winnings while the audience bets furiously on their selected victor. No one had bet on me at first, but they learned quickly.

The Pit’s existence sprung out of desperation for distraction. Humans and demons alike needed some form of entertainment away from the monotony and death embedded within everyday life. Located within the Neutral Zone, the Pit provided humans the ability to earn a living and to make a name for themselves. Those that fought in the Pit were only lower on the human totem pole to the Pit Master and to the merchants in the Neutral Zone. Below the fighters were the scavengers, the workers, the peasants, and the lost.

Marching towards the exit gate, I nod to the next competitor to enter the arena – it might be the last I’d see of them. Pit Master Agra greets me as I step through the gate’s threshold and finally out of the public eye.

“Good work,” she forces a smile that only looks like she’s in pain, “But, next time make sure there’s more blood.”

I say nothing.

Agra takes my silence as acceptance and jerks her head at the empty hallway, indicating my second dismissal of the day. “You have one week until your next fight,” she predictably calls as I make my way down the tunnel towards my makeshift room located in the fighters’ dorms.

I wave a hand carelessly behind me in a sign of recognition. Damn, what I wouldn’t give to challenge her in the Pit.

Pausing outside my room, I struggle to unhook my necklace that held my key. The blood on my fingers still has not fully dried, and I grow increasingly frustrated. I just want to bathe, goddamnit.

“Allow me,” a deep voice purrs from behind me. I shudder as two hands suddenly brush my own away from their hold on the necklace. Warm fingers brush the nape of my neck as the sound of a slight inhale meets my ears.

Fuck, I hope this person isn’t smelling me because I am almost certain the combination of sweat and dried blood is extremely unpleasant.

“There,” the voice rasps, “All done.”

My necklace is gone from my neck, and I turn to retrieve it from whoever just assisted me.

“Oh, fuck,” I hiss, taking in the demon before me. His teal hair is wild and reminiscent of a blue flame. His black eyes are large and slanted, fixed on me with a peculiar expression I just cannot place. His clothes are expensive. I peer closer, inspecting the intricate details on his patterned top. Was that Versace? 

In this economy?

His arm extends to mine. My necklace dangles from one finger carelessly. “Here, mì shaìà (my pet).”

“My name is (y/n),” I grab the necklace and shudder when our fingers brush for a split second, “Not Mishaeya.”

The demon smiles. It’s large and boxy and completely predatory. “(Y/n). Mì shaìà. It doesn’t make a difference.”

Am I missing something? 

“Listen, demon-dude, I just killed someone like five minutes ago. Can you stop being cryptic and just tell me why you’re lurking outside my room?”

“Ah, yes,” he stalks closer to me. My back hits the door to my room. He licks his lips, “I was watching you. You are quite the fighter, little one.”

“Little?” I glance down at my thick and well-muscled self, “Mhm, okay.”

“Are you not scared of me, mì shaìà?” His hand cups my chin, thumb darting out to wipe some blood from the shallow cut across my cheek.

“Should I be?” I front like my heart isn’t beating out of my chest.

“Yes,” he smiles before sucking the droplets of my blood from his thumb. “Surely someone as exquisite as you should need protecting. I’m surprised no one owns you yet, (y/n).”

My back straightens, “No one owns me. No one ever will.”

The demon’s head tilts as he silently studies me for a few moments. He looks like he almost wants to say something before he steps back and bows. “Sleep well, mì shaìà. I will be seeing you again.”

I gape as he walks away from me. A thought strikes me. “Hey!” I call after him, “What’s your name?”

He answers without looking back or breaking his stride, “V.”

a/n: i made up Deìthi, the language that the demons use in this story. i will keep a running list of translations at the bottom of each chapter as well as putting initial translations in parentheses following the first usage of the word.

Deìthi (The Language of Demons) Translation List:

Mì shaìà - My pet

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 10: Epilogue

by @dracusfyre

"I feel like you're going to try to sell me a time share," Bucky said, studying the bland conference room Tony had reserved. It looked like probably every other conference room Bucky had ever been, as if they were all ordered out of the same catalogue; beige walls, carpeted floor that had the feeling of being beige while actually having flecks of red and blue in it, and the tables and chairs with wheels on them so they could be moved easily. Tony had even pulled down a screen and to all appearances, was setting up for a powerpoint presentation. 

"It's all about presentation, Mr. Barnes," Tony said. He picked up a clicker and a red dot appeared on Bucky's chest, then started moving around in what Bucky eventually recognized as a heart shape. "Gotta know your audience and what they'll respond to. Too fancy, and they'll be scared off. Not fancy enough, and they'll feel like they're being scammed. A hotel conference room fits neatly inside that middle ground."

"You've put a lot of thought into this," Bucky said. He glanced at the clock, saw that they had a few minute before people were supposed to arrive and dipped his head for a quick kiss. 

"Well, yeah," Tony started, but then there was a knock on the door. Tony opened it to see that part of the security detail started bringing in the refreshments for the meeting, coffee and donuts and croissants and other breakfast-style food that people would probably pick at and leave mostly untouched. "Natasha helped," he continued, poking at the refreshments table and rearranging everything slightly. "She's better at that side of things, the headology, as she calls it."

"I can see that." Bucky watched Tony putter. Looked like Tony was nervous, which was kind of adorable. "So you can't even give me a sneak peak at what you're talking about today?"

Tony shook his head. "For right now, you're a potential investor, not my lover."

"Ok, ok," Bucky said. He realized he was following Tony around as he puttered aimlessly and made himself stop. "So I got to see KT today. Brought him his laptop so he could start catching up on homework."

That made Tony stop rearranging the plates and napkins and turn to Bucky with a smile. "Good! So that mean's he is doing well?" 

"Yep. Should be out of there soon. Any update on Rumlow?"

Tony's smile turned evil. "From what I hear, he's had a run of bad luck lately, such a shame. He lost his service pistol, which, you know, big no no. And did you know someone stole his patrol car, spray painted it, and left something unmentionable smeared on the seats?  Then did the same with his personal car, which was found laying upside down in front of his apartment building?"

With a force of effort Bucky kept his face blank. "Strange."

"Very strange," Tony agreed. "Insurance didn't even pay out, mysteriously enough. Apparently they had dropped his coverage the day before and he hadn't gotten the notice yet."

"Crime in this city is getting really out of hand," Bucky said seriously. "He's lucky it wasn't something worse."

"Oh it will be, give it time."

There was that smug look again that Bucky loved, and he started to sneak another kiss when there was another knock. This time the security guard was escorting people inside, a middle-aged Black couple that looked around cautiously, like they were expecting the conference room to contain something nefarious. Bucky straightened immediately, trying to look professional, and smiled at them as Tony welcomed them inside, calling them by name and offering them a warm handshake. There was a steady stream after that, until the conference room was about half full. 

"Hello everyone, let's get started," Tony said, taking a head count and looking at the clock. "All of you are here because you either were recommended by a friend or a family, or I sent you a personal invitation. Thank you for being willing to join me today for this presentation, and please save your questions for the end. As you all know, my name is Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, and in this presentation I'm going to ask you for money." Tony grinned as almost everyone laughed. "Then I'm going to tell you what you're going to get for your money, and then I'm going to explain how you're not even going to notice that your money is gone." 

As interested as Bucky was in the presentation, he kept getting distracted by watching Tony effortlessly charm the room, making eye contact with each person and joking just enough to keep people interested without derailing his speech. It was a warmer, more authentic show than what Bucky had seen at the Policeman's Ball and it made Bucky's heart turn over with affection as he watched. KT had been right when he said that the buy-in speech could make you a believer; not just in the astonishing amount of benefits that Tony offered to people who agreed to the buy-in, but because Tony's enthusiasm for the project was contagious. 

"So why do you need our money?" One guy interrupted. "If you've got so much of it?"

"Good question," Tony said. He leaned against one of the tables, putting his hands in his pocket and crossing his legs at the ankle. "Yeah, the majority of the start-up money came from me. Since this organization is technically a nonprofit, I get to write it all off of my taxes, the way rich people often do. But I ask for your money because if I paid for all of it, then it would belong to me, wouldn't it? The whole point of this enterprise is to build ownership and equity in the community. You own the health clinic and the child care centers, the retirement homes and the apartment complexes. Not only does it mean you get to decide what to do with them, but it means that you start having a place at the same table that all of the billionaire developers and well-connected real estate moguls do."

"But the stuff about the taxes and stuff, where we just hand it all to you, that's tax fraud, isn't it? Which is illegal?"

"Well, yes, in a way," Tony said honestly. "You avoid paying taxes the same way rich people avoid paying taxes, by finding loopholes in the tax code and driving semi-trucks through them. But also, I'm the criminal, not you. If we get caught, I'm the big bad con artist that scammed honest folks like you out of your hard earned savings. There will be a class action lawsuit after the criminal proceedings, my lawyer will fight hard but not too hard to defend my assets, then they will eventually get divided up among all my victims in the kind of feel-good, good guys win story that is made for Hallmark TV. In the mean time, my job is to help the community fund the type of social welfare projects that the government should be doing but isn't, by taking from people who don't deserve it and giving it to the people that do. Which the government should also be doing but isn't."  

"So this is like, socialism," a young woman said in accented English. "Instead of paying the government taxes, we give that money to you, and you like, do all this stuff with it."

"Pretty much. Grassroots socialism with a capitalist veneer. I like to think of it as stone soup, from the kid's story."

"But why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Tony said, like it was obvious. Bucky hid his smile in his hand and hoped he didn't look too besotted; he'd sat all the way in the back for a reason. "I don't know else to say it. Why should I have so much when others have so little? I give a lot it away, because there really are so many problems that can be solved by throwing money at them, but some can't. Some need systemic change, which means empowering people, which is what I'm trying to do. That's why it's a buy-in, and not a handout." There was still some obvious reluctance among the group, and Tony's smile turned a little sad. "Look, I get it. You are used to people promising a lot and not delivering. And you think this sounds way too good to be true, right?" No one really answered, but the way they kind of avoided Tony's eyes said a lot. "Let me tell you a story.

"So I've been donating regularly to the free clinic on 17th for a while now. A few years ago, there was a kid volunteering there because he wanted to go to medical school. But he was in a shit position - his parents made too much money to qualify for the grants and needs-based scholarships, but not enough to actually afford tuition or even qualify for good student loans. So the doctor in charge of the clinic emailed me and told me to do something useful with all of the blood money I was getting from Stark Industries, and so I did. I paid for his entire education, and he came back and is currently the head physician at the rehab clinic. So if you want there to be a catch, if you need there to be a catch so that you can believe what I'm telling you, then that's the catch - you have to try to give back at least as much as you were given."

There was a long, thoughtful silence after that, and Tony wisely let it sit for a while instead of trying to fill it with words. "You don't have to answer now," he said after a few moments. "The forms that you would need to fill out for the buy-in are right here," he added, tapping a stack of papers next to him. "Take one with you, and think about it. Any last questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," the young woman said. "I heard you stole Jeff Bezos' car, is that true?"

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

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, come find me over at @marveltrumpshate​ where I will be participating in auctioning off TWO fanfics! One auction is a fic with art (with @massivespacewren) as WrenFyre and the other is a solo fic as Dracusfyre. All the money goes to a good cause of your choosing, so I hope to see you there!

[eastertag]

Virgil Tracy, your head will be mine

@thunderbirds-are-fab gift for @rachfielden-xo  

—

Happy Easter to @rachfielden-xo who asked for a gift featuring midnight, hypnotised, and a villain in disguise - involving Virgil?! I’ve done my best with your prompts (had to take a bit of liberty with the hypnosis theme especially) but I hope that you enjoy this fic! For some non-essential context, I imagine this takes place before Season 3, but definitely after Season 1 and most of Season 2. Now, here’s some private musings from the best disguised villain in Thunderbirds as he plots his next nefarious scheme…

Midnight was the hour of change. If you were a believer of superstition or fairytales (in other words, a fool or a child) then this was because midnight held some sort of magical power. If you were more logical about it, then you realised that midnight was when today became yesterday and tomorrow became reality. A time when past mistakes could be put to bed, and new ideas rise from the ashes like brilliant newborn phoenix. The Hood liked midnight. In the stillness of the night he could meditate in peace, letting all his frustrations melt away like yesterday’s snow, and find a new world of opportunity ready to bloom just beneath the surface.  

Midnight was the hour of change.

Dawn was the hour of the executioner.

The Hood had never truly been short of a plan or a scheme to follow. How could he? Such a wickedly intelligent individual could never be less than three steps ahead of everyone else. There were no failures, only outcomes that led to other opportunities. A mastermind was never put off by any perceived obstacle, and relished in the challenge of attempting what no common criminal would dare to pull off. Why rob a bank when you could acquire one? He only aimed for the biggest prizes, the finished products, for they were the most rewarding prizes. There was nothing quite like walking into the world and just taking whatever your heart desired.

Of course, aiming high meant sometimes walking away empty handed. He could live with that. What made it harder was having someone standing in your way, interfering with your plans just for the sake of something petty, like ‘fairness’ or ‘justice’… He even had a name for people like that: International Rescue.

The Zero-X incident. That had been one such… setback, and a reminder that even a lone Tracy was still a competent adversary. But that had been Jeff, and Jeff wasn’t here anymore. Without their patriarch he’d dared to hope that International Rescue would be at their weakest, but predictably their reaction had been to close ranks and increase their guard. They rarely worked alone anymore, more often than not teaming up two or more at a time unless greatly overstretched, and always keeping in near-constant communication with each other. He’d worked so hard to worm his way past their defenses, to insinuate himself into the heart of their systems, and he’d come so close… he’d been there. Right there! On that island, with the Thunderbirds in his grasp, so close…

After that he’d tried to pretend that he hadn’t wanted it after all, but the thought of how close he’d come still crossed his mind. Still lingered, begging for reconsideration. Ultimately, in his contemplation, he’d come to realise that it wasn’t the technology, the place, the machines that he needed to infiltrate in order to assume control.

It was the family.

Tanusha had been the obvious point of entry for obvious reasons, but ultimately he had to accept that she was of no use to him now. She’d spent too long in the heart of that family, now too much ingrained into their cult of ideals and selfless sacrifice to ever contemplate the freedom he offered her. He’d learnt that the hard way. Nevertheless, he had to be impressed with the strength of her convictions – she never let past attachments distract her from future goals, and she never gave up. Just like him, really. Family after all.

This time he would take another approach. After all: if you can’t beat them, join them! How had he, the Hood, master of disguise, never considered it before? Perhaps it was too daring even for him, to think that he could walk into such an intimate group and assume his place amongst them – pretend to be a Tracy? And yet, the thrill of getting caught was possibly what emboldened him. What was the worst that could happen? Every setback he’d encountered so far had been recoverable. What did he have to lose?

So who then? To target the Grandmother as the weakest opponent felt unsportsmanlike, and it would hardly do credit to his reputation if he resorted to kidnapping old ladies and dressing up as them to fool their grandchildren. Little Red Riding Hood indeed.

The little engineer, then? Also a physically unthreatening foe, only a challenge to snatch and replace as he never seemed to leave the security of the island.

So that left the sons themselves.

He had to admit that he was wary of the oldest. Perhaps it was that he so reminded him of his father – the same fearlessness and honour-bound determination, but with the added unpredictability of a fiery temper not yet dampened by age. Although it had been amusing to look that one in the eyes and see the raw-edged fury, the temptation of revenge straining to break free of its moral bondage… No, there was too much risk in aiming directly for their leader again.

The Spaceman was out of the question. Space was not, he had to admit, the Hood’s favoured environment. To attack one’s enemy on their native territory without tactical advantage was foolhardy, and even with his skills he had to doubt his likelihood of being able to infiltrate Thunderbird 5 undetected. He’d rather not attract the attention of a certain murderous AI.

The little blonde ones… how many were there again? Too many. Too loud and annoying, certainly. He couldn’t even begin to think of how draining it would be to impersonate one of them, even just for a day. Although his ability for disguises was second to none, he preferred to choose more stoic characters to play. The less you had to talk, the less chance your façade would be broken.

So that left just one. Calmer, quieter, and far too caring. No doubt he would be strong and capable on his own, but he was also soft-hearted – a weakness the Hood knew how to exploit. It was easy to lure those who came running towards a cry for help too readily, like a moth to the flame or a fly to the spider’s web. A form of hypnosis, if you think about it. Yes, he could see it now… A minor distress call, small enough that he would go alone, involving heavy lifting… they would utilise Thunderbird 2 for that for sure. He’d come alone and reach out to that pathetic, begging little voice in the dark, and before he knew it the trap would be sprung. Then Virgil would come out again, mission accomplished, flying home, nothing to report…or so it would seem. Just play it subtly, play it slow so no-one suspected, and then he’d be in. On the inside of that island, of International rescue, like never before with so many delicious new opportunities to get whatever he wanted.

Yes. He’d begin sculpting the hologram mask immediately. He did his best work at midnight…

Virgil Tracy, your head will be mine.

[my-little-dumpster-fire]

Let it Burn. 9/?

Catch Up Here.

The space wasn’t what you expected, having only seen it once in the dark. Where one might expect a man like Billy Russo to pack up his ego and his cashmere sweaters, heading directly to the penthouse floor at the first opportunity, once again you were surprised. The walls were warm, red brick, color fading more in some spots than others, and while there was very little by way of knick knacks or personal items, the space maintained a new appearance without feeling stuffy. Billy had selected warm tones, another surprise given the high contrast palette of his primarily white and black wardrobe, or at the very least approved them after being hand picked by his hired help. The comfort of those nights at the bars, where your hair was loose and his was falling in his eyes, was rekindled on a stiff couch you were certain was scarcely used until you showed up, chosen by whatever designer Billy hired to make his apartment feel less like a storage unit for whatever had no place at Anvil. It was clear that whatever help he had, he also quickly dismissed, as it was his undeniably his space. As you grew more comfortable in Billy’s apartment, you found more pieces of him to love, the pieces he kept physically locked away from the world outside and still for some reason invited you to witness.

Though on the outside it seemed most of Billy’s life was cold and impersonal, he surprisingly had no use excess in his home. It appeared to be the only place he wasn’t performing and the space was a testament to the man Billy Russo could be all the time if he would just let the mask drop.

There was no vague or meaningless art on the walls. The brick was bare save for a comic book that was gifted to him by a bunk mate right before shipping out for nine months of special forces training. The book predated Frank, yet the oversized frame and crisp white matte displayed the well worn cover with an unexpected reverence from someone like Billy.

“Batman? Really?” You asked, leaning casually against the stiff sofa arm, one leg extended to the floor next to you while the other was half draped over the arm. Billy didn’t look up, ignoring the fact that you were now perched directly next to him, but you heard him sigh and saw him nod in your periphery. “I get it.”

That got Billy’s attention better than you’d anticipated. “Oh really?” He said leaning back into his seat, the smirk on his face challenging your statement when you looked down at him. He’d crossed one leg, so that his ankle rested atop his opposite knee, the wide spread of his posture exuding confidence as both of his arms found the back of the couch, one of which was dangerously close to grazing your hip where you sat.

“Little on the nose, don’t you think?” you shot back, grinning at the way Billy’s eyebrow shot up in response. His face melted from surprised to entertained easily as he nodded, which you took as a cue to continue. “Wealthy business owner. Philanthropist. Playboy,” you said cautiously, but Billy’s lips were still pulled tight, watching you with an amused smile. “Orphan,” you said, tone more serious, “but made himself a success to spite the world that would have doubted him.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed as his tongue farted out, wetting his lips. “That’s Bruce Wayne,” he corrected. “Batman is a fighter. He’s deadly, he-“

“Batman doesn’t use guns,” you pointed out, nodding in the direction of the fireplace. The mantle was mostly empty, holding only a simple glass votive, filled to the brim with brass. Some twisted and bent, most as clean as the day they were loaded, edges subtly darkened from discharge.

Billy’s eyes narrowed further, but his smirk remained. He was enjoying the conversation more than you thought he would and it made you feel...almost normal. Like sitting on the couch and talking about comic books was something you could afford to expect. Just as you were telling your mind not to linger on the possibility, Billy wound his long fingers around your hip and forcefully pulled you into the minimal space between him and the arm of the sofa. Your breath caught at the falling sensation and then again when you realized how much of your body was pressed up against his. He leaned in close, his chest resting against your shoulder as he spoke in a nefarious whisper. “You know I don’t need to use a gun.” You nodded as you swallowed and Billy sat back, shifting his hips to allow you more room on the cushion, one hand still precariously placed on your waist. His quiet chuckle rang out in victory, as you both knew who’d won that particular interaction.

“Who’s with him?” You asked, distracting yourself from how right it felt to sit and laugh with Billy. He hummed in question, not looking back at the frame until you gestured to it again.

“Jim Gordon. Former Marine, Police Commissioner of Gotham, known ally,” he answered mechanically as if reading from a dossier.

It was your turn for your eyes to narrow as you spun to face the man next to you. “Billy...you’re not...you didn’t join the Marines because of a comic book did you?”

Billy looked away, the ghost of smile painting his face with innocent denial.

Underneath the preserved comic, a simple wooden desk with aged metal accents held a black box and a thin black cloth. Late at night, you’d often wake to the now familiar metallic clicks of a hand gun being meticulously cleaned and reassembled, before the weapon was cocked and the hollow release of a shot signaling the end of the process. Some nights with only the hazy glow of a street lamp outside, Billy would spend up to an hour, disassembling and reassembling his Kimber. You’d listen without interrupting, knowing that the ritual was far too important. His hands worked at lightning speeds, even in the dark, the process only took a matter of seconds. The rhythmic fitting of pieces together would eventually lull you back to sleep, leaving Billy to process whatever plagued him in privacy.

His KA-BAR, however, received special treatment. Billy’s knife was only cleaned and sharpened in the light of day, which you appreciated. You enjoyed watching this much quieter ritual almost as much as you enjoyed watching Billy’s face, with lips parted in the perfect pout and wide eyes focused on the way the sunlight caressed the fixed blade under every pass of the metal over the oiled stone. He was completely enamored and so were you, sometimes forgetting to breathe while your eyes followed his hands up and down the stone. A terrifying feeling gripped you as Billy sheathed the blade and went about the business of cleaning his work station. It wasn’t satisfaction, quite the opposite in fact, as if a deep longing had been awakened within you, and you knew it would remain just a longing. You’d no desire to wield one yourself, but to have Billy look at you, caress you, need you the way he did his blade...

“You okay?” He’d ask, catching the flushed look as he packed away his desk.

“Mhm,” you’d nod with a forced smile. Billy tried to offer to clean the knife when you weren’t around, but you wouldn’t let him. It was the closest to foreplay you’d come in that apartment and you weren’t willing to sacrifice it because your face betrayed you.

Still, there was comfort to be found in the space with reminders of Billy’s more violent delights.

He called it his green girl, a moniker he shamelessly borrowed from a West Point cadet he knew from one of his last group homes. Billy cared about the divisions between branches far less than some of his rowdier and “Semper Fi” tattoo baring brothers. It was a greenish grey wool blanket, standard issue with USMC embroidered at one end and W. D. Russo in much smaller text at the other. His green girl stuck with him through training and deployment alike, offering whatever comfort she could through some of the most difficult nights of his career. Listening to Billy talk about that time of his life was so strange. The shine in his otherwise dark eyes told you that he was still every bit the Lieutenant he’d been before meeting you, but the shine of his shoes told a different story. He would never shy away from the action or the opportunity to get his hands dirty, bloodied if necessary, but now Billy Russo was calling the shots and reaping the benefits thanks to Anvil. Billy joked that he was one of the only corpsman he knew that retained his girl, many being forced to abandon the symbol by a jealous wife or girlfriend who couldn’t possibly understand the protective attachment their man might feel.

“Don’t have to worry about that with you, do I?” He’d wink while folding the green fabric and send a smile your way that never failed to throw you off completely off balance no matter how many times you’d seen it.

You couldn’t imagine doing such a treacherous thing. In only a matter of weeks, you’d watched the green girl follow Billy around his home like a scratchy wool shadow. Sometimes it lay folded and flat on the end of his bed. Sometimes it was balled up in his chair, keeping him company into the early morning hours whilst he cleaned his hand guns. Sometimes you found it sprawled out across the brown leather of the sofa or draped across the back haphazardly, telling you that Billy wasn’t sleeping as soundly as he claimed, usually only preferring to sleep on his couch as a privileged form of self flagellation, denying himself in times of stress that he insisted wasn’t worth telling you. But the look in his eyes told you he couldn’t. He wasn’t an open book by any stretch of the imagination, but you knew that there were some things that Billy couldn’t tell you, regardless of how much he may have wanted to.

Not to say that Billy’s couch was uncomfortable, but compared to the firm and monstrous bed in his room, it wasn’t the best. However, cushions that were previously unwelcoming had rounded out in their use. Sometimes the sight of the rough edges softening made you want to apologize for your contribution to its new shape, but Billy seated next to you, arm around the back and fingers playing with your hair so carefully as if trying to convince you or maybe himself that it wasn’t really happening, the glow of a television that you were also certain only recently found itself being used lit his face and showed a peace that didn’t warrant any apology. So you sunk into the cushion, leaned into Billy’s side subtly, waiting for him to recoil, but he never did. By the time one of you announced the night was over, it was inevitable that your thighs would be touching, no more intimate than sharing an airplane seat with a stranger. But you weren’t strangers meeting for the first time over a seat belt mix up. You were soulmates. The longer you’d known yours, the more you found yourself wanting but the less you knew what that was supposed to mean.

The first time you slept together was accidental. An episode of some tv show turned into two, which in turn became three, until you were blinking back the heaviness in your eyes and regaining consciousness in a black room. It was warm, too warm for Billy’s living room and you looked around the darkness, hoping for awareness to return sooner rather than later. You were laying down, not how you last positioned yourself, but no pillow was in sight. It was only Billy Russo flattened beneath you, on his back with your body balanced precariously between his arm and his chest, favoring his chest, while the heavy wool of this green girl and his arm around your back anchored you against him. You could hear the steady beating of his heart under your ear and feel the shallow, but rhythmic breaths against the top of your head. Oh no oh no oh no. You froze against him, as if playing possum would keep him from waking and shoving you off himself upon realizing what you’d done. After some maneuvering and a firm grip on the back of the couch while you hoisted yourself onto one knee and tiptoeing with the other as your body hovered over his slumbering form in a stance James Bond would scoff at, you finally extracted yourself from Billy’s clutches successfully, repositioning the blanket over his body alone. Or so it seemed.

He’d never know to thank you for removing yourself from that embarrassing mishap, but you were certain that waking with you on top of him would be an unwelcome surprise. As you tiptoed away, you paused at a strange sound and turned to see Billy sitting straight up. His arm was draped casually over the back cushion where you had been, but he remained facing away from you. He said good night into the darkness and you sulked into your bedroom after wishing him one as well.

How long had he been awake? Did he sound extra sarcastic or was that just his usual level of snark, elevated without the sight of his half smiling lips? What if he’d been awake and you removing yourself wasn’t what woke him? What if he was simply staying still for your benefit and your quiet escape was seen as shame or regret? You shook your head and crawled into bed. It wasn’t worth the questions. Your mind couldn’t afford to be filled with such dangerous thoughts. If Billy Russo let you fall asleep on him, that meant you didn’t know him at all. If he was holding you like that while conscious of his actions, that meant there were things he did that made no sense, didn’t fit into the pattern of somehow both erratic and controlled behavior that you’d observed. If he felt slighted that you left him in the dark... you shuddered at the thought, seeing how your careful disentangling could be misconstrued. As you curled into yourself noticing how much more comfortable it was to hold a pillow but also how much colder, you maintained that you did the right thing. Billy didn’t have feelings for you, not romantic, maybe friendly, but certainly not more. Nothing would change that.

The next morning, however, you woke to a tapping at your bedroom door. Opening just one eye, you caught Billy standing in the doorway, one arm on the door jam, the other tucked behind his back, a stance that would add meekness to a normal human, but not Billy Russo. His lieutenant coming through the firm set in his shoulders and overpowering any nervous you might otherwise sense. Even when he wasn’t, Billy Russo was always in charge.

“Hey, can we...” he started. “I need to talk to you.”

@something-tofightfor @littlemermaidprobz @iaintnofurry @actuallyazriel @cerezahowl @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @strugglingsemicolon

[beatricebidelaire]

Brighter Days

pairing: Bertrand Baudelaire / Dewey Denouement

summary: Dewey pines over Bertrand. Beatrice and Ernest ride horses.

word count: ~2.2k

alt: ao3

Kit was speeding through the traffic, breaking several traffic rules under one minute, but Dewey’s mind was barely there. As they drove through a tunnel, he remembered that night all those years ago, in the dead of the night, the first time his friend without a license drove him all the way to another city just to visit a library that was rumored to only open from 10pm to before dawn.  (Though, on another note, Dewey realized he couldn’t be actually 100% sure that Kit had a license now.)

Dewey remembered Bertrand had been driving far more carefully at that time than Kit was doing now, with the explanation of not wanting to draw attention and get stopped by a cop, but Dewey had been quite excited and a little scared anyway.  The thrill of the late night adventure and sneaking out had been fun and an everlasting memory that made him nostalgic until today.

They were fourteen, and Bertrand somehow managed to convince his chaperone to let him borrow the green roadster for the night. 

Dewey had read books on driving before, but his experience with actually driving was quite limited – well, none, in fact.  Unlike Bertrand, who just shrugged and said “yeah my chaperone lets me drive the roadster sometimes” when Dewey first found out Bertrand had already done this several times.

“So, tell me about this night time library,” Bertrand asked, sounding curious, and Dewey latched into an excited explanation about the rumors he heard of, and the scraps of information he gathered from newspaper and magazines.

“One of the magazines says they have lots of books about vampires, don’t know if that’s true or not, but it sounds pretty interesting.”

“Hmmm,” Bertrand said, sounding amused, “if it’s true, those bunch of theater kids would be so mad you didn’t invite them.”  They both laughed.

Dewey noticed Bertrand had quite a nice laugh.

They continued the drive, a drive that would, at some later point in time of Dewey’s life, made him wonder if this was the start of his attraction to people who would take him on adventurous car-rides, while he studied maps and inaccurate tour books info beside them. People who’d been on many missions out in the city and other places while he spent most of his time in the library – they had a certain kind of appeal.  Though the drive with Bertrand wasn’t as dangerously speedy and rules-disregarding as the later ones he would have with Kit, the night time sneaking out was enough for his 14-year-old self.

Later into the night, Dewey would get excited over all the new books he hadn’t seen in other libraries before. He would memorize every piece of rare edition of classics he found, while Bertrand trod patiently alongside of him and seemed visibly more excited when he reached the engineering section.

“I take it you’re not much of a classic literature guy?” he asked later, a little curiously, as they stepped out of the library.

Bertrand considered that. “Let’s just say I enjoy building things more,” he said.

“And yet you drive me all the way here, to a library in a different town.”

Bertrand hesitated, and Dewey couldn’t really see his expression in the dark of night. “The library doesn’t just have classic literature, Mr. Denouement.”

In retrospect, Dewey desperately wished he’d seen his expression.

During their teenage years, Bertrand would sometimes escape his group of theater friends he often help build sets with and join him in the library.  Occasionally, he brought some fancy shape chocolates R made for everyone. “You can’t just stay in the library for 12 hours and not eat anything,” he would say, slightly disapprovingly, but would give in easily when Dewey claimed he’s ‘almost finished with this book’.

They would carefully eat the chocolates together, trying to not to drop anything, and Dewey would finish his book while Bertrand did Sudoku puzzles beside him.

He couldn’t remember exactly which time they started leaning against each other.

If he wanted to pinpoint exactly where things started going downhill, Dewey would probably say a certain night at the opera, one he hadn’t actually attended himself.  Everything became a little off after that, though he didn’t immediately notice.  By the time he heard about what happened that night from other people, it was already too late.

He remembered, clearly, their first fight that happened because of that. It was probably not big enough of a fight in other’s people’s eyes, but it was bad enough, considering how they usually were.

“Maybe you’re right, but I don’t want to – I can’t talk about this anymore. And we’re not going to change the past by talking about it.” Bertrand said before he left.

It was, as he feared, all downhill from there. Some days he wished he’d told him his feelings, some days he was glad he never did.  On the day Bertrand came to tell him he and Beatrice were leaving The City, he kind of wished he had.

“What about all the volunteer work?”

“There are more important things, Mr. Denouement,” Bertrand replied, and Dewey hated the formality that he’d found endearing all those years ago.

“That’s not what you said when we were kids,” he argued, weakly.

“We were never kids,” was the answer he got, and also the last words he’d ever gotten from him.

[A timestamp, between the present and the memories]

“Hey, Frank,” Beatrice greeted him as she climbed onto a horse cheerily. “Ready to admire my speed on the horse from far behind again today?”

“Hello, Beatrice,” Ernest nodded curtly, thinking that was probably how his triplet would’ve greeted her, if he was the one talking to her here right now.  From Beatrice’s delighted laughter, Ernest knew he got this one right. After all, it was fairly easy to impersonate someone when you knew of all their mannerisms and ways of speech. Oh, the being identical thing helped too, of course.

He climbed onto the horse he’d seen with Frank in the photo taken by Monty, pleased that he did his research thoroughly. He’d been on a horse before, so even if he didn’t go on monthly horseback riding adventures with the city’s most famous opera actress like Frank did, Ernest liked to think he could manage this just fine.

“See you at the lake!” Beatrice yelled, and her horse echoed her yell enthusiastically. Before he could say anything, they were already getting further and further away. The city’s most famous opera actress did like her speed, alright.

He chased behind her, but it took him a while to adjust, and he briefly wondered if horses could distinguish between triplets.  Was it possible they were that smart and intuitive? Not even most humans could do that.

This was fun, he thought. The wind blew past him sharply, a rare enjoyable treat that felt so different than the staying at the hotel 24/7, and he let himself immersed in that feeling. Beatrice and her horse were now a small figure amidst the grasslands.  The rhythm of up and down and going forward fast in the same time was another delight, too. Wow, he really had been stuck at that hotel for a long time, hadn’t he?

He allowed himself, for a while, to pretend that he didn’t come here to do something important. That they were just old friends going horseback riding together. Like normal people who didn’t have secret information to pass do, probably.

When he finally arrived by the lake, Beatrice was waiting. She stood beside the horse, leaning down slightly to prop an arm on it to support her chin.  She was looking at him, almost too thoughtfully.

He realized his cover was blown.  Well, better now than earlier, he thought. He needed to tell her eventually, anyway. Preferably at some faraway lake where they could talk without prying eyes.

“Ernest Denouement,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s been a while.”

“Beatrice Baudelaire,” he returned smoothly, “Always a pleasure. What gave it away?”

“Apparently, even triplets ride horses in different manners.  I’ve been doing this monthly thing with Frank for a while now, I know his style.  Unless you’re Dewey, I suppose, but then you would rather invite me to your library to talk instead of, hmmm, intercepting Frank’s letter saying he had some urgent matters to attend to and couldn’t come, and come meet me yourself instead.” She looked at him questioningly. “Did I guess right?  I love guessing other people’s plans!”

“Well, I’m afraid I come bearing news about a certain nefarious plan, therefore reducing the guesswork you’ll need.”

The corner of her lips quirked up slightly. “We can play 20 questions, that’ll be fun! Question one – does it involve an unhygienic Count?”

Only Beatrice Baudelaire, Ernest thought, could be enthusiastically playing 20 questions with someone who was known to be on the other side, at least publicly. “Yes,” he played along. “Very much.”

“And … what do you have to gain by telling me this?”  She asked shrewdly.

He blinked, not expecting her to bring up this question so fast.  Then again, it did seem very – Beatrice, for lack of a better description. “I’m just – wait, open-ended questions aren’t allowed,” he tried.

“But you were planning to tell me before I suggested the game,” she countered immediately.

“Not including my motive,” he argued, not even sure why he was arguing.

“Then how should I trust you?” She asked, reasonably. “I mean, I think I probably do know, talented detective that I am –”

“You played the role of a detective once in an opera –”

“—But still, I’d rather hear you confirm it, or I might need to fight you and then throw you into the lake.  Oh, did I tell you I could guide a second horse at the same time while riding the first one?”

He was beginning to wonder why he didn’t just pass this piece of information to his brothers and asked them to relay the message.  Of course, he didn’t want his brothers to possibly mention this to more people, people who might not necessarily need to know, which might lead to higher chances of the firestarting side suspecting him.

Besides, it was cool to have an excuse to get out in the wild once in a while, even if the only person he needed to justify this to was himself.  His triplets probably thought he was back in his room watching black and white old movies.

“I just thought, I’d do this for Dewey, and – and he would’ve wanted you to know. Though I didn’t tell him because I don’t think he could be that much help in this situation.”

“Bertrand,” Beatrice nodded, knowingly. “So he still hasn’t …”

Ernest hesitated, “I mean, I think he’s moving on, it’s just I know he’ll still care, and …” he trailed off.

“And so do you,” she commented.  He shrugged, noncommittal.

“And well, he has been spending a lot of time with Snicket lately, so …” he directed the topic away from himself, and she let him.

“Jacques?” She questioned.

“Kit,” he corrected her.

Beatrice frowned, then sighed. “Alright, next time we meet under layers of disguises, we’re discussing Kit’s taste in men.”

He studied her, interested. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t,” she said, almost too fast.  Then she added, primly, pushing a pair of imaginary glasses up her nose slightly. “I’m just a thorough detective.”

“Shouldn’t’ve worn contact lenses if you wanted to do that, Madam Detective,” he quipped.  

She rolled her eyes. “Now that reminds me, J would be joining us for a while from a boat, so when the time comes you either need to act like Frank or reveal who you are.”

“Snicket?” he questioned.

“Anwhistle,” she corrected him.

“Ah, I see your point.  ‘Shouldn’t’ve’,” he said wryly. “I might make an early leave then, perhaps. Something that’s suddenly came up at the hotel sounds like a very realistic excuse.”

“So, O’s plan,” she reminded him.

“He was bragging about finally getting the evidence on you and Bertrand’s involvement of the opera night,” he was speaking fast now, wanting to finish before Josephine’s arrival. “I don’t know where the evidence is but Esme does. They would probably do something with it very soon.  I would suspect blackmail if they were sensible and love money the same way the rest of us do instead of having a personal vendetta against you or obsession with a piece of teaset, so …. honestly … probably arson.”

She mulled over the information, frowning hard. “Perhaps we could plan something too, even striking first.”

“I think the less I know, the better.”

“Very true,” she smiled a little, “fragmentary plots.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and he wondered, if she was thinking about Lemony.  He didn’t ask anything.

They saw a boat was now moving closer to them in the lake, and Ernest nodded, “Well, it’s time to leave.  Give Josephine Frank’s regards.”

“Of course,” she hesitated. “Well, thanks for the information.”

“Be careful,” he blurted out, and she nodded solemnly.  He took one last glance at the lake, before climbing back onto the horse. “See you around, Beatrice.”

[dndplus]

In Depth - Character Creation

This post is still for Dungeon Masters, but I imagine players can glean a thing or two about this on how to make a character.

Now I know what a lot of people are thinking: this is too basic.  The Player’s Handbook does an excellent job explaining this, and-

I’m going to stop you right there, because this isn’t just about the basics.  Yes, I’m going to go over the actual steps of creating a character, but I’m also going to add insights on how a DM can help walk a new player through the character creation process, as well as how a DM themselves can get the most out of a character creation process themselves.  It’s also a look at why DMs and Players should make their characters together.

Here’s the bullets on what we’ll be covering:

Rolling stats, and why we do it first.

Getting to know your player, and understanding what they want.

Picking a background before a class.

Choosing a class.

Incorporating the character into the setting.

Rolling Stats, and Why We Do It First

This is a big one.  I can go on and on about the virtues of this step, but the reason we insist on doing it first is to talk about something that comes even before this step right away: how stats are handled.

There are many ways to handle stats, and it’s up to the DM to discuss with the players what they’re looking for.  Here’s a few ways it’s typically handled:

A point-buy system, where all players are on even footing and can tweak their character’s stats to their liking.

Absolute chaos, the other side of the spectrum.  You roll 4 D6s, add up the best 3, and pray you get a couple decent rolls to make something at least usable, and accept that the struggle is part of the fun.

A hybrid approach, whereby a player rolls 4 D6s and adds up the best three, and has the ability to turn one roll into a 16 (so long as they didn’t already get two 16+ rolls to begin with).  This system basically removes the ability for a character’s stat-line to be completely screwed, while preserving the randomness that some characters will naturally be more gifted than others.  Some players like the chance to be extra strong, and also like a challenge, but hate the possibility of being useless, so this can be a popular option..

My personal favorite, the ‘reroll’ approach.  This one is hard to explain, but the results have always been much to my liking and never left a player in a bad spot.  You roll 4 D6s like normal, add up the best 3, and keep going until you have all 6 rolls.  At this point, whether or not the player rerolls is based on a few simple guidelines.  Here are the rules I use:  Did the player get at least 2 rolls of 16+?  Keep.  Did the player get at least 1 14+, 1 16+, and have no rolls below 10?  Keep.  If neither of these happened, the player is offered a chance to reroll.  I’m a fan of this system because it allows for the possibility of character weighted heavily in one direction, giving them great strengths, but also great weaknesses.  Likewise, the other option is a character that’s still pretty good, at what they do, but with no grave weaknesses.  Finally, you can still end up with an incredible character, but I’ve yet to see anything obscene.

Regardless of whatever method you use, make sure you’re there for the rolling of the stats if the method requires it.  Do not, under any circumstances, allow a player to roll their stats without your supervision.  This is a mistake, one that can give rise to a player who fudges their rolls.  A DM must always be vigilant for this kind of behavior, as once someone starts cheating, it can be very, very difficult to get them to stop, and even harder to get other players to ever trust them again once they’re caught.

Getting to Know Your Player, and Understanding What They Want

Now, while rolling/picking stats, it’s time for you to discuss with your player what they’re after.  Not everyone plays D&D for the same reasons, after all.  Some people are looking for a way to hang out with or make new friends, some want to escape reality into a place where they can be a great hero or villain of their own making, and yet more want a sprawling, somewhat theatrical experience for them to lose themselves in.

The biggest lie a person can tell you at this point is that getting this information out of your player will be easy.  It’s not.  It’s Hell.  Expect that this is a process of you whittling them down, and start with a basic list of questions to find the angle that will get some answers you can work with:

What do you want to play?  This is an underestimated question, but some players really are that easy.  The ones who want to be powerful wizards or sorcerers (but don’t actually know the difference) should be introduced to the concepts of wizards, sorcerers, and warlocks.  People looking to brawl should be shown Barbarians, Fighters, Paladins, Monks, and maybe Rangers.  Players that want to be able to do a wide range of things should be shown Druids, Clerics, Paladins, and Bards.  Players that want to play ambushing assassins should be shown Rogues, Rangers, and Monks.  Giving them details of what each class brings to the table after narrowing things down usually results in a confident choice.

What do you want to get out of Dungeons and Dragons?  This is a tough question with a low success rate.  It usually hits well with players who are just there to have fun, though.  When that happens, and you can’t find something the player wants to play, suggest suspending the character creation until the others have gone.  Then, you can recommend a class that will be unique and useful in the group.  This usually satisfies the player in this category.  If it doesn’t, you’ll just have to keep working at it.

What do you want to be?  This is an important question, and one that sets up the real next step of character creation.  On occasion, you’ll have a player who can imagine the story of their character.  They’ll see a soldier, or an acolyte to some god, or a pirate, or a thief, or an entertainer or... whatever it is they fancy.  Not every thief has to be a rogue, and not every acolyte has to be a cleric, paladin, or monk.  Some players are convinced what they want to do won’t work, and in those situations you need to remind them that what they want absolutely can and will work.  

What’s your favorite fantasy genre?  This one is a little simple, yeah, but sometimes it gets the ball rolling.  Finding out that someone loves Lord of the Rings, and asking them who their favorite character can easily result in a recommendation that gets the player’s gears turning.  Likewise, a big fan of kung fu, karate, or MMA might not realize that monks are martial arts masters, and not just sagely individuals who make wine in a monastery on some remote countryside.  

Explain EVERYTHING.  This isn’t a question, this is what you do when nothing else works.  These supremely difficult players are typically joining the game for dubious reasons, mostly because they’re guarding themselves than for anything nefarious in nature.  D&D, while being a game that’s classically attributed to shut-in nerds, requires a person to be surprisingly outgoing to get the most out of it.  Guarded players are going to take extra time and attention, and might do odd things like wait till you’ve explained everything before making a choice, because for one reason or another they feel less embarrassed about looking excited about what’s looked down on in some circles as ‘just a board game’.

Whew that was a lot, but character creation can be incredibly taxing when dealing with newer players.  The good news is that that step is now done with, and you have a much better idea of what the player might be after (unless they’re the guarded sort, in which case may the Upper Planes have mercy on your soul).

Picking a Background BEFORE a Class

It’s amazing how much you can do before actually choosing a class.  Many of your players by this step will already have something concrete in mind, and that’s fine, but it’s still best to figure out a character’s background first.  

The Player’s Handbook offers several of these in detail (Pg. 125/141):

Acolyte

Charlatan

Criminal/Spy

Entertainer/Gladiator

Folk Hero

Guild Artisan/Guild Merchant

Hermit

Noble/Knight

Outlander

Sage

Sailor/Pirate

Soldier

Urchin

It’s a big, BIG list, and yet somehow there’s yet more to it than just picking one and being happy about it.  The biggest mistake a DM might make is seeing these and not realize that, from the very get-go, they’re just the framework of something you offer to a player.  They can be mixed, matched, and tweaked in any way that fits a specific player’s backstory.  Here’s a few examples to take note of:

Mercenary - All the flavor of a soldier, right down to the same possible skill proficiencies and tool proficiencies.  A mercenary, however, may have slightly more or less gold (depending on the success of their group), lack an insignia, and have a completely different kind of Feature.  Mercenaries who worked on the sea might have proficiency in sea vehicles instead of land ones, and share the Ship’s Passage feature with Sailor/Pirate.  They could also be tough and wise to the road, giving them the Wanderer feature from Outlander, or be well known and respected, garnering them the Rustic Hospitality feature from Folk Hero.  These are all ways to flavor a basic background and turn it into something that fits a player more appropriately.

Acolyte to a Dead God - Sometimes, bad things happens in a setting.  A campaign can start shortly after the fall of a god, with one of your players being the stalwart champion who refuses to give up their late deity’s sacred charge.  In this scenario, you often end up with an Acolyte devoid of the Shelter of the Faithful feature.  Life may have been hard since the death of their god, causing them to become proficient Wanderers, or maybe beneath their first identity of Acolyte they are also a noble.  My personal favorite is to mix Acolyte with Hermit, permitting the player to know a grand secret that may have a connection to their god.  This can be some truth their god entrusted them with that has great implication going forward, or even an artifact of uncertain power with the potential to resuscitate their patron from death!  Such an secret can be massive enough to create an underlying long-term goal for the campaign, and pit the forces that saw the god’s death against the players from square one.  It might sound like a lot of responsibility to plant on a player, but for some, the idea of such a massive task to undertake is what they’ll enjoy most.

Disgraced Noble - Blood carries power, enough to bend the ear of local lords and the like.  But what if that’s all a character has?  A prideful urchin, refusing to stoop to nefarious acts, may be lacking in street smarts, but by virtue of their birth still has the power to invoke their bloodline to others in power.  This character starts with little, possibly because what they had was taken or squandered by immediate family, but is rife with the flavors of determination and a sincere desire to return to their station.  This character is well educated, and remains skilled in History and additional language, but lacks in the means to persuade as efficiently as their non-disgraced counterparts, and starts with less coin and crummy clothes.  Their ability to be persuasive and throw their bloodline’s weight around may have been replaced with the skills needed to survive on the streets, like Survival itself, or perhaps with another language found where they live, or Athletics, or Religion from their need to visit local churches and pray for the strength struggle on through the shame of their fall from grace.

What I hope is understood most by these examples is that a player should be pushed to go into detail, not just so they themselves get more engrossed and invested in the events of the game, but so that the DM has more to use to that end.

Choosing a Class.

With a background selected, picking a class can now have more weight behind it.  It’s the culmination of a character, not the start of it, and that too attaches yet more weight to the decision.

The flavor of a chosen class becomes more apparent now that we have a background chosen.  Let’s look at how the decisions made in one of the backstories from before can affect the class outcome.

For this, we’ll use Disgraced Noble:

Barbarian - A Disgraced Noble forced to survive on the streets (Survival variant) can quickly become stripped of their more refined attributes.  Their life is difficult, and it seems often like their anger alone is what gives them the strength to go on.  In this way, a Disgraced Noble makes an excellent barbarian, combining the duality of their need to be proper and respectful with the ability to fly off the handle and wreak absolute havoc when pushed too far or disrespected too severely.

Fighter - A Disgraced Noble that’s especially devoted to the task of not succumbing to life on the streets acts the part of the knight even if they lack the resources to really be one.  It’s a bullheaded strategy in life, one that’s forced them to toughen up (Athletics variant).  Contrary to what would happen with most nobles, this seems to have emboldened the Disgraced Noble, and made him a paragon of discipline and strength that a locale can come to rally behind.  In many ways, this Disgraced Noble can be more Noble than any other.  They can also be cruel though, and don the mantle of a warlord looking to reclaim their birthright by force.  Whatever the choice, the player and DM have a lot to work with.

Paladin - Faith can lead to salvation, something the Disgraced Noble who turns to the local church might quickly learn.  The assumption by nobles that they are born to lead meshes well with the Paladin class, as they themselves are also natural leaders.  This Disgraced Noble refuses to let what happened to them shape their life, and forges on for whatever cause they adopt as if becoming Disgraced never happened.  Unlike the Fighter or Barbarian, this Disgraced Noble’s goals may not have to do with reclaiming their birthright, reacquiring it anyway will probably be in their future if they’re successful anyway.

In the instance of a player already knowing what class they want, you help them mold the background onto that choice in reverse.  In some cases, you can have their choice of class come from a relatively recent event, such as a thief signing a pact with some patron who suckered them into a bad deal with a heavy, ironic personal cost.  

Whatever the outcome, understand that your creative license (and the player’s) is endless!  This is Dungeons and Dragons!  You can play a Paladin Kobold Noble adopted by a well-off dwarven family who worships Moradin and supplements their paladin levels with sorcerer levels from their kobold heritage to create a spell-slot packed, divine smiting machine!

Incorporating the Character Into the Setting

Here we are, the part where it all comes full circle and you do your DM you to make a player’s character feel like a part of the world and not just tacked on.

For some characters, this is very easy.  The Disgraced Noble, or the Acolyte to a Dead God carries heavy integration right into their backstory.  You need only add the places and people in the world to highlight these things, and you’re all set.

For other characters, this can be more difficult.  Consider pairing characters with compatible backstories to give their existence more weight and to speed up the formation of the party when you finally play.  For instance, the Mercenary might remain friends with the Disgraced Noble after they can no longer be paid, and a Criminal and Pirate might bond after being forced to share a jail cell for a while.  Likewise; clerics, paladins, and monks might all recognize one another of worshippers to a similar diety, or a gladiator fighter may have heard of an acolyte monk whose temple encourages dueling as a means to perfect their martial arts.

Not all character backstories are going to have grand outcomes.  When you see one like this, ask the player if their character should have any special motivation behind them.  What do they desire, or what grudges do they hold?  What event pushes them out from their comfortable life?  Did a family member die, and leave them seeking revenge?  Is there something they find themselves needing to do, possibly because a dying, elder loved one wished it?

Whatever the case, look for a way to create a motivation in your player’s backstory.  Why?  Because some of your players absolutely will not go for this.  Having content that the players feel invested in completing does a lot for their engagement in the game, and one player being energized about something is usually enough to set fire to the whole group.

With all of that said, this brings me to my last point of this post.  Some players just don’t give a shit.  Don’t feel bad, it’s the way of the world.  They want to hang out, kill some enemies, get some cool loot, and then do it all again next week.  They feed off the energy of other players, relying on them to give the campaign substance, and will oftentimes make you feel like everything you’ve done went unappreciated.

When you encounter this player, understand something very important and beneficial about them: they’re there to have fun.  They keep things light, and do things unexpectedly in character as a gag that cracks the whole table up and makes the hours of play fly by.  This player is a headache and a half, but every group would benefit from having one, so tolerate their nonsense when you have to.

[faeflowerfeline]

And I need that fire just to know that I’m awake - chapter one

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15294807/chapters/35483394

Prologue

They reach their destination three days later. She hurts less, by that point, but she's still nowhere near as healed as Shikamaru is - although he had a medic to help him through it all.

Konoha is... odd. It's different, in some ways, but it really is the same old Konoha Sakura remembers living in for her whole life. It's a Konoha from before Orochimaru's attack, from before Pein's attack, from before Zetsu's attack. It's a Konoha that she almost doesn't remember anymore. From the way Shikamaru catches his breath beside her, settling back on his heels, she knows he feels the same. The sunlight filters through the leaves and falls on them in a way that Sakura's not used too as they watch their village go around its daily life.

"Kotetsu and Izumo are manning the gate," Shikamaru says in Sakura's ear and she snorts. Those two were notorious for letting in people that they probably shouldn't have, but it often turned out okay and most Jounin held a soft spot for the two. Honestly, the aforementioned soft spot is likely 90% of the reason they haven't been demoted yet - that, and their almost supernatural ability with most weapons. Sakura had learned from them, back when their band had been larger, and even she never got to the same level they had been.

(They're our greatest failure, Inner says, deep in her head, and Sakura has to agree.)

"We could probably just walk in," she replies, laughs at his soft laugh, and they share the most honest smile they've had in a while. Neither of them will risk it, though, and they both know it. No one had told them to change what happened if they landed in the past; Naruto hadn't told them what to do; but how could they not, knowing what they know?

It's a self-imposed mission, but regardless, they cannot risk failure. They cannot see their village fall for a third, fourth, fifth time, knowing they could do something about it.

(A mission self-imposed is still a mission, after all.)

"I mean," Shikamaru says, and Sakura tenses, because that's the voice he has when he has an idea that's objectively stupid, but is going to suggest it anyway. "We probably could just walk in - I'm the stereotype of a Nara."

"You're a fucking idiot," she tells him, socks his arm and slings the same arm over his shoulder. Jokingly, she flicks an appraising look up and down his body. "You're too hot to be a Nara."

"Hey!" Shikamaru says, sighs as she snickers at his offence. "Troublesome woman."

"Of course," she agrees amicably, "but we still can't just walk in. My hair's too memorable."

"Henge?" he suggests, and Sakura honestly considers checking for brain damage. Instead, she just looks at him, entirely too aware of the way her thoughts are projected on her face. "Yeah, okay," he says, leaning against her.

"What if," Sakura says slowly, "we tell them the truth?"

Shikamaru's look rivals hers in its deadpan disbelief. "We tell Kotetsu and Izumo that we're time travellers here to stop our village from being destroyed?"

"No," she says, inordinately patient for an amazingly stupid partner - he's a fucking Nara, why is he so idiotic? Boys. "We tell them that we're foreign ninja here to see the Hokage."

"Oh," Shikamaru says, like he's realising something that makes him feel idiotic - good, Inner thinks, all mild guilt and vindictive glee - "That could work."

Sakura sniffs, turns up her nose like Ino used to whenever something didn't go her way and says, "Of course it'll work!" Shikamaru looks at her suspiciously, before bursting into a helpless kind of laughter that makes Sakura feel warm inside. They're alive, and they don't have to worry about being ambushed by half-immortal and never-ending beings, even if they do occasionally have to worry about ambush from other humans.

(And isn't the whole idea of other humans a trip; Sakura's not used to there being anyone outside their small group and Zetsu.)

They're alive, and they can laugh freely like this. Sakura kind of loves it.

"We'll do that then," Shikamaru says, bringing her back into the moment. Sakura wrinkles her nose - she's going to have to smile; to act for this plan, and after this long, she's sure she's pretty rusty - but Shikamaru rests his arm over her shoulders. It's a comforting weight, the feeling of having someone she knows here for her.

When they jump down, she's only partially ready, but that's okay because she has Shikamaru here, has his arm over her shoulder and his Chakra brushing light and easy against her own. Kotetsu and Izumo straighten up as they approach, their hands hovering suspiciously over their weapons. Sakura approves.

"Hey!" She says, as bright as she can make herself be, offering a wave to the two chunin gate guards. "We're here to see the Hokage, is that okay?"

"The Hokage?" Kotetsu says, suspicion in his voice and in his eyes as he glares at them. "What business do you have with the Hokage?"

"Information trade," Shikamaru says easily, a feigned openness shifting how he holds himself. "We have information to offer, and ask only for refuge in return." The two chunin stare suspiciously for a few more seconds before Izumo gives a nod, racing off to - presumably - get someone to escort them in. Sakura settles down against the poles holding up the gate to wait, feeling Shikamaru follow seconds later, leaning up against her side. She almost falls asleep here, in the shade of Konoha's gate with Shikamaru resting against her. It's warm, and shaded, and safe somehow, even in this Konoha that's an old mirror of her own.

Shikamaru nudges her awake when Izumo returns, two ANBU at his side. It isn't at all a vicious awakening, but it is a startling one - she hadn't even realised she'd fallen asleep. That probably says volumes about her comfort levels here; they're alarmingly high and Sakura's going to need to fix that somehow.

Regardless, she climbs to her feet - slowly, no need to appear as a threat - and snaps a quick salute at Kotetsu, who watched over her and Shikamaru as they dozed. Sakura kind of loves him for that, if she didn't kind of love him already. Then she turns, heads towards Shikamaru and the ANBU just ahead, smiling just slightly because she's home, and this time, she's going to save it.

The Hokage's office is just as she remembers it, from before when Sarutobi was in office, when Tsunade was in office, when Kakashi was in office. (When Naruto was in office, although the majority of his leadership was months and months of ninja on the run, fleeing desperately from something none of their three living Hokage could defeat, even working together.) The Sandaime Hokage sits at the desk, long-dead in Sakura's memory and not someone she's overly affected by seeing. Shikamaru isn't so lucky - he sees his teacher in the lines of Sarutobi's face, in the cigar hanging from his lips, and Sakura slings an arm over his shoulders and draws him in. It's a hug, almost, but not quite.

(An undercover hug, Inner whispers. Sakura almost laughs, holds it back with willpower and willpower alone, while Inner, the lucky bitch, laughs at both her own joke and at Sakura herself.)

"So," a long-dead Hokage says, "Foreign ninja with information, asking only shelter? It is understandable that I am curious, even suspicious, is it not?" As he says this, Sakura realises with a dawning horror that they did not plan what they would tell him. From Shikamaru's hurried glance, it is obvious that he feels the same; and Sakura simultaneously breathes a sigh of relief that she is not alone in her idiocy and feels the overwhelming urge to cuff her idiot of a partner around the head - with that glance, the Hokage will trust nothing they tell him without evidence.

He's supposed to be a Nara! Inner wails in despair. Sakura can't help but agree.

"I am presuming you want the truth, Hokage-sama," Sakura starts, speaking as calmly as she can manage. "We offer it freely, and warn that the information shared in this room will be dangerous in the wrong hands." Sarutobi eyes her, but flares his chakra to activate the silencing seals anyway. Shikamaru is giving her a similar look from her side, and she glances at him, exasperated. Thankfully, he seems to get what she means, because he steps forwards and bows just slightly.

"Hokage-sama," he says, "I am Nara Shikamaru and this is my partner, Haruno Sakura."

Woah, Inner says, just coming out with it, are we? Sakura stifles a smile and joins Shikamaru in his bow. The Hokage watches them, calculating, before glancing past them at the two ANBU standing by the door.

Eventually, he says, "Nara Shikamaru and Haruno Sakura are two students attending their last year at the academy this year." The look he gives them is cool, like an iced-over bridge, liable to send them flying into the frozen water below. "You're going to have to try harder than that."

Sakura straightens, looks Sarutobi Hiruzen in the eye, and says, "Shimura Danzo is operating an ANBU cell known as Root, which you ordered disbanded. The Uchiha Massacre was ordered by Danzo, carried out by Uchiha Itachi and covered up by you." One of the two ANBU steps forward, but Shikamaru falls in behind her. His glare is a terrible thing - all Nara glares are, really, because it is not often they make an appearance - and the ANBU member freezes. Sakura continues. "Uzumaki Naruto is the Kyuubi Jinchuriki, son of the previous Jinchuriki, Uzumaki Kushina and her husband, Namikaze Minato. Uzumaki Mito was the Kyuubi Jinchuriki before her, as well as the Princess of Uzushisokagure, Konoha's greatest failure and the last known location of Uzumaki Naruto, the Nanadaime Hokage of Konoha, as he used the last of his chakra to activate a seal that sent both the head of Konoha's hospital and apprentice to the Godaime Hokage, Haruno Sakura and Jounin Commander Nara Shikamaru back in time." Sakura sucks in a breath, lets it out, and levels her gaze at Sarutobi. He's watching her with less wariness and more shock, which is exactly what she was going for.

Then Shikamaru stops glaring at the ANBU and sidles up by her side. When he opens his mouth to continue, she makes no move to stop him. "They watched all that was left of Konoha fall with its leader, and woke up on Uzushisokagure, ten years in the past."

Short, sweet and effective, Inner comments, audibly pleased.

And it is effective - Sakura watches as Sarutobi Hiruzen's face shifts from shock to pity, from something that could have left them out to something that will get them in.

This is why he's a genius, Inner comments, that undercurrent of smug pleasure still lighting up her voice. Sakura can't help but agree - he really is one; a lazy genius, but a genius nonetheless.

Sarutobi looks at them, silent but pitying; and says, "Tell me about the future." Shikamaru sighs in that way he does when he wants to call something troublesome but can't, and Sakura offers a tight smile.

"That might take a while," she says, "We're not even sure how far back we went."

"I'm reasonably sure it's at least ten years?" Shikamaru offers. Sakura only shrugs, before fixing her eyes on the Hokage.

"You said we're in our last year?" she asks, "When's the genin exams?" Sarutobi looks at her carefully, before apparently deciding she's trustworthy enough for this information.

"Today," he says, and Sakura mentally reclassifies 'trustworthy enough for the information' into 'unable to do anything about it anyway'. Shikamaru frowns, thoughtful, and Sarutobi smirks at them, almost all-powerful and seemingly all-knowing (although they know otherwise). It's no wonder he was called the God of Shinobi.

"Then it is ten years," she says, turning to Shikamaru. "We could fix a lot with a ten year grace period." Sarutobi stares at them, almost glaring as they completely ignore him in favour of considering what they can fix, with this amount of time on their hands.

"We can't help Obito," Shikamaru says, ignoring Sarutobi as he perks up at the name of Kakashi's old teammate, "He was gone for years by this point." Sakura whines, because Obito is the root of like 80% of the world's problems, and fixing that would have been the best way to change the course of history. "I know," Shikamaru says, pats her head like she's a particularly insistent puppy. She snarls, whacks his hand and humphs as he laughs quietly, turning back to the Hokage.

"We'll try to summarise the events the best we can," he tells Sarutobi, "but we may be here for a while."

The Hokage shrugs, leans back in his chair, and says, "I've got nothing to do."

By the time they've finished, Sakura's throat is dry and her voice hoarse. Shikamaru doesn't sound much better, his voice just as hoarse. She feels like she's going to cry, with the way her eyes burn and her throat aches, and she angrily swipes a hand across her eye.

Ninja don't cry, Inner says, but she sounds like she's going to cry too. Sakura doesn't blame her - they lost so much; lost so many, and to tell their story they had to tell of who died. Sarutobi pities them, plainly and openly, his eyes crinkled like he's going to cry too. It's not that much of a surprise - he likely knows the dead better than they do, and they had to tell him that he and those he holds dear would all be falling in the next ten years.

"I'm sorry," Sakura whispers, the words scratching in her throat, "I tried to save them."

Shikamaru's arm wraps around her, pulling her into a hug, and Sarutobi's voice rings through the office. "You did the best you could," he says, kinder than she'd expect from the leader of a village facing unknown ninja - because that's what they are at the moment, unknown ninja, regardless of how much that thought hurts. Then Sarutobi says something else unexpected - something they'd hoped for, desperately, but never thought they'd get; even by telling their story. "Cat and Crow will take you to your new housing in the Jounin apartments," he says, gesturing to the two ANBU who had led them to the Hokage tower in the first place, "You'll be enstated as Jounin of Konoha, under surveillance for the first few weeks, of course."

"Of course," Shikamaru says, inclining his head, "Thank you for your help, Hokage-sama."

Sarutobi watches them for a moment, then asks, "What would you like me to put down as your names?"

"Uhm," Sakura says, blankly, "We need names?"

"Oh," Shikamaru says, "Yeah. We need names."

"We'd have to get the Naras on board," Sakura muses, "Because the easiest way to get around us both being able to use the Nara clan techniques is to, well, be Naras."

"Oh no," Shikamaru says, staring at her in horror, "You are not making me tell this shit to my dad."

Sarutobi stares, sighs, and says, "I'll call Shikaku."

Nara Shikaku reacts almost exactly as Sakura expected - with disbelief, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh, and a comment so similar to Shikamaru's favourite saying there's really no question about his friend's Nara heritage. "So," the head of the Nara clan says, turning to them, "Names?"

Shikamaru looks at her, smirks, and says, "Sakura should be Shikamari." Sakura can't help but snort at that - he would give her a name so similar to his own that only a single character makes the difference.

Shikaku nods, the Hokage makes a note, and both look expectantly at Shikamaru. Sakura taps her fingers against her chin, thinking, before she says, "Shikaken."

"Like study?" Shikamaru asks, curious. Sakura smiles, shaking her head.

"Like sharpen. It suits you, I think."

Sarutobi nods in agreement, writing it down. "I'd have to agree."

"Nara Shikamari and Nara Shikaken," Shikaku says, offering a smile, "I'd like to extend a formal invitation to have you stay in our compound."

"It would look a bit weird if we weren't, I think," Sakura offers up, "I don't know all that much about clan things."

"Troublesome," Shikamaru sighs, in a way that definitely means it would seem weird if they didn't stay in the Nara compound, "But then we'll have to find a way to avoid Shikamaru."

Sakura groans, glaring at her partner. "Why'd you have to be such an intelligent kid! He'll figure it out too quickly."

"Why don't we do it this way," Shikaku offers, "You stay at the compound for a while - say, a week or so - and then move into the Jounin Apartments. It is something that happens, even if it's a rather rare occurrence."

"Thank you, Shikaku-san," Sakura says, bowing slightly, "Your help is most appreciated."

Shikaku laughs, ruffles her hair and says, "There's no need to be so polite." He offers a smile, adding, "Politeness is troublesome." The Nara clan head leads them from the Hokage tower, offering a quick goodbye to Sarutobi. "There are a few free houses on the outskirts of the compounds," he tells them, "You'll be staying in one of those. I have to tell you to come to dinner tomorrow night, though - I can only hold Yoshino off for a day, the troublesome woman."

"It's a miracle you can hold her off that long," Shikamaru mutters. Sakura laughs, lightly whacks his arm and leans into him.

"Don't insult your mother," she scolds, curling her arm around his as they arrive at the compound, "It's mean." Shikaku snorts at them, pushing open the gate and leading them to a house that sits quite close to the edge of the compound.

When Shikaku leaves them, he leaves them with the house keys. "Have a good sleep," he says, a wry smile twisting his lips.

Ha, Inner laughs, speaking for the first time in a long time - she'd quieted, after having to talk about what happened in their timeline - sleeping well? When was the last time we slept well?

I think that's why he's smiling like that, Sakura replies quietly, tilting her head onto Shikamaru's shoulder. Outloud, she says, "Thank-you, Shikaku-san."

"Just call me Shikaku," he replies, as he walks off. "Can't be too formal if we're family, after all."

"C'mon, Sakura," Shikamaru says, tugging her inside, "Let's get some sleep."

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15294807/chapters/35483394

Prologue

[deviantnotcriminal]

Character arcs!

Connor: Connor’s character development is about him coming to terms with himself. By the very nature of his existence, he has no confidence or self importance or pride. His perfectionism is through the roof and he never thinks he will amount to anything. What’s worse is that he was created to be this way. He was created to be Imagination, without the arrogance.

Connor originally starts off the comic being in a catatonic state. The first time we see him ‘awake’ is when Cara splits down into Cassidy and Connor for the first time since they escaped the facility (in chapter 2). Here he looks happy and confident and brimming with ideas. This is a facade that he developed with Cassidy’s assistance to try and appear more outgoing and fun to the group. Their situation wasn’t looking up and gazing down the prospect of living in the imagination forever, Connor and Cassidy decided the group may as well have two goofballs rather than Cassidy’s outwardly friendly and badass nature with Connor’s naturally sad and anxious one. Who knows what would have happened if they had chosen to be truthful. (Maybe that’s an idea for an AU..)

As Connor gets to know the group he starts to let his armour crack a little. The first major crack came when Cara was helping Vivian overcome his dysphoria and finally adopt the label of trans. Connor could see the pain and anxiety Vivian was experiencing and could relate it to himself. This lead to him truly trying to help Vivian. And seeing Vivian succeed and grow as a result of his actions only further intensified his feelings of being himself. By the end of Chapter 2, Connor has changed from using a false confident persona to hide his self doubt to accepting it at least on the surface level. He still acts confident but in the gaze of a more ‘fake it till you make it’ kind of way rather than ‘conceal don’t feel’. Eventually as Connor spends more time with Vivian and Lucas (late into chapter 3) he rejects his confident persona altogether, rather just trying to be himself. He is certainly a lot more confident and happy than he was back at the start of chapter 2, although he does have a lot more growing to do. Connor’s self worth is very heavily tied to his boyfriends and friends and when those start to crack, even if it was just in Connor’s head, he starts to doubt himself. Eventually, nearing the very end of chapter 4, Connor’s confidence goes out the window as his friends and boyfriends suddenly stop hanging out with him as much. In reality, Connor was accidentally sending them the wrong information that made them think that he wanted alone time. Thinking that shadow was the only one who he could talk to, we would spend more and more time with him. While shadow did help, he wasn’t enough as Connor’s actions pushed his friends and family further away. Connor’s mental state deteriorated to the point where he outright asks for shadow to take the pain away (I.e. possess him) thinking it would be better for his friends if he was someone else. But because of the nature of his soul (only being half a soul) he cannot fully relinquish control, and we finally reach the climax of Connor’s character arc, his breakdown. Connor glitches out with shadow’s corrupted code and his form becomes unstable and volatile. Even though he cannot shapeshift, his form changes in line with his emotional state, glitching out to all hell and turning him into an enormous fuck you dragon that starts destroying the island. The fragments decide that the best course of action is to take Connor out (just to get him to differentiate himself because they know that if Connor differentiates his form then shadow and Connor will separate and they they will be able to hash things out. Yes we get a dragon fight. Yes I want it to be awesome. When Connor is defeated it takes a few weeks for him to reform. When he does, he is immediately swarmed by his friends who explain the situation of what happened to him and how they aren’t mad or unhappy with him and just the whole situation get’s resolved. Connor starts to get better with all the attention he’s getting from his friends and eventually even starts to gain his own, non-artificial confidence. We start chapter 5 on a high note, with Connor in a much healthier place mentally and with his magic flourishing, just in time for him to act as the main mentor for his human protege.

Jackson/shadow: Most of shadow’s plot stuff can be found in the previous post but perhaps not his motivations. Shadow’s level of consciousness depends on how much magic he is exposed to. He doesn’t have a role to play until around the end of chapter 3 where, at first his motivation is to get stronger, and later his motivation is to be noticed by the group. When he succeeds in this, and Cecil goes hunting for him, he plays a game of cat and mouse until Cecil finally has him cornered (literally) with seemingly no way out. As shadow thinks of his situation more as a game, he refuses to accept defeat and rather in one last effort to ‘win’ he possesses Cecil. From here, his personality becomes more and more childish. He treats possessing Cecil like a game of pretend. He’s trying not to get caught because when he does, it’s game over. This lasts for a while until the real Cecil comes to confront him. Here he maintains his childlike demeanour, and rather challenges Cecil to get his body back. He sets the terms of the challenge as such: ‘I’m going to keep pretending to be you, until you convince enough of the others to, what’s the word you use, dissipate me? Then I will gladly give you your body back. But good luck trying to convince your friends when they can’t even see you.’ Eventually shadow does lose, and not only that, he his banished back into the generator. This is one of shadow’s lowest points. He tries to get the attention of the fragments by messing with their electronics but now they know what he wants, they refuse to play along. Shadow is just left alone to wallow in his own self pity. Occasionally either Cecil or Lucas will go in to perform maintenance on the generator, but now they will never engage with shadow. Instead they will fix it then leave, always being escorted by either Mika or Connor. Shadow would have stayed isolated if it wasn’t for Mika. One day, when nobody was around to stop them, they stole one of Cecil’s communicators and placed it down on the ground for shadow to speak into.

The conversation starts off hesitantly, as Mika doesn’t know if shadow can even talk through this thing, but once he gives shadow the instructions on how to work it, their conversation takes off. Mika goes back to the cave with the communicator every so often to check up on shadow. With the interaction, slowly shadow’s English gets better and he becomes more civil and less edgy and childish. While Mika cannot see shadow, they do know of his presence through the various devices at their disposal. Eventually Mika lets other people know of their secret conversations with shadow. While their skeptical at first, eventually most of them come around. Skylar was the first one they showed it to. Then from Skylar came Kim and Cassidy. Mika was hesitant to tell Lucas and his boyfriends but he eventually plucked up the courage to tell them. Lucas said that he knew, he always kept tabs on his devices and found it quite suspicious when he noticed which ones were missing suddenly and easily put two and two together. He was happy for shadow to be welcomed into the group, even if he didn’t fully trust him. Vivian was not on board, and neither was Connor, but eventually they calmed down enough to see shadow as more of a friend than a rival. Because they could not see him however, shadow found it easier to just stay in the cave. He did try coming out to join in with some of the group’s activities, except he could never join in fully and was often accidentally ignored. At one point, he assisted Lucas with the nature of his existence, along with being able to provide some more lore details that Lucas hadn’t been able to gather from his trip to the laboratory.

But as the group progressed, sometimes they would just forget about shadow. Not thinking to go down to the cave to see how he was doing. At this point shadow dreams of having a physical form but doesn’t tell anyone because he doesn’t want to burden them. (You know, I think I may change something about his role. I think that with extreme exposure, characters may start to glitch. I like that, ima keep that idea.) It was only when Connor was at his lowest that shadow would finally be visited again. Shadow liked to help Connor, but he wasn’t very good at it. He was also kinda nefarious in his motivations, trying to keep Connor away from his friends so he would come and talk to shadow. Eventually he started to feel bad as Connor’s situation worsened, eventually pleading to Connor to go get help, but with Connor refusing him and saying that they would never understand. When Connor offered for shadow to possess him, he had to think about it. On one hand, he desperately wanted a physical body and Connor desperately wanted to be able to just stop existing for a while. On the other hand, Connor needed help, and shadow possessing Connor’s body was not going to give him that help. If anything, Connor was pleading with shadow to possess him. (I may even go as far as to make it that Connor threatened to ‘take a wander in the imagination’ or to differentiate himself a few too many times if shadow didn’t possess him) So shadow did. You already read what happened with that whole situation above, but shadow was spending the entire time trying to calm Connor down, but failing. His voice of reason being pushed to the back of Connor’s mind from the sheer number of negative thoughts (yeah, Connor’s very angsty).

Eventually Connor gets differentiated and shadow goes back to the waiting void. Connor explains how shadow wasn’t the reason for his transformation. It was all him, and pleads for his friends not to demonise shadow. They agree and say that they weren’t planning on it anyway. Shadow had told them after the incident what was happening, and they just needed Connor’s confirmation. (I think ima go back and change another something with Connor’s pleading. Earlier on in their interactions, shadow would have actually told Connor that he was desperate for a physical form, and that sparks the whole possess me bit) Connor expresses shadow’s desire to have a physical form and so Lucas gets to work on it. Until then, shadow gets a temporary form of a hologram that will display a humanoid shape that would act as his stand in for events until they could find out why he couldn’t form and get it all working so he could. He also starts working on getting a name at this point. The group hang out more, Jackson as he is now called is involved in the group games and activities, spending time with his friends. While he couldn’t interact with any objects yet, at least it was like the group could see him. It felt better. It was actually during one of those game nights where Logan finally figured out a method to give Jackson a physical form. The game night was abandoned pretty quickly after the realisation so Logan could go and work on the idea. It took maybe a week or so, but finally the machine was complete.

Jackson’s form was corrupted. Because he was made of pure magic when he first formed he did not have the ability to form into a human shape. This was due to the fact that he didn’t have a defined soul. The fragments had all received time to refine their souls after they had been ‘extracted’ and were given time to form. Jackson was not given these conditions, and yet he had still managed to refine his soul. It just wasn’t physical. If they could give him a vessel to inhabit, an empty one, then they would be able to integrate him into this new data and he would become physical. Finally being able to put the raw magic that had put them all into this situation in the first place to good use, Jackson’s void soul was made in the shape he desired, the preparations had been made, and with a solid two minutes of high voltage raw magic being pumped into the machine, and with the void suddenly sporting a vibrant orange hue, the group commended their final test. (Another thing here, the experiment will 100% have been volatile. I want there to be suspense here obviously, so yes there will have been a chance for it to have not worked. Just as there was also a chance for Jackson to have died, but also, why would I kill off such a fun character. Come on.) The group fired up the communicator and listened for their conformational words.

‘Jackson, are you there?’ Lucas asked.

There was radio silence for a good few panels before a voice came through the communicator, Jackson’s voice. Speaking for the first time.

‘I’m here.’ He said

The group would go manic as they knew the procedure had worked. Of course it would take a few days for his soul to fully integrate enough to form, but the first steps were done.

The next time we would see Jackson would be when he forms. Lucas would be in his lab, just tinkering on a project with a coffee when he sees a bright orange light emanating from Jackson’s soul. Recognising what this meant, he immediately called everyone in to the lab. Once everyone was assembled, they waited with baited breath as Lucas removed Jackson’s soul from the stasis chamber. And suddenly in a burst of white light (which obviously I will drag out onto several panels because drama) Jackson was standing there before the fragments, fully physical. He looked down at his hands, and moved his feet, feeling the ground and the air particles. Then he started to cry tears of joy and everyone goes over to hug him because gosh darn it this scene. ;w;

As for Jackson’s personality, he’s an outgoing extrovert. He gets along the best with Kim, Mika, Connor and the human researchers when he meets them in chapter 5. He loves anime and food and magic use and thrills like the zip line. He does stay on the island most of the time but in the epilogue, he will basically be adopted into the researcher’s friend group.

Jackson is also simultaneously the youngest and the oldest fragment. Which I just find funny.

Okay, that’s already a lot of text and I feel burnt out. I’ll have to work on the other 6 later

[guildwarsstartrekskyrim]

Shades of Grey

Oh boy, let’s talk more about this.  This thing about villains that seems to grip people more than the actions of the hero.  Before we begin, here’s a list of villainous topics that I’ve commented on and discussed before.

Let’s talk more about villains

Villains and Power Fantasy

Discussion with @houseleours​ on villainy!

PSA - Villains are villains

The Case for Villains at GW2RP Forums

And a bit about the shades of grey in games.

Something I’ve noticed about Skyrim 

That thing that happens in games

This will look at villainy, but will also look more closely at the shadowy aspect that we call shades of grey (no, not the 50 kinds!).

It’s obvious that in video games we often are given the opportunity to have choices that may reflect later in the story.  This is often done way better and easier in single player games than in an MMO, because choices are often presented to everyone and to have the world reflect the choices that hundreds or thousands (or even millions) of people make in a video game world would be absolute chaos for the developers.  For that reason, a single player game is more often than not able to reflect choices from the player with greater ease.

I’m going to focus on Skyrim for this as it’s one of the best examples and also the one I’ve been playing a lot recently.  I’ll also toss in some bits from Guild Wars and Guild Wars 2 as there are some relevant examples there and Star Trek, because this is obviously a Star Trek blog.

Please note: when it comes to world building, both Bethesda and ArenaNet are incredible in that they can build these expansive, multifaceted worlds that players can explore. Each franchise in the Elder Scrolls and Guild Wars has rich histories, interesting people and incredible regions.  When it comes to writing, however, I think most people are aware that Bethesda and ArenaNet ain’t Shakespeare.  This is one of those cases where the players love the properties but are completely understanding that the story might not be the greatest ever written.

Having said that...

When we play a game or read a book or watch a movie, there’s always a want to find out who the good guys are and who the bad guys are.  The classic hero/villain dynamic.  Each and every Batman movie has created it, each and ever movie in the MCU has done so as well, and each Star Trek movie has given us the villain to combat against our heroes (with the exception of Star Trek the Motion Picture and Star Trek: Voyage Home... ya know, the one with the whales).

The Elder Scrolls, Guild Wars and even Star Trek Online are no different when it comes to creating conflict.  However, there is a place that Skyrim does exceptionally well, Guild Wars sometimes gets and Star Trek only managed to do during Deep Space Nine and again with Discovery.  That thing I speak of is the shade of grey, where things aren’t easily identifiable as good or evil but lay somewhere in between.  Where the choices we make as the player (or the hero of the story might make) are arguably questionable but we can make a justification for doing them.

In Skyrim, the gods are everywhere.  There are the Eight Divines (or Nine, if you aren’t an Altimer and worship Talos), there is the daedra and there’s even the Aedra.  The daedra are seen as inherently evil, with the only exception being Azura, whom you can aid and lay claim to Azura’s Star at one point in the game.  The dunmer worship Azura and the khajiit believe that Azura was directly responsible for the creation of the races of cat folk.  Throughout all of Skyrim there are few factions which stick out as being inherently lawful good.  The only exceptions would be the Vigilants of Stendar who claim that mercy, charity and kindness are most important above all and the Dawnguard who hunt and destroy vampires.  I’ll have a discussion later that sort of pokes holes in the good nature of those two factions (as well as destroying Starfleet’s Prime Directive) in another discussion.  For now, back to the shades of grey.

When the player encounters all of these different scenarios, the choices that need to be made are at best questionable.  Reforming Dagon’s Razor, exploring the haunted house in Markarth, encountering Boethia’s Shrine and dealing with the cannibals in Markarth all end up with the player committing questionable, yet strangely justifiable actions.  For Boethia, she demands you bring a willing victim to sacrifice.  Easy enough, pick a scumbag that is quite nefarious and deserves to die.  But hang on, you’re still sacrificing him to an evil daedric being.  There’s no cancellation here, you’re not offing one bad dude by satiating the desires of an evil entity.

While not nearly as bad as sacrificing someone to an evil entity, there’s still murder being committed when you deal with the cannibals of Markarth.  When first meeting them you talk to Eola, the leader of these cannibals.  And you discover that a lot of the people involved in this cannibal cult were actually really nice to deal with (except for the butcher, ‘cause fuck that guy and his “bloodiest meat in the Reach”).  However, they demand that you trick one man into coming to their “feast.” As it turns out, you have the option of killing Eola outright, or bringing the man to the crypt where the cannibals are located and then letting him bare witness as you go on a murder spree.

We see this stuff in Guild Wars as well.  Questionable actions done for “the greater good.” One of the most questionable is asking aid from Palawa Joko himself, which later screws everything over in Elona by the time of Guild Wars 2.  Sure, we need to defeat Abaddon, but do we need to do it by enlisting the aid of an evil lich who is all about revisionist history just to make him look good?  Apparently we do.

While we don’t encounter many decisions like that in Guild Wars, there’s a lot of people who act in questionable ways.  Key to all of this has to be Adlebern, King of Ascalon.  Yes, he is fighting a war against the charr and attempting to protect his people, but the charr just want their land back.  But he oversteps the line when he decides to use the Foefire.  Sure, it kills the advancing charr army.  It also kills every single on of his people, civilians and military alike, along with himself.  Oh, but they get to live on as vengeful ghosts for all enternity! Yay! That’s fun!

Going back to Skyrim and Markarth once more, when you learn a bit more of the history of the city you begin to see that the Nords aren’t actually the most benevolent of people.  They kicked the indigenous people, the Foresworn, to the curb in the Reach (lead by none other than Ulfric Stormcloak).  But before we get all sympathetic towards the Foresworn, they aren’t exactly the most upstanding group of people either.  They embrace dark magic, are advised and aided by Hagravens, and their leaders are the Briarhearts who have their human hearts removed and replaced with a briarheart that gives them great power (side note: you can actually pickpocket the heart off of the Briarhearts and they die... just die, no fighting involved, so build up that sneak and pick pocket skill).

The Foresworn are central to the story that explores the mystery in Markarth that involves a group of murders.  A conspiracy that the city guards themselves are involved in, that the Silver-Blood family is surrounded by, and that ends with the player in Cidna Mine.  The prison of Markarth.  You escape either by joining the King in Rags, who happens to be a Foresworn leader that’s been orchestrating murders from prison, or kill the Foresworn leader.  Neither choice has many long lasting affects, but if you kill the King in Rags (which can be a bear of a fight because you have NOTHING on you except spells and a pick axe) the guards will act a little sheepish toward you for wrongfully imprisoning you (”yeah, you should be sorry, I’m the goddamned DRAGONBORN!”).

While that is only a handful of stories found within the game worlds, it is an example of the shades of grey that we are forced to deal with.  There’s no truly good choices that are made, which is why I firmly believe that if the right (or wrong) choices are made, the greatest villain in those video games is in fact the player.

Next, it’s time to shatter the world of lawful good paladins and destroy the Prime Directive!

[textsfromumbridge]

All the men and women merely players (1/??)

aka that trashy rethaniel high school AU I promised to write. 

All the love to @catty-words and @rebeccaplimpton for being excited for everything about this fic. The ship trash group chat has greatly improved my life and I’ll happily flail with you all the damn time. 

To all the readers: if you’re even half as far into this trash can as I am, please come talk to me!

CHAPTER ONE: Don’t let me be your star (AO3)

His father would not approve. Any after school activities had to involve money or networking - that’s why he’d been in Future Business Leaders of America since the fifth grade. It is why he’d started attending networking events in kindergarten. Diversifying his interests to appeal to colleges was completely unnecessary. His father would get him in anywhere close enough to keep an eye on him - Stanford was at the top of Plimpton Senior’s list.

So telling his father he’d been forcibly enlisted into Rodgers Academy’s theater program, yeah he’d prefer for this to remain a secret for the rest of his natural born life. Because if (please, not when) his father found out, that natural born life would end very shortly.

But not joining the theater program stopped being an option when he was caught deflowering the pastor’s daughter under the stands in the auditorium. Mr. Whitefeather was not above blackmail. 

Auditioning for the school musical became mandatory. Casting a mere formality - he would be on that stage, humiliated in front of the entire school, no matter how badly he tanked his audition. He might as well do himself proud and be the best actor and singer their school had ever seen.

Yes, he had heard of Rebecca Nora Bunch before the cast list went up. She was a notorious theater freak with a serious lady boner for Josh Chan, the football captain who for some reason called everyone his bro. She’d also gotten the lead in every show ever since she walked into Rodgers Academy freshman year looking like she masturbated to the Glee soundtrack.

Honestly, she was more driven than actually talented. He’d been to enough Broadway shows to tell the difference - really, the theater was a great place to network.

So he wasn’t all that impressed when the cast list for Cinderella went up and her name was right next to the famous princess. It didn’t have anything to do with his name being next to Prince Topher - he could have chemistry with a rock if necessary.

He just figured that if Mr. Whitefeather was truly that desperate for a win, he might actually shake things up for once. Or maybe he just didn’t have enough dirt on the rest of the school. Or maybe Rebecca Bunch had too much dirt on him - Nathaniel would not put it past her to blackmail her teacher into giving her the lead. She’d obviously identified with Sharpay when watching High School Musical.

Not that he’d ever seen the movies. Or heard any of the surprisingly catchy songs.

“Nathaniel,” he suddenly heard her right next to him.

She even pronounced his name in that old-timey voice she used to sound more dignified. It made his dick actually shrivel up inside his body.

“Bunch,”’ he nodded.

No way she needed to know that he knew her full name. Using her first name would imply that they were equals, and they were anything but. Plimptons were always superior - they were the Malfoys of this city.

“I see you’ve developed a sudden interest in the theatre,” she continued to talk to him in that ridiculous voice.

“Someone had to show you how it’s done.”

Plimptons always had to have the last line.

Exit, pursued by an angry theater freak.

It was going to be hard enough to fake any sort of chemistry with that… embodiment of everything that was wrong with the world. Sure, she was an Actress, but surely even Meryl herself had her limits! Surely not even Barbra and Bernadette, not even Idina could work opposite someone as Wrong as Nathaniel Plimpton the Third.

The name alone made her want to gag. Such pretension!

Really, what was Mr. Whitefeather thinking? Surely the divorce was getting to him. This was just a midlife crisis expressing itself in the worst way.

Why didn’t the man just buy an expensive penis metaphor like all the other idiots instead of ruining her life?

And why did Greg have to graduate and leave for Emory? He was no Josh Chan, but he was certainly an accomplished singer who could almost hold his own against her many talents.

All the men in her life just abandoned her. Even Robert left her - okay, so she was the one who told the principal, but he was not going to leave his wife for her (she was eighteen, it was legal!), so what else was a girl to do except get him fired?

The only person who was even remotely supportive of her was Paula - Mrs. Proctor. She had to remember to call her that at school.

“I need your help,” she dropped into her chair.

Yes, she had a thrice-weekly standing appointment with the guidance counselor. It started as a condition for her staying at the school after the fire and the Robert situation, but by now she and Paula were basically best friends. Just because they couldn’t actually wear the bracelets Paula had made at school, didn’t make it any less true.

“Did you get the part?” Paula immediately dropped everything. “Of course you did, Cookie, you’re the most talented person in this school. Just don’t tell any of the other students that I said that.”

This was what friendship was like: unconditional support. So what if it came from the almost middle aged guidance counselor at her high school?

“I got the part,” she huffed. “But clearly Mr. Whitefeather is in some sort of crisis, because he cast that, that… that pompous butthead as Prince Topher. How can a one-dimensional douche like Nathaniel Plimpton do justice to a romantic hero?”

Prince Topher was supposed to be likeable, and while Nathaniel Plimpton was a lot of things, likeable certainly was not one of them. Arrogant? Definitely. Pompous? Certainly. Vain? Indubitably. Despicable? Absolutely. Attractive? Maybe in the right light, if he kept his mouth shut (or otherwise occupied) for longer than five seconds. But likeable? Hell no.

“I didn’t know he was interested in pursuing theater,” Paula clearly smelled a nefarious plot, and Rebecca couldn’t blame her for that.

“Me neither,” she huffed. “I’m not even sure that he’s interested in anything other than ruining my life.”

Obviously that was his reason for pursuing this - had he ever shown interest in anything that did not involve money or sex before?

Was this She’s All That? Did he make a bet with one of his cronies that he could sleep with her? Clearly he was underestimating her considerable brains, because she’d been saving herself for the moment Josh Chan finally realized she was his soulmate. It was bound to happen soon.

“Ugh, why are we still talking about him?” Rebecca was over it, for now. “We should be talking about the love of my life and how he’s totally going to dump Valencia any day now. Not that I’m rooting for another woman’s pain, because that’s totally unfeminist of me, but clearly they just don’t make each other happy.”

Paula nodded sagely - she’d been witness to many a Jolencia (patent pending) fight, often managing to have Rebecca near Josh when he needed someone to console him. Really, the woman was a gift and Rebecca did not know what she’d done in this life or a previous one to deserve a gem like Paula Proctor.

“I hear he has been visiting with Father Joseph more often,” Paula let the gossip slip with a gleeful smile.

Technically the visits with the school chaplain were completely confidential, but Paula could find out if she claimed to be concerned about a student. Paula had access to every single one of Josh’s records and files. Paula had all the intel and the know-how to use said intel to greatly improve Rebecca’s life.

“Seeking divine counsel,” Rebecca tried really hard to ignore that the love of her life was a gentile. “It means he really is in the middle of a personal crisis.”

It had to have something to do with the way he looked at her last time she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and told him that he deserved happiness. He’d leaned in a bit more than usual, and she’d smelled his body wash and his hair product (she’d already made a note of his preferred brands ages ago) before he pulled away because they were still in a public hallway. He just couldn’t hurt Valencia’s feelings like that - how noble of him.

Josh Chan was a good man. A kind man.

“Just like we planned,” Paula’s grin had a touch of villainy about it.

They laughed madly, their cackles echoing against the office’s windows, freaking out Geoff the office aid. Yeah, Geoff, that was his name.

Ugh, forget him. He wasn’t important, barely rated a speaking role in the world of Rebecca Nora Bunch.

No, Josh Chan was clearly the male lead in the story of her life.

The first official rehearsal for Cinderella was an absolute disaster.

How these people had ever managed to put on any show, he really wasn’t sure. With the new additions who’d clearly been blackmailed into this as well, head bitch Valencia Perez and that Heather girl who always seemed stoned, Mr. Whitefeather’s associates might stand a chance of doing something decent. It was an extremely small chance, though.

After Weirdo Karen’s seemingly serious question about a part for her pet snake, he’d pretty much given up on spending his precious time in any kind of useful manner.

He’d already forgotten all of their names not five minutes after the ridiculous ice breaker games they’d been forced to play. That still did not stop any of the unproductive dweebs from wanting to be his friend.

Sure, he got it. He was talented, wealthy, and a good connection to have. They just did not have anything to offer him in return - he wasn’t interested in friendship. What would he get out of it? It wouldn’t help him get to Stanford, wouldn’t help him into law school and then into a prime position at his father’s firm.

Really, he was here to do his time and then bail without his father ever knowing.

“Nathaniel,” damn Bunch actually cornered him after rehearsal.

Again with the voice.

“Cut that out,” he rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t hide from your lack of talent. I suggest wearing more low-cut tops, to show off your other… gifts.”

He made it a point to look down at her, trying to get a peek down her shirt - but of course she was once again dressed like a real life librarian, when she should have been dressing like the porn version.

Maybe then Josh Chan would pull his head out of his ass. Clearly he didn’t want to be with his bitchy girlfriend.

Ugh, monogamy. Just the thought of it made him reach for the disinfectant gel in his bookbag. He’d had to touch too many of these losers already - maybe feelings would catch.

The chase, that was his true and only love. After all, men were hunters by nature. One and done, and then he completely lost interest.

Speaking of losing interest...

“I wasn’t done with you,” Bunch was apparently still talking.

“I’m sure you have plenty of fascinating things to tell me,” he made a point to check the time on his Rolex. “Some of us actually have places to be.”

Like the gym - he was feeling rather bloated today. Clearly the new chef had not been notified about the strict dietary restrictions in his diet. He was sure he could taste actual butter, and that just wouldn’t do.

Perhaps he’d have to prepare some kale shakes, just in case the chef didn’t get the memo.

“You’re talented,” she stalled him.

“I know,” he didn’t even grin.

“Ugh,” she crossed her arms over her ample, ample chest. “You’re the embodiment of every private school dick movie cliche. I know you don’t care about me either, but we have to put on a good show - my life depends on it!”

He heard maybe thirty percent of what she said, too busy staring at the way her crossed arms pushed up her chest. He’d certainly made an excellent point about the low-cut tops. Maybe then she’d get some people to like her, and not just the teachers.

“Still talking,” she snapped her fingers at him.

“Still not interested,” he shot back, briefly making the effort to look at her face.

She was a little hotter when she was angry - a little less tragic and pathetic. Shame she was too chubby to even consider banging her. She seemed like she needed someone to fuck that stick out of her ass, stat.

“I know Mr. Whitefeather has something on you,” she stopped him from leaving.

“And?”

That didn’t rattle him in the slightest.

“You’re already risking your reputation,” she had nothing to say that he didn’t already know. “So why not have some self-respect and put on the best show you possibly can?”

Clearly he was not the one who had issues with self-respect. No person with any kind of self-esteem pined for Mr. If I Only Had A Brain for four years.

“And you think I’d need you for that?” he scoffed.

Maybe she was moderately more talented than the rest of the cast, and maybe she was the only one actually willing to put in the work.

But was he actually that desperate?

“We’re the leads,” Bunch made her final arguments. “If we work well together, it’ll lift the whole production to a new level.”

“Not interested,” he finally made his escape.

As if he’d voluntarily spend more time with any of those people. He had more than enough talent all by himself.

It really was a beautiful day.

Finally, it had happened. One minute she was just sitting alone at lunch, memorizing her lines in her first big song, and just a few minutes later she was in the janitor’s closet with Joshua Felix Chan. And they were KISSING!

Okay, so he hadn’t broken up with Valencia (yet!), but she just knew that locking lips with her had totally changed his world. He’d looked dazed afterwards, when they finally stepped out of the closet.

Of course he went first and she had to wait a few minutes, but still! The lips of Rebecca Nora Bunch had actually touched those of Joshua Felix Chan.

She just loved saying his full name, almost as much as she liked the name Rebecca Chan. Chan-Bunch? Yeah, maybe hyphenating wasn’t such a bad idea. Because fuck the patriarchy.

“You’re late,” Nathaniel was actually in time for rehearsal.

“And you’re not,” she made sure the surprise was audible.

Hell, she was mostly surprised that he was here at all. He made it very clear that he did not consider himself to be a part of the group, and that he did not want to be here. (Note to self: find out what kind of dirt Mr. Whitefeather had on him)

“A Plimpton is never late,” he recited the words without inflection.  

“Who coined those pearls of wisdom?” she scoffed.

There was no response, just a tightening of his jaw that told her that it was probably his terrible father. Clearly, someone who acted like Nathaniel Plimpton did with women had some serious father issues.

And well, like did call to like.

At least his father told him some things.

“Good to see you’ve learned something about responsibility,” she didn’t like the broken look in his eyes.

“I won’t be the only one learning something,” he made it sound like a warning.

Really? Was he going to teach her a lesson? Unless it was about being an unprincipled jackass, she wasn’t going to learn a thing. He wasn’t all that.

“I’m terrified,” she rolled her eyes at him.

“Alright idiots, listen up,” Nathaniel demanded the attention of the entire group. “Mr. Whitefeather will probably be late again - Mr. Wilson was wearing a tank again and the man is too weak to keep from staring.”

Wow, Nathaniel actually had a point there - Josh Wilson was a really nice specimen, and ever since Mr. Whitefeather had come out as bi at the end of last year, he’d been all too interested in their new gym teacher. Personally, Rebecca didn’t see it, even when people had pointed out how much he looked like Josh Chan.

Clearly Josh Chan was superior to the judgmental chipmunk. Mr. Wilson did not like her at all, and she took offense. So what if she conveniently got a mental health crisis every time jumping or running was involved? She had to protect her classmates - her boobs were actually going to kill someone someday.

Denise Martinez’s eye injury had been proof enough of that.

“We’re starting practice without him,” Nathaniel was really trying to make the drill sergeant look work for him. “Warm ups, now! None of you are fit enough to dance and sing at the same time. Start running!”

Well, not everyone could be as fit as Nathaniel Plimpton himself - seriously, it was kind of worrying how much time he allegedly spent in the gym. Not counting the times he spent exercising with impressionable young girls, of course.

Ugh, gross. Sweaty, semi-naked Nathaniel. Why did her brain even do that to her?

“That includes you, Bunch,” Nathaniel’s gaze fell on her. “Start moving!”

What? She wasn’t one of those unprofessional idiots - she was in shape. Round was a shape, and she wasn’t going to develop any more body image issues just because Nathaniel Plimpton took offense to a woman with actual meat on her bones.

“I have better breath control than you do, asswipe,” she hollered at him, pretending she wasn’t a little bit out of breath from her fast-walk in his direction.

Crap, okay, maybe the asswipe had a point about the running.

He was not still thinking about what the running had done to Rebecca Bunch’s chest. He’d not been completely distracted by it, and he hadn’t stared at all.

Okay, he had, but he was only human.

At least he hadn’t made inappropriate comments, like Freaking Karen. Was there any way he could just kick her out of the show, or out of the school entirely? He knew she’d been held back twice already, but it was high time she left.

Just, the woman had no boundaries, and she’d clearly made Rebecca more than a bit uncomfortable. Bunch. She made Bunch uncomfortable.

She hated him by practice’s end, because he was more effective at making her move than Mr. Wilson had been in weeks. He just wasn’t going to hear any of her outlandish excuses - he just challenged her, basically daring her into doing the work. She hated being made to feel like she was worse than her classmates at something.

Not that he could relate to that or anything.

Because he was actually better than all of his classmates - it was just one of the many facts of life that came with being a Plimpton.

Like his fantastic memory, which was currently helping him in his prep for the next Cinderella rehearsal. Words came easily to him, remembering exact phrases had always helped him with his father.

Strict was not a strong enough word for his old man.

“Nathaniel?”

Speak of the devil and he shall use the intercom to be terrifyingly present. He hated it when Father managed to interrupt one of the few moments of peace and quiet he had in a day - and they’d gotten even more rare since the whole blackmail-induced theater escapades had started.

“Yes father?” he spoke into the receiver.

This was never a good sign. His father made it a habit never to interfere in his life unless he felt like there was something that needed improving.

Clearly, he’d failed again.

“You were home late today,” the accusation was obvious.

Really, Father never even needed to ask the question. As a good son, he was obliged to explain his actions in a satisfactory manner.

Well, time to see if he was good at lying to his father. He knew he was failing him just by having to lie, but he didn’t see another way. There was no way out of this that left him in a single piece, other than to lie.

And the best lies stuck close to the truth.

“I was tutoring some fellow students,” he squeezed his hand into a fist and focused on keeping his breathing steady.

Never volunteer any extra information, real events weren’t actually like a perfect story from a film - he’d researched lying quite extensively so he would know. And keeping it simple made it less likely that he’d get caught up in his own lies.

“What subject?” his father just had to pry.

“Biology,” he’d already thought of the proper subject.

It was part of the sciences, so not considered too frivolous and a waste of his time, yet also not something his father was an expert at - Plimpton senior knew economics and law and cared for little else.

Not even his son.

“Are you still on top of your own school work?” of course that was the real issue.

“Of course father,”

“Your work comes first,” Father issued the final warning. “I’m sure none of the other students are in line to study at an Ivy League university.”

And none of these other students were Plimptons with reputations to maintain - if he didn’t get into a college that was acceptable to his family, that would be the end of him. His father had never specifically stated what would happen to him, but that just made it all the more terrifying. He had to get in - there was no other option.

“Bunch is,” he muttered.

“What was that, Nathaniel?”

His father hated it when people didn’t enunciate properly.

“Rebecca Bunch,” he hated himself for even mentioning her. “One of the students. She is applying to the Ivies and several competitive cultural programs. Sir.”

His father shouldn’t be aware of Bunch’s existence, but he’d done it now. And he didn’t even know why - why did he even mention Bunch in the first place? Sure, he’d just spent time with her, but that shouldn’t matter. He’d been on the phone with his father during quite a couple trysts, and he’d never felt the slightest urge to ever mention the girl in question.

So why Bunch?

“At least you have some people in your life with a good head on their shoulders,” his father ended the conversation.

Of course Father had to have the last word, leaving him to laugh silently in his room.

Bunch never thought with the head on her shoulders. She thought with her libido and her heart and her fantasies.

And it was not an endearing feature, damn it.

Josh and Valencia had broken up, and it was all because of her.

She probably should be feeling some sort of guilt, but instead all she could think about was what this meant for her own future with Josh.

It meant that she actually had a real future with Josh - it was not just contingent upon him realizing that he wasn’t meant to be with Valencia, now it was real. He’d kissed her, he’d seen her, and then his relationship ended.

Sure, he hadn’t talked to her and she’d had to hear it through the grapevine, but she could afford to give him a day or two to settle his affairs before he finally asked her to be his new girlfriend. It gave her time to primp and look her best when he did ask.

And he would ask any day now, any hour, any minute.

This was how it was supposed to go when she finally got her happily ever after, just like in that movie Slumbered. The whole world was going to fall away until there was nothing except for her and Josh. And then he would tell her he loved her, more than he’d ever loved anyone and they’d date and live happily ever after and she’d thank him when she won her first Tony before the age of thirty.

“Bunch, are you even still paying attention?”

Ugh, there went that dream.

Instead of spending time with the man of her dreams, she was forced to spend the next hour and a half working solely with Nathaniel Plimpton. Talk about a buzzkill.

“I have danced before,” she carefully avoided actually answering the question.

Because the answer was actually no - of course she was not paying attention to the asswipe currently looming over her. He was all up in her personal space for this stupid dance routine that Mr. Wilson was making them learn.

Apparently it was vitally important that Mr. Wilson help out with this - or more likely, it was vitally important to Mr. Whitefeather that he dance with the gym teacher to provide some kind of good example that they didn’t really need. She was an extremely qualified dancer and not even Nathaniel Plimpton could make her look like an idiot.

“So, no,” he smirked down at her.

How dare he use his superior height to look down on her?

“Lucky for you, I’ve been doing ballroom for years,” Nathaniel clasped her hand gently in his and laid his other hand on the small of her back.

Following is almost automatic, placing her arm over his so that she is gently grasping his shoulder. She learned proper posture at a very young age, and she’s been watching princesses dance since she could remember.

Wait, what? Nathaniel Plimpton, douche of the highest degree has been doing ballroom for years?

“What?” she finally responded.

“You guys are doing really well so far,” Mr. Wilson seemed more than a little surprised.

Mr. Wilson and Mr. Whitefeather were in the exact same position, and they were both clearly a lot more affected by it than she was - or Nathaniel, because his posture was still ramrod straight. He almost looked like the perfectly polished prince he was supposed to be, only he was a little too… stiff.

“Let’s try a few steps,” Mr. Wilson continued.

Could Josh dance like this, she wondered. Perhaps it was possible to suggest him as a practice partner - or at least she could use that excuse with Josh. She’d love to dance with him like this, or even closer than this.

“Don’t forget the proper distance,” Mr. Whitefeather reminded them. “I know you youngsters like to get close, but there has to be room for the dress.”

Yes, she would actually get to wear a ballgown - just like she’d always dreamed of wearing ever since she was a little girl. Her mother would never let her wear the traditional princess costumes, instead forcing her to play act as businesswomen. Sure, she understood the feminist leanings, but princesses were not inherently less feminist.

If only her mother understood that.

“It’s huge,” Mr. Wilson was almost dismissive. “Ridiculously huge.”

All this time, she was still touching Nathaniel, but the second anyone remarked on the distance, Nathaniel moved back another inch. Clearly, he couldn’t wait to get away from her even now.

Screw him - she didn’t like him either, but at least she could be professional about the whole situation. She’d much rather be with Josh.

“Bunch,” Nathaniel rudely drew her from her daydreams.

“What?”

“Would you mind actually looking at the steps Mr. Whitefeather is showing you?” Plimpton sounded physically pained. “Not just for my feet’s sake.”

Oh right, now that she wasn’t thinking about Josh, she realized that because she kept moving in the wrong direction, she and Nathaniel kept bumping into each other. Her breasts smushed into his chest, him looking down at her with blazing eyes…

Wow, she really needed to dance with Josh some time. Nathaniel was great practice.

Copying Mr. Whitefeather’s steps was kind of easy. She had a natural gift for moving in time with the count of the waltz, plus she wasn’t nearly as into her partner as her teacher was. How obvious could a man get?

“Remember, this is their first meeting,” Mr. Whitefeather was more than a little flustered. “This is all about that first spark, the chemistry between these two characters.”

And that’s where the acting came in - she had no interest in Nathaniel, and he seemed just about ready to bust out the disinfectant. He tensed every single time she broke form and his eyes were on the horizon somewhere.

They were supposed to be selling romance. Not that Nathaniel Plimpton would know the meaning of that word.

“Alright, on to the next part,” Mr. Whitefeather was the only happy person present. “Miss Bunch, I’m sure you’ve seen every version of Pride and Prejudice? This is a lot like those dances.”

Finally, Nathaniel gets his much needed distance. He actually started breathing easier the second it became clear the next part involved touching with one arm only. They were to press their hands together, with a slightly increasing distance to the elbow down. And then it was just turns back and forth to switch arms.

Very minimal contact, just Nathaniel’s style when it came to her. Not when it came to every “hot” girl at the school, because he would be all over them.

Wow, that almost made it sound like she wanted Nathaniel to touch her. To speak in the words of the immortal icon Cher Horowitz: as if!

Nathaniel Plimpton was no Josh Chan, even though he was definitely being the Mr. Darcy to her Elizabeth Bennet at this point.

What? Every girl had a Pride and Prejudice fantasy at some point - and she’d have it again in her bed tonight while she thought of a more suitable mister Darcy. Josh wasn’t really the brooding type, but that’s why they were called fantasies.

“We’ll work on the transitions later,” Mr. Whitefeather was barely looking at them now, too busy focusing on Mr. Wilson’s arms. “This is just to see which patterns work for me… work for you.”

So obvious, Mr. Whitefeather. So very obvious.

“Right,” Mr. Wilson coughed and took a step back. “There’s a few more moves to try out.”

Like the ones he clearly wanted to try out with Mr. Whitefeather. Honestly, she was pretty sure that the interest was mutual, but they just weren’t acting on it.

Oh - side project! Now that she and Josh were going to live happily ever after, she might as well enlist Paula’s help with matchmaking for another couple. Paula was scary good at getting people together - or keeping them apart if she deemed it necessary.

“This one is a little bit closer,” Mr. Wilson continued, “but it’s right from the Broadway show, so it’s probably pretty appropriate for a formal ball.”

Instead of leading by example- Mr. Whitefeather looked really disappointed - Mr. Wilson guided their hands into the correct positions. Both Nathaniel and herself had an arm wrapped around the other’s waist, pressing their bodies rather closely together. Or at least, really pressing her boobs into his arm while they took a turn around the floor.

Nathaniel had tensed up again, just from her hand on his waist and them almost being in each other’s personal space. How could she work with this?

“Just a little while longer before you can get the disinfectant,” she hissed at him, trying to keep the teachers from overhearing.

“You’re missing the point, Bunch,” Nathaniel still wasn’t looking at her, jaw clenched.

This part was supposed to look like they were flying, like they moved together effortlessly. And sure, this was only the first dance rehearsal, but this was like pulling her body through quicksand, heavy and slow and syrupy.

But somehow it wasn’t entirely bad. Weird.

“Next position, Mr. Wilson,” Nathaniel’s voice seemed more gravelly now.

They’d stopped spinning - although it didn’t really feel like that - and Nathaniel had stepped back. What was up with him?

“So, this will be like a dip,” Mr. Wilson instructed, equally eager to get this over with. “Basic ballroom pose, then move both your arms around her waist, Mr. Plimpton. Miss Bunch, you will be leaning back in his hold.”

Even now, when they were supposed to be standing closer than ever, he was holding back, every muscle in his body resisting her presence in his personal space. For someone who got laid basically all the time, the guy was just really freaking tense.

And when he was supposed to be holding her considerable weight, as he’d remarked on several times now, she did not need him to be stiffer than the Tin Man. Sure, he needed to stand strong, but in a way that spoke of fluidity, of grace, of romance.

This was a pure fight or flight response, and flight was definitely winning.

“You can pull her a bit closer, Mr. Plimpton,” Mr. Wilson eyed them carefully.

Suddenly every bit of distance between the two of them was gone. The tension in his muscles was still there, and she figured that the only way to go here was to trust him with this tiny bit.

Trusting a man - yeah, this was going to be impossible.

And then he looked her in the eyes, finally, those blue eyes screaming fear. When he saw the fear returned in hers - he must have seen it - he softened.

“I’ve got you,” he mouthed.

His hands were warm, burning through her shirt, but she just kept looking into his eyes as she slowly gave herself over to him, putting herself in his hands until she no longer had to hold up her own weight.

It was terrifying and exhilarating, and somehow safe.

Nathaniel Plimpton was an elitist asshole, but he was not going to drop her. So she relaxed in his grip, and tried not to think about how she was basically pushing her boobs up in the direction of his face.

He was trying not to look, occasionally sneaking guilty glances at her chest but then quickly returning to look in her eyes.

She was warm all over, heating up even quicker when she started to feel something insistently pressing against her thigh. It became almost impossible not to blush, and her wide eyes found his immediately.

“Excellent job, you two,” Mr. Whitefeather broke the silence.

That made Nathaniel break eye contact, slowly but surely pulling her into a regular standing position - except this meant that they were standing so closely pressed against each other that she could feel exactly how big his… interest was.

Big was an understatement - she’d suspect him of padding but there was no way to get away with that when she was pressed up against every inch of him.

“Is that the time?” Nathaniel almost ran out of the room.

She was left with a pounding heart and a heaving chest, and a hankering to go see Josh. If this was what it was like with someone she hated, it had to be even better with the love of her life.

Right?

AN: This ship has watered my crops and cleared my skin. Let me know what you think!!

[huldrax]

Civil War: The Right Way to Use Politics In Comics.

                          To begin with, there is no factually correct choice. At the end of the day whether you lined up on Iron-Man’s side or Captain America’s side it had to do with your perception of right and wrong. Your choice was decided by what you felt was acceptable and unacceptable. It is fundamentally the age old question of Individual rights and liberties VS Society’s. It doesn’t matter who came out the victor. You can win and be wrong; you can lose and be right when it comes to morality. Each of us has to answer if only to ourselves how much of our civil liberties do we trade away for safety? How dirty do we think we would be willing to get our hands to do what we think is right and where do we ultimately draw the line? Civil War begins after a major catastrophe in a town called Stamford. In an attempt to apprehend a group of villains a unit of inexperienced reality star heroes inadvertently cause a hefty amount of casualties, many of which were children. Unsurprisingly it sparks national outrage, everyone is questioning what can be done, why are superhumans allowed to run amok without training, without credentials, without accountability? These questions have always been brewing under the surface but now they’ve exploded to the forefront of American discussion. In the aftermath of Stamford the superhuman community is already debating amongst themselves about what they think will be the next step of public outrage. Many of them can already see the writing in the air, there will be a push to make Super Heroes into Super Cops. Many of them are at first not too bothered by the idea, others are deeply disturbed. Most character’s whose identities have never been secret or out for some time are unbothered by the idea of a great unmasking and why should they be? Hiding themselves has never been a concern for them; therefore no one else should be worried. Or so they think for its often very difficult to understand what you’ve never experienced. Let me fully admit my bias; I backed Captain America. The reasons to me were simple on the surface. People have a right to anonymity; the government cannot be trusted to adequately keep that anonymity—especially when so many lives are on the line and we’re not just talking about the lives of the super humans here; we’re talking about them and the lives of every person who has ever been remotely connected to them or ever will be connected to them. Let’s say that there is a hack by some villain, it’d be like a great big doxxing of epic proportions. All that personal info spilled into nefarious hands. Or imagine the government goes full on dictatorial and begins to do wide spread targeting of individuals within the registry for whatever reasons—they’re no longer satisfied with a registry, now they want to contain everyone, or even kill them. We’ve seen things like this happen in the real world and we’ve seen it in the source material; the Mutant community knows this all too well. These are all possibilities that the characters have to weigh, not knowing if their fears will come true or not but anticipating that they will. When you expect the worst you can only be pleasantly surprised. Their wildest fears are not unfounded as we later see, it’s no longer JUST about registering names and faces; the superhumans will be FORCED to work for the government, live under the radar if they have the capability, or be imprisoned, and last but not least they can resist and perhaps die. When people with powers who don’t even use them are suddenly demanded to sign their name on the dotted line or ELSE, resistance in the end becomes self-defense. They have no choice but to fight or in their minds lose their way of life. At the end of the day the SRA (Super-Human Registration Act) is not only about knowing the identities and whereabouts of its applicants, it’s a draft. The government will be deciding what action the hero takes, where they go, when they go. There will be times when they MUST act but are told to with-hold, there will be times when they don’t want to act, but are demanded to do so. Their personal judgments will no longer matter, they become unwilling soldiers. Luke Cage referred to it as “A form of slavery.” And he isn’t wrong. You either capitulate or you are crippled. You either join or you are labeled a criminal and will be brought to heel. In this light they’ve no other choice but to resist. The SRA is a threat to their world, their freedom. It is an existential crisis to their autonomy, their anonymity. They might be super, but at the end of the day they’re also just people who want to do the right thing on their own terms. They want the freedom to make their choices without the threat of a figurative and literal gun to the head. With that said, just because I believe in the cause of the resistance does not mean I don’t understand where Tony and co. are coming from. That is in itself is an example of how Marvel did things right. I can disagree with him but understand his view. I can be against him and not hate him. I can dislike the things that he does disagree with the decisions he’s made but still want the best possible outcome for him. I have many, many gripes with the Pro-SRA movement. I will save such long, detailed complaints for another time and simply focus on the major premise. The one thing that I DO agree with is that there must be accountability when things go wrong.   I understand that if it’s not the SRA, it will be some other program—a worse program as theorized by Tony and Reed. The government will skip the step of registration and go directly for attempts at utter elimination. Perhaps, as in Reed’s opinion the world will be consumed into chaos in such an event. But that is only if I allow myself to believe that Reed and Tony are beyond reproach, that they are infallible, and I don’t believe they are. We know they aren’t. I can even sympathize with the Pro-SRA side, I can look to Tony and see he’s not a monster, and he’s NOT wrong about everything, nor is he right about it all. He wants to regain the trust of the public; he wants to put their fears at ease. He wants to promise there will never be another Stamford again; he thinks that the registration is a step towards that. Tony wants to make a better, safer world; working within the system he’s been provided. I don’t believe that such a thing is possible—I don’t believe the SRA could have prevented Stamford—or that if the SRA is followed to the letter that there will never be another Stamford.  But I understand where he is coming from and cannot fault him for his conclusion, for his belief that his way is the right way.   To Tony the SRA represents redemption for his own failings and the failures of others. It is a gesture of good will to the public, and while he does believe in the movement it hurts him to have to turn on his compatriots . To have to turn on what he considers his own community, to be viewed as Judas is no doubt a heavy burden. He doesn’t want it to come to violence but if it does, he’d rather it be at the command of someone who cares. Not some faceless bureaucrat who will shrug off the guilt of having harmed someone they don’t even know. Not some person who will look at the law as it is and not what it could be.  Nothing he does if from a place of cruelty but perceived necessity. I’m not excusing the atrocities committed in the process, I mean, using known criminals to bolster their ranks? Cloning a monster Thor-bot? Knowing that the implementation of the SRA is utterly disgraceful but committing to the task none the less? I may abhor that that they do it, I might be screaming at them inside my head, but I never reach the moment where I think to myself “They are forever beyond redemption.”   We, the readers just the same as the two factions are meant to feel torn, anguished that things have come to this. We see the bad choices each side has made, we see the damage they’ve wrought on one another emotionally and physically. We know that it’s unfair to ask people to put themselves into the hands of the government and that it’s also unfair to society not to have a system in which these people can be held accountable. What Marvel did right is that neither group was “The Good Guy” or “The Bad Guy.” They were two opposing factions who believed what they were doing was the best thing to do. The Marvel writers of this period played it straight; they gave both sides their due and left it to the reader to make their choice. They didn’t demonize Steve or Tony, you knew their head and you knew their hearts. They were not cardboard people. They were REAL, conflicted, messy and pained by the choices before them. Both sides made mistakes, both sides were consumed with high emotion, inflaming tension between them. Both groups have done questionable things in the name of their cause. Tony is compromising his own principals for a better tomorrow; Steve is sticking to his principals for a better tomorrow. Neither stance is a bad one, they are simply ideologically opposed and the further the tension mounts the less each side thinks logically. As the war progresses neither are truly fighting for their ideals anymore, they’re just FIGHTING for ego. The ends don’t justify their means anymore. To himself and no one else, Tony admits “It wasn’t worth it.” And yet they’ve gone too far to turn back. You’ll be hard pressed to find someone without some glimmer of regret by the end of things. Everyone is mangled by the end. No one is untainted. Civil War is artfully brutal in how raw it leaves you by the end. We can all look at parts of the arc and think of all the ways the horror could have been avoided, we can see the things the characters themselves cannot see preparing to bite them later down the road and we’re helpless. We don't need the writers to hammer us over the head with what THEY believe is right, we don't need to have our differing world views not only perverted but out right demonized. We don't need nor want the same jab taken over and over again to the point that we can accurately predict it will be coming.

If you want to talk about politics—If you want to involve them in comics, at the very least do the audience and the character's justice. Present both sides without turning one into a caricature. You aren’t convincing us when you are presenting a false view to topple, you’re preaching to us.

In short, it is humanity that current marvel lacks. Everything is one sided, everything is a hammer without subtlety. There are no layers. There is but one side, the “Right” side. The opposing force cannot be viewed as having any legitimacy whatsoever. RiRi Williams takes over a sovereign nation? Everyone around her congratulates her. Every comment is on how smart, how perfect she is. Despite the fact that we ourselves do not see those qualities in her, we’re simply told that she has them. To compound the issue there is not a soul within her inner circle to add a counterpoint.  She’s better then all who have come before her, she is without compelling conflict. This one toned outlook doesn’t just apply in the comics; it applies in the actual thinking of the creators. You voted for Trump? You are a bigot. You don’t like the direction they’re taking a character in? You have no clue what you are talking about. You want the old characters back? You’re old and stuck in your ways. You’re a rube, you’re the minority of readers, they DON”T want you to buy their books and you will be blocked. There is no respect, there is no dissension. Can you think of ONE or even more than one Marvel comic in the last two years where two ideological opposites were presented with the opportunity to explain their side without one of them being portrayed as villain? Where you were actually left to draw your own conclusion?