#or at least plenty more than shiv

[shivroy]

HIBERNIAN ROY-WAMBSGANS!!!!! literally why have a succession oc if im not gonna make a season 4 promo pic of him. this is how hibs can still become canon

bonus: given the slightest opportunity hibs will steal tom's clothes, especially ones that have a nostalgia factor from his dad's college days & how tom dressed when hibernian was naught but a tiny pink fetus. check out the tomshiv nightmare interaction white sneakers

[blixabargelds]

can u explain y ppl think roman was sexually abused i feel like that’s gone over my head. as much as that would explain ab him

tw csa//

i don’t feel wholly comfortable with my ability to give this a lengthy competent answer because the subject matter makes me feel sick, but there’s lots of hints to it in the show if you read it that way.

roman’s consistent jokes about sexual abuse are directed at himself as the punchline the majority of the time, combined with his habit of playing essentially two truths and a lie (“i jerked off in gerri’s bathroom”) could mean there’s at least some truth to the ‘jokes’. roman being sent away to military school because he “went weird and started wetting the bed”. when the cruises scandal broke, the use of “no real person involved” to describe the abuse victims vs kendall telling roman he’s not a real person in too much birthday. all three of them growing up around the wolf pack (someone pointed out the connection here with the name romulus which is just. sheesh). roman’s inability to perform sexually; the time he asks tabitha to play dead saying “if we agree on a wrong thing then it’s not wrong”, shiv saying he loves showing his dick to people but one day he’s actually going to have to fuck something, and how he seems to get more upset about this than her usual jabs.

there’s plenty more im sure but i don’t really fancy doing a deep dive into subtextual csa on a friday morning lol. of course none of this is confirmed to be connected to any direct sexual abuse but if you read it that way i think it’s plenty backed up. succession generally lets you read between the lines, although i don’t know if they wouldn’t have been more overt with it by now as there are many scenes of roman’s confirmed past (and present) physical abuse. i will just say towards the end of season three specifically in too much birthday (“he loves fucking me”) and after dickpic gate, logan asking roman what’s wrong with him, i did feel nauseous as fuck like something was on the verge of coming out.

[tomwambsgans]

i know it's fitting to the whole nrpi thing that we have little to no knowledge about the staff/help in shiv and tom's penthouse but i wish so bad that we knew like ANYTHING other than the mere fact of their existence... like i feel like we have a more concrete understanding of even kendall's relationship with his staff and we only see his home once or twice. and we see plenty of logan's treatment of household staff.

meanwhile what we know for certain about tom and shiv is that they have a dogwalker, they have a personal chef at least in s4, and that most likely no staff stay the night given the "after the help have gone" line. and on at least one specific occasion (like, aside from just generally knowing tom's midwestern sensibilities) we see tom explicitly be very polite to a service worker (on logan's yacht in 2x10).

with that in mind i have to imagine some kind of repoire between tom and any given staff he and shiv have ever had. which then of course makes me wonder about the specifically male staff and whether or not anything similar to the homoerotic power stuff between him and greg has ever happened there... like i do think tom would see a big difference between an employee in the company and someone that he just pays to clean his house--in fact he would likely not even be the one paying them , it would probably be shiv, so he may feel no entitlement to them whatsoever.

but nevertheless tom is fucking gay and pathologically uses power to justify his reaches for intimacy and i know there just has to be something. anyone shiv hired would know to be afraid of her and to not try to fuck her man so no real passes would've been made but.. yknow. i'm betting on occasional awkward (partly?) one-sided flirtations where any men (probably very few men worked for shiv anyway) also likely got a sense about tom and would've tried to appease him in particular once he was actually married to shiv. but yeah they'd have been completely relying on him to try to start something, which tom would never have done, so.

[scaryhaven]

I've been contemplating where i think succession is going, in this, its final season. Seeing Roman and Gerri's tenuous relationship grow sour, and watching the relationship between Shiv and Tom transform into something we have never seen before, i have lost all confidence i once had that TomGreg would at least be acknowledged as a thing that exists. I think that Roman and Gerri had such an interesting dynamic, and i genuinely believe that love was possible, if it didnt already exist. Roman obviously has mommy and daddy issues, and you can say its unhealthy or weird, but Gerri was the person that he showed the most of his true self to, and Gerri wasn't repulsed by it, but enthralled, intrigued, they matched each others energies perfectly. But now that's been taken away from him, most heartbreakingly so, on the day after his father passed away, where he has to act like he doesnt care about her anymore, but inside, desperate to cling to her for comfort, but alas, no comfort was to be had. So, we've had this relationship of sorts, built up, and in one fell swoop its been destroyed, and treated as if it never happened, back to business as usual.

Which brings me to TomGreg. These two characters have been glued to each other since season one, and now all of a sudden we're supposed to ignore all the not-so-heterosexual conversations and gestures between them? Tom and Shiv are now having a more Tom and Greg type relationship, Tom's able to be openly hostile and upset towards Shiv when he feels that way, rather than hiding it away within himself, or taking it out on Greg. He's able to stand up for himself and what he wants, he's able to offer support to her if she wants it, but when she declines he has the confidence to not worry about it after the fact. He is able to care for her still, but she's not his entire world, he's not relying on her for emotional support or financial gain, its almost like they are back to when they first met and fell in love. Meanwhile she is purposefully trying to make him jealous, and willingly comes to him for emotional support, rather than ignoring him, she's hostile towards him, but in the way a kid lashes out when they are frustrated and dont know how to tell their crush that they like them. All this points to a possible reconnection between the two, and a healthier relationship than it once was, and that would be fine, if Tom and Greg hadnt had the relationship that they've had up to this point. You dont get to set up this dynamic between two weirdos, stuck in a world of apathy, make it seem like they are the only two people in the show that get each other, and have each others backs, and reach for in need of comfort, and then turn them into the disgusting brothers, and pop a baby up in Shiv, kill her father and then fix the marriage, because lets be honest here, if she wasnt pregnant, and especially not pregnant at such a scary, stressful and sad time of her life, there would be no chance that this marriage could be seen as anything close to salvageable. So if that is how this story ends up going, its gotta be seen as bad writing, im sorry, especially the pregnancy aspect, its always such a cop out, like, "oops, she wanted a divorce but now shes trapped in a toxic relationship!" no, im tired of this kind of story. I think we have had enough in this show to actually call the relationship of Tom and Greg canon already, but one of the main reason i want it on screen is for representation. There are plenty of lgbtq romances with teens or young people, and with shows like The Last of Us and Severance, we get representation for older gay couples, and that's beautiful, and i love it, but its not enough, how many mainstream shows or movies have you seen where a middle aged man and younger man fall in love, and its not abusive, its healthy, and its actual love? and how many of those romances are between a man that is bisexual even? its not that common at all, so the idea of a canon romance between two characters that millions of people have grown to know and love, one being a closeted younger man, and the other, an older bisexual man, that just feels really special to me, and i'd be sad if it didn't happen. Of course my desires for Tom and Greg's relationship to become realized are not entirely selfless, i also love the characters and think they both can be happiest with each other at this point in their lives, and since we wont ever see these characters again, i'd like to know they are going to be okay by the time those credits roll for the last time.

[superjumpintomyheart]

Shiver x Frye fic idea: Shiver trying to maintain their "cool" composure and attitude in the face of Frye's flirting, but eventually cracking and saying something sappy. Much to Shiver's own chagrin and Frye's delight.

ABSOLUTELY!!!! I love this thought so much you have no idea, heres a lil somethin with them! [Shiver uses they/them pronouns here!]

~

Shiver didn't know what had gotten into Frye lately, she had been more clingy than usual and whenever the two of them were around each other it was like she was trying to make Shiver embarrassed. They had talked about their feelings for each other a while back and began dating recently, so perhaps the octoling just didn't know how romance was supposed to work compared to friendship. Maybe the over-the-top flirting was a normal phase for every blossoming love story, or perhaps an inkling custom they weren't familiar with.

The pair were lounging in the studio between newscasts while Big Man was out running a few errands for them, Frye leaning up against her partner with her head on their shoulder. Shiver had tilted their phone at an angle so both of them could watch a video of the Squid Sisters reunion concert, they had wanted to go but weren't able to make it due to preparations for the upcoming splatfest.

They sighed longingly, "I wish I could have gone, imagine hearing Calamari Inkantation live... I can only dream of it."

"Hey, don't be down about it Shiv, I'll take ya to the next one for sure! It'd be super romantic, a beautiful person like you with me on a gorgeous night in Inkopolis, now that's something to dream about." Frye nudged her head against their shoulder, a smirk dawning her face.

A crimson blush snuck up their pale skin, easily noticeable on their cheeks as if it was heavily applied makeup. Beautiful, she had said. Shiver wasn't used to compliments from anyone, nonetheless ones like that. They tried to keep their composure, replying, "Well. Yes, that is something that is nice to think about. When would they have another concert though?"

As far as they were aware, the Squid Sisters only held the few concerts for a weekend and weren't planning anymore. Unless they dropped a new album together and planned to go on tour with the new music, it didn't seem likely another one would happen very soon.

"I don't know, but I'm sayin that when they do, I'm gonna be the one to take you out for it. Even if it's in like, a whole year from now, I'll still be the luckiest girl around if I've got you. And that'll help us get to a concert for sure."

"Lucky? Do you need luck to attend a concert?" Shiver asked literally, desperately trying not to let their face turn any more red from Frye's flirting and sweet words.

The inkling sat up and turned to be face to face with her partner, "Yeah at least a little! You need to be lucky so your concert date lines up with your work schedule, the person you go with has to be free, if you're going with the most stunning octoling on the planet they have to say yes first... plenty of things, dear."

It was so overwhelmingly kind, every word of praise Frye said broke down the walls Shiver had built around their heart. It chipped away at the mask they wore to everyone else, not allowing themself to be vulnerable or trust others easily. Somehow, Frye knew how to make them open up, she knew exactly what to say and do to show them it was okay to be vulnerable.

"If you're going out with the most stunning octoling, as you put it... then I must be with the kindest, most beautiful inkling," Shiver glanced away, eyes glued to the floor as they spoke softly. Much to their surprise, Frye squealed in a high pitch tone of excitement, which startled them into looking back at their girlfriend.

"Shiver that was sooo sweet! I knew you could be sappy like that!" She embraced the other person in a hug, holding them close to her and kissing the side of their face. "You should say stuff like that more often, I really like it."

Shiver didn't quite know how to respond, but smiled at the affection they received. Talking about their feelings wasn't exactly their forte, but for Frye... it could be. "If it makes you happy, then I'll try."

The two spent a good amount of time sitting there cuddling, sharing butterfly kisses and soft smiles before their friend returned. Big Man hadn't said anything when he came back into the studio, just smiled at his best friends and continued on with his task to let them have their moment together.

[transmutationisms]

hello camille! sending this to you because ik you’ll be able to articulate it much better than me but i’ve been thinking a lot about roman’s potential restrictive behaviour when it comes to food and how his eating behaviours are rooted more-so in self-harm than self-preservation (which is how i think caroline views her restrictive eating habits, even if that’s not really the case). I view Roman as a character that is affected by rot, although not as concerned with moral rot like kendall, but rather physical rot. Initially I thought that Roman’s unhealthy obsession with his appearance means that he’s scared of rotting, but actually I think he wants to rot away, hence the restrictive eating habits (which of course isn’t canon and not everyone has that in their belief system, which is fair enough- it’s just a potential aspect of roman’s character that i find interesting) and his restriction linking to the urge to self-destruct. I think a lot of a lyric from 4st7lb by Manic Street Preachers in regard to roman: I want to be so skinny that I rot from view. Not necessarily the skinny part, I don’t think that’s at the crux of roman’s ed, but rather the wanting the rot away until you can no longer be perceived. He is a character that constantly wants to control people’s perceptions of him (giving himself a reputation of a sex pest and a deviant when he can’t actually fuck, ordering ‘steak and mashed potatoes’ then ‘picking at it and checking his waistline’ etc) and he figures that he’d rather rot away, so to speak, so he’s unable to be perceived in ways he doesn’t want to be perceived. Perhaps if he can make himself rotten, people won’t try to get too close, and expect something from him that he can’t live up to. Idk if i even explained myself very well but hopefully you get the picture

no this is RIGHT on the money imo. i read roman as being very tormented by the fact of existing and having other people look at him. i think all of the roys do weird shit with food, but the particular way in which roman relates to his body (primarily as an object for other people to look at) ties into his not-eating. he'd get rid of his body entirely if he could.

it's like, if i have to have a body, then i will be thin and wear too-tight clothes and put on airs like a suave businessguy. but i'll also get up from the table and pour myself a drink when shiv talks about the lobster-at-gstaad incident, and i'll snack on fruit but pick at my meals, and no one notices these things because i'm not the #1 brother sitting at the big boy table when dad's having his business dinners anyway.

tbh Since You Brought It Up. i do actually see this as being deeply related to roman's deification of logan (which is in turn related to roman having been raised catholic, or at least under the auspices of the catholic church). i read roman's not-eating as having a lot in common with the fasting behaviour of saints and devotees in the medieval and early modern periods. what these people wanted was purification, transcendence, and ultimately death as the ultimate act of de-creation and self-negation.

a lot of cases of fasting girls will also specifically note that they ate fruit (they had all kinds of reasons why fruit didn't count as a real food, it's fascinating) and i know this sounds insane but like. i do see roman's constant snacking on fruit as being part of this lmao. i don't think he sees fruit as sustenance, i think all of his eating and not-eating and the way he talks about eating (you eat me, i eat you) ties into his overall project to purify himself and to ultimately transcend his body. and in his mind he's positioned logan as god, as being the only one with the grace to forgive roman his bodily defilement (ironic since logan Does Eat, although still in a fucked-up way imo).

this also plays into the ways that roman is often feminised. although there were plenty of cases of male fasting saints, by the early modern period there was a robust genre of literature on "fasting girls" as a specific phenomenon. physicians usually read these cases as being about the girls' willful rejection of Adult Womanhood. so, to be a fasting girl meant being a Girl, specifically: immature, forever bound to a pre-sexual (and yet often sexualised) body.

and then, speaking of gender and womanhood, this circles back nicely to caroline. because, like you said, i do think she sees her own not-eating as being in service of her health and self-preservation. imo there's a pretty direct line from caroline's not-eating to roman's not-eating in the sense that both of them imbue food and eating with mystical transcendent properties, and try to gain immortality and grace through these acts. but they articulate these goals in very different ways.

caroline's not trying to "feed on light," or to gain forgiveness and grace from logan, whereas roman is (and again, roman's catholicism plays in here). and caroline's also acting out a very different gender narrative as an older aristocratic woman, versus roman who's fashioning himself as this little fasting girl. for roman, not-eating is a reclamation of purity and innocence: things he can only attain via the destruction of his body. whereas for caroline, not-eating is about clinging onto her body as the thing tethering her to existence. (and i do think she probably has some body trauma/history/etc.)

anyway yeah this is what makes me so ill about roman and food and his body and his reflection in the mirror. truly i don't think he's focussed on his body Per Se in the way that a lot of people think he is. i think it's alllll about the self-destruction, and the use of not-eating as a ticket to gain entry into heaven (waystar). logan wants immortality through his heir, and roman wants immortality through receiving logan's love and grace. and in roman's mind, his body is just the thing he has to sacrifice in order to earn this love and grace.

[palmtreepalmtree]

I really like Alissa Wilkinson's cultural commentary, especially her insight where religious themes are involved (I was particularly moved by her interview with the playwright Samuel D. Hunter of The Whale). And while this column is basically an argument for why I'm not a professional critic (because she writes so much more cogently and insightfully, and also because yes, I love the word 'fuck' and I'm willing to punch grandmas), this seems a little bit like an elaborate way of saying we use the word "miracle" wrong in Christmas movies. Which seems a little obvious from a culture that is constantly using the word 'literally' when we mean 'figuratively.'

I know there wants to be a deeper point here that shivs Candace Cameron Bure and her bullshit attempts to put the Christ back in Christmas, but this still feels like firing a little wide or skipping across the surface rather than slamming into the target. We all know that when the town's Santa winks at the camera we're about to get some Christmas magic/miracle in the least divine possible way. I suppose that's worth pointing out, "Hey, not really a miracle," but then what?

The whole point of these movies is the comfort of recognizable tropes - the love and warmth of family and/or friends, and the belief that everything will work out right in the end. There is room in these movies for lovable humbugs, but ultimately complexity is just not the point. You can certainly dislike or critique that for all the valid reasons everyone has pointed out over the years that these movies are actively harmful (acknowledged in Alissa's column too), but looking for a real actual divine miracle in this genre (virgin birth? terrifying!) or even just an acknowledgment that plenty of people are unhappy and struggling this time of year (totally real and understandable), just seems a little... odd. That's simply not the point. You're describing another genre of movie altogether.

The problem with Candace Cameron Bure is not that her religiosity is fake because her Christmas rom-coms don't include real divine miracles. The problem is that she thinks that secular Christmas, no matter how moral or socially positive, is harmful because it removes Christ from Christmas. The problem is that she thinks evangelical Christians are the only ones who can truly capture the spirit of Christmas.

Let me conclude with a quick newsflash from a Jewish person: Christ is inherently in Christmas. So if y'all Christians want to fight about who makes the more Christmassy Christmas movies, then go off I guess. It's all fucking Christian to me.

[pnjrnk]

hey guys so i have been writing down all the gregstophe ideas ive had over the past few months and im gonna share some here because i really want someone to write them because i am not a good enough writer to pull them off lmao

christophe and gregory hate each other and have an ongoing feud. christophes mom ends up sending christophe to a psych ward because shes tried everything but her child is still misotheistic and rabid. gregory wonders where his best enemy went. word gets out somehow and now gregory feels like a huge douche. he interrogates The Worst Mom to find out what hospital christophe is in, then goes there to visit him. cue a VERY awkward conversation. but gregory is determined to make things right so he visits weekly, which christophe acts like he hates but actually appreciates because gregory is his only visitor!

christophe has a fear of dogs. gregory forces him to come with him to their local dog park for some exposure therapy. “maybe i would feel safer if you didnt make me leave all my weapons at home!” “christophe i am not letting you bring a shiv to the dog park”

“youre 20some years old and youve never kissed anyone??” aka tophe is too busy being a badass mercenary to get laid aka “sorry i dont waste my time with romance bullshit monsieur sex master”

gregory, for some reason, takes christophe to a fancy function at a venue with a garden. gregory knows to keep an eye on christophe but still loses him pretty quickly. yknow, too busy being british and polite or w/e. goes searching and finds him in the garden crouched next to a flower bush. “what on earth are you doing?” gregory asks him. “this bush is in the wrong type of soil,” christophe replies, then proceeds to explain in depth why he knows that and what the gardener could do to improve the health of the plant. gregory just. stands there, caught off guard and very confused

gregorys parents are holding him to higher and higher expectations. he acts like he can handle it but christophe is surprisingly perceptive and can tell that its really fucking with him. he confronts gregory about this, but is so bad at comforting people that he ends up just yelling at him lmao. “you fucking idiot of course you cant live up to what your parents want! theyre elitist assholes who only care about themselves and their stupid fucking social status! youre so focused on pleasing them that you cant see how amazing you actually are! youre not a failure, youre a dumbass!!”

christophe has been in love with gregory for a long time. he finally gets fed up with keeping it a secret so he tells him, 100% expecting to be rejected. like, hes ready to get this off his chest and move on with their friendship. his feelings are more of a nuisance than anything, because he has fully accepted that gregory would never want to date someone like him. but then gregory actually reciprocates, and christophe does whatever the human equivalent of the windows blue screen is

i have plenty more but honestly im pretty sure no one wants to hear these lol. i am forcing them upon you. i am shouting into a void, hoping and pleading that at least one person finds these entertaining. ok bye love u 🤗🤗

[johnny-staccato]

Okay so my mom just finished watching Succession and the first thing she brings up to me is the conversation that Shiv has with her mother (this one, yk the one where she says “I probably should never have had children... I should have had dogs”, etc...).

The conversation quickly becomes way too obvious that she’s relating herself to Shiv’s mother and also relating Shiv to me; it also becomes clear that she’s trying to make excuses for the way she treated me as a kid (and still does to this day but obviously I don’t let it get to me nearly as much now that I’m older.. or at least I like to think that). Not gonna lie, when I first watched that scene I thought ‘wow, Shiv’s mom is mentally abusive like mine’. I never thought my mom would be insane enough (lmao) to actually relate to the person that I thought was so clearly delusional and as manipulative as she claims her daughter to be.

This line from Shiv’s mom: “you were thirteen and you knew how to twist the knife, you knew then and you know now” is also my mom’s philosophy and excuse for treating me horribly as a kid. Anyways, as a response to my mom saying that “kids can be manipulative and Shiv was obviously mature for her age” (when she said this she gave me a look that clearly said ‘this is how you were’), I take Shiv’s side (AKA my side lmao) by saying that there’s no excuse for a parent to treat their child like that. I also reiterate that Shiv was just a kid, it doesn’t matter how mature she was, saying your kid was “manipulative” when they were younger is not a valid reason to be a shitty parent and to treat them as if they’re cold and unloving, it’s a weak excuse used to justify your own bad parenting. As a kid I remember saying things back to my mom after she’d say something hurtful to me or when she’d try to get me to lie for her, but that was just me defending myself in the situations I was put in. We all know that there were plenty of factors that lead to Shiv maturing so quickly as well, she’s a victim. Does that justify Shiv’s manipulative and sometimes horrible behavior as an adult?? No, but she’s clearly a victim of mental abuse from both of her parents and it has greatly impacted the way she deals with life and the people around her. Anyways, I guess I’m more Shiv-coded than I previously thought. <3

[amintyworld]

I Failed You - Dream SMP Drabble

A/N: Concept just hit me last night I was itching to write - what if Ranboo’s mental state worsens to the point that he becomes almost fully enderman? I was thinking about how it could happen, how others would react. Also, I think Ranboo deserves his own drabble, he’s a really interesting character.

TW: Body Transfromation, Amnesia, panic attack, character death mention. (As always, tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

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

Loud sounds - metal against metal filled the prison as the iron door shut loudly, leaving the two inside the walls with no hope of escape. Ranboo clutched his book tightly as he slid down to the ground, his back against the wall as he sighed in defeat. He didn’t know what he was thinking - why did he have to get in the middle of it, he could have warned the others, they could have come to help, why did he have to play some kind of hero?

As punishment for going after Dream, he called in the favor from Technoblade to round up the two teenagers to be put in prison. Tubbo was off gathering resources, oblivious, and Ranboo knew they’d be going for Tommy first. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to Phil, he just... he just ran to the dirt shack to warn Tommy.

He didn’t know why, he just... he couldn’t have Tommy be taken again, not after what happened last time, not after what Dream did to him before.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You weren’t thinking ahead and now no one’s going to know where you are. They’re not going to care about where you are, especially not Phil after you left him like that. You were the only one who knew anything about this.

It’s not like you had much of a choice, i mean... it’s Technoblade, he destroyed L’manburg, Tommy wouldn’t stand a chance against him alone.

You left Tubbo alone.

I left Tubbo alone. 

I’m a horrible friend, he trusted me and I left him all alone. Technoblade was so mad at me... I’ve never seen him that mad before... would Tubbo even... Technoblade might take it out on him. Technoblade might kill him and it’s all your fault.

It’s all my fault, he’s going to die and it’s all my fault-

“Ranboo?”

Ranboo snapped out of his thoughts, realizing how hard he gripped the book, how scratched the leather became... it was almost night now. How long had it been? Tommy looked over at him from the bed in the corner, knees up to his chest and his hair messed up more than normal, his hands running through it in a nervous habit. Tommy looked worried, concerned. “I... huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“Uhm, yeah. Yeah, why’d you ask?”

“You were mumbling, I was trying to calm you down but then you started making... really weird noises, I didn’t know if you were hurt, or..?”

“No. No, I’m fine.” 

Liar.

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

It had been three days since they both got put into the prison. Three days of Tommy pacing up and down the cell, trying out plan after plan of trying to escape. Tommy tried ramming the cell door with his body, the bed, chest, everything. He tried breaking one of the iron bars to reach the lever and let them out. He tried making some kind of prison shiv and slowly chipping away at the wall. 

Ranboo sat, alone with nothing but him and his thoughts. The only thing on his mind was the simple fact that Tubbo wasn’t here. He knew their plan, he heard what they were trying to do - they wanted to imprison both Tommy and Tubbo.

If Tubbo wasn’t here, then... then he was right. Tubbo was dead.

He failed Tubbo. He failed Tommy. He didn’t do enough, he wasn’t enough, He hurt everyone. He didn’t help Tommy, he couldn’t save Tubbo. He left Phil without saying goodbye, he didn’t even thank him for letting him stay-

You used him. You used everyone.

I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to help people, I wanted to save people, I wanted to help my friends.

Are they even your friends anymore? You ruined them, you ruined everything. Tommy would have gotten away if you didn’t distract him. Tubbo would have lived if you didn’t betray the only people who showed you kindness.

I didn’t, I... I didn’t want to... I just wanted to help-

“Ranboo...?”

Yeah, sure. You helped plenty when you used Phil and Techno, and you helped Dream get Tommy and Tubbo. You’re the only problem. You’re the real problem on this whole server, not Dream, everyone would’ve been so much better without you trying to ‘help’!

“Ranboo, you’re scaring me, stop it.”

You pretend you’re everyone’s friend, but you’re nothing but a liar. You’re a liar.

I-

I... I didn’t mean...

“Ranboo, talk to me, please. Just talk to me.”

You failed.

......

I failed.

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

Tommy gripped his friend’s arm as he shook him slightly. “Ranboo, please. I need to... Ranboo-” Ranboo’s body shook as that same glitched voice from before ran through the cell, increasing Tommy’s worry. His half-enderman friend’s eyes grew wide as he began to mumble softly to himself. “Ranboo, you need to calm down, man-”

IfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailed-

His friend’s grip tensed on the book in his hands, and suddenly... it stopped. Silence.

Slowly, a spiderweb of pitch black cracks spiraled across the white half of his face, spiraling toward his red eye, and to Tommy’s dismay it briefly flashed purple. He stepped back slightly in surprise as Ranboo stood, his book tossed aside and forgotten. HIs gaze was transfixed on Tommy, almost in curiosity of him. “Ranboo..?”

Ranboo blinked, the cracks across his face growing darker, bolder. He tilted his head as he looked at the teen, stepping closer and making Tommy back up, eventually against a corner across the room. A loud glitched noise erupted from him, and suddenly... he was gone.

“What...?”

He heard a loud noise and looked out fo the bars - how did he teleport?! 

Wait - it doesn’t matter. Now they can get out!

“Ranboo, just flick the lever- flick it down and we can get out, okay?” Ranboo just looked at Tommy confused, let out another glitchy screech, and suddenly he was back inside next to Tommy, who was very startled at the teleportation. Tommy groaned in frustration. “No, you were supposed to let us out!”

Ranboo looked at the teen, searching his face for a moment before letting out a happy glitchlike chirp and petting Tommy’s fluffy hair, which Tommy quickly pulled away from to his friend’s dismay.

“Ranboo, what’s gotten into you?!”

Ranboo just looked at Tommy confused, before smiling again to reach and pet his hair fondly, leading Tommy to swat his hand away again.

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

Two weeks. Tommy had been in Pandora’s Vault for two weeks now. After a week of escape attempts, he eventually had to give up. It was twisted, really - how escape was so close but so far. He wondered about what was going on out there - if Tubbo was okay, if Ghostbur was Wilbur again. He was cut off from the outside world with no possible way of knowing whether his friends were okay, if they were even alive.

Since Ranboo seemed uninterested in it, Tommy slowly began to read and eventually continue Ranboo’s book. He knew his friend had changed but Tommy didn’t know into exactly what. Whatever he turned into, it seemed safe to assume he remembered him, or at least liked him. He promised himself that if he ever got out of this, he’d get Ranboo help.

It seemed his friend was getting worse by the day, his skin slowly evening out into a dark black and his red eye ever so slowly turning purple. He realized quickly that Ranboo’s state was like a baby chick, almost. Kind of in many ways, like Ghostbur. He’d always hang around Tommy and gave small happy enderman chirps when Tommy would allow him to cuddle with him on particularly cold nights in the cell. it didn’t seem like he understood English or any other spoken word at all, despite Tommy’s best efforts to get him to understand. 

The weirdest thing, however, was his obsession with fluffy and soft things. He liked playing with Tommy’s hair, for one, and playing with a small feather that leaked out of the bed pillow, even running his hands along the soft blanket made him happy. It was strange to Tommy how simple it was to just make his friend smile when he’d been struggling with that himself for way too long.

As for why or how the transformation occured, all Tommy really had to go on were Ranboo’s notes, the book, and within the pages he could sense how distressed Ranboo was, how much he hid it so well from so many people. How he put others first so much, how loyal he was to not just him, but to everyone. Even now, his mind went over and over the last thing he wrote:

‘I failed everyone.’

Looking back, all Tommy could think was one single thing: ‘No, you didn’t fail me, I failed you.’

He should have tried to understand - he should have been there. He should have been more accepting, more open to that he had someone to talk to, someone that he felt like was always on his side. He just wanted to do the right thing and be accepted by everyone, but instead everyone rejected him.

If anyone would know how it felt like to have the entire world against them, it would be him - and he wasn’t there for Ranboo when he was there for him, visited him during exile and helped him.

As he was snapped awake late at night watching the large vault door open in front of him through the iron bars, the door he didn’t believe would open ever again, he looked over to Ranboo as he moved to keep him close. He’d protect him. He wouldn’t fail him again. 

Never again.

[your-lips-are-very-red]

St. Vincent x Emma Madden Interview

This is the text from the St. Vincent interview that Emma Madden was asked to not use. Since Miss Madden has decided to take it down, I wanted it to be available somewhere online - in case she manages to get all the cached versions taken down, too. 

SOURCE: https://archive.is/wFkLN

About a fortnight ago I was commissioned to interview St. Vincent, an artist I have been inspired by, impressed by, turned on by, compelled by, curious of, in awe of, occasionally suspicious of—for the better half of a decade. I try not to think about other journalists too much, but St. Vincent has developed a reputation for intimidating us. For her last press cycle, she made her interviewers crawl into a pink box; she would play a pre-recorded message on a tape recorder if a question bored or irked her. I found that quite funny—irresistibly imperious—but I considered it an act of degradation rather than an interesting switch of power. I love famous people but I also find them quite silly, like a Schnauzer wearing a bowtie.

  I didn’t know why, but for around two hours after our call ended, I was reeling with nervous energy. I was vocalising it and trying to get to the other side of it, the way I sing songs when I’m walking through a haunted house. I woke up the next morning with a voice message from the editor who assigned this piece. I am fond of this person and I will not name them. MBC, the team in charge of St. Vincent’s publicity (which is helmed by Barbara Charone, who also works for Madonna, and is considered one of the more powerful and intimidating publicists in the industry) had been on the phone to this editor, demanding the piece be pulled. My editor’s words: “They said she’s terrified of this interview coming out.” The publication didn’t have a leg to stand on.

"Terrified"? That word didn't seem to square. I thought I had done a not-so-good job the night before. I ended the call thinking I hadn’t asked the right questions. St. Vincent and I didn’t feel like a good match in conversation (or at least not in this conversational setup set-up, for which I was given thirty minutes, and continual reminders from the person on St. Vincent’s team, who remained on the call with us, that we’d need to wrap up well in time for St. Vincent’s Instagram Live session with Paul McCartney, which directly followed our interview.) St. Vincent tended to interpret my questions in bad faith. I assumed she believed me to be a Bad Reader; presumptuous, judgemental, simple, anti-curious—all qualities that her latest album ‘Daddy’s Home’, which I’ve interpreted as a counter to the folly, inadequacy and meretriciousness of moral purity—counters. Anyway, she read me wrong. I love Lana Del Rey.

  I got a call from MBC later that morning by a man who sounded quite nervous. I told him I was confused, I asked him what the matter seemed to be. He wasn't totally sure, he said, "she found the interview aggressive." Aggressive? I complimented her and cowed to her and laughed at her jokes. "Well, the message has been passed down a line of many messengers, she might not have actually said that." The man on the phone said that this—one of his artists demanding an interview to be pulled—had never happened to him before. It hadn't happened to me either. I felt annoyed by how easy it was for St. Vincent to kill something I had researched and expected money for. But the interview started to seem valuable to me after I was told that she didn't want it out in the world. "Can we draw a line under this and just kill the piece here?" said the man on the phone.

Below is the full transcript of my interview with St. Vincent (save for a short and-forth about Tool which didn’t make sense when turned into text). My questions are in bold, her responses are in italics.

**for the sake of this post, Madden’s questions are bold and Annie’s answers are not** Hi, how are you? Good how’s it going?

Not too bad. What’s your mood for today? My mood for today, well it’s good, I’m getting on an Instagram Live chat with Paul McCartney in a couple minutes so my mood is a little bit nervous but good.

I’m excited to talk about this album, I think it has a sick sense of humor that I appreciate a lot. I’ve had a really fun time listening to it.

Oh I’m glad, thank you.

I’m sensing there’s kind of a 70s trend at the moment in terms of fashion and the ways some other bands are presenting themselves. Is that something you were anticipating, is that something you feel you belong to, or was it just kind of accidental?

Accidental.

Do you feel bummed about that? No I don’t, I always just kind of do my own thing.

Do you think there’s a reason why people might be inspired by the 70s today? Do you see an analog with our world today and with the 70s? I guess this album is based in 1973, right?

Between ‘71 and ‘76, so post flower children idealism, post the Summer of Love hangover, but pre escapism of gay disco and pre nihilism of punk. Life was bad but music was good, kind of vibe.

Kind of when the trash aesthetic was taking hold, especially by Andy Warhol. Does trash inspire you? Um like literal rubbish?

No like the trash aesthetic, I guess in the PR you call it sleazy, grimy. Yeah but the difference with sleazy is that sleazy tries to present as glamorous but there’s something off, trash is just trash. I don’t know if trash pretends to be anything other.

  Can you have glamour without sleaze? Sure, absolutely. I mean, like the 20s Greta Garbo way, I would say Golden Era Hollywood, I mean behind the scenes it was probably a nightmare but you look at it and it is very genuinely shiny and beautiful.

I love the sitar on this album especially on ‘Down’, the riff is so sick. How did you get to the sitar? Well it’s not a sitar per se, it’s a choral electric sitar guitar and so it was I think George Harrison made them kind of popular in the ‘60s, I think the one I have is from ’67 and it plays like a guitar but it has a resonating body on it so it sounds sitar-esque. It was made very famous in the Steely Dan Do it Again solo.

  I guess the main PR bulletin point of this album is about your dad coming out of jail. Why did you want that to be the main way that people might read this album? More like an entry point, the title Daddy’s Home to me I mean one, it is literal but also it’s funny and cringy and pervy and also I think more than anything kind of refers to my own transformation into Daddy as it were. Yeah it’s probably not anything I would’ve really thrown out there except that it was made public without my consent but I didn’t really get to tell that side of the story and I don’t bring it up for sympathy. It simply is my story, it’s not intended to be indicative of necessarily anything, it’s just my story and I was gonna tell it with humor and compassion, all of that.

Did you anticipate a lack of sympathy for your dad’s crimes and the subject matter of this album and did that factor into how you shaped this record? That’s the tail wagging the dog my dear. No, no. A lack of sympathy, well, which crime would be the most sympathetic? I didn’t do anything, I’m simply writing about something that I think on some level everyone who’s ever had a parent can understand in the sense of you’re often going “How much of you am I?” and we kind of do identity projection through all these things so no, it’s again, it’s not really there for anything other than my own anecdotal story.

At what point did you transform into this daddy character? For how much of your adult life have you been the daddy? Oh I would just say over the past few years, I’ve just been quite a bit more leaned back and shoulder shrug and say let’s just sit down in the old beat up leather armchair and have a tequila and chat it out you know. Life is complicated, human beings are complicated and I wanted to just write stories about flawed people. There’s a whole lot of judgement going around and not a whole lot of understanding. And judgement is anti-curious. There are some people, perhaps the more sanctimonious and morally pure, who might not be interested in an artist’s reflection on their father’s white collar crimes. Do you have much sympathy for those kinds of people? I mean I think I can get sympathy for all people. If that is the reason why they decide not to spend 46 minutes with my work then I’m sure there’s plenty of other work out there for them that they can enjoy that is morally pure. They should find pure work from pure people and enjoy it.

I guess last year’s riots brought abolition towards the mainstream, during the time you were making this record, which is partially about your father’s time in prison. How did that square with your thoughts on prison and the US carceral system? Well I have plenty of thoughts on it, I’m not totally sure how it’s relevant to this.

Well I was wondering if you have a standpoint on it or if you’d rather just be ambiguous? I have so many thoughts and opinions, I don’t presume that my thoughts and opinions are relevant on every subject though. I don’t have that much hubris.

I understand. I was wondering about the Candy Darling inspiration, how does she come into the fold? Oh I just, Candy Darling to me is such a beautiful heroine in that she came from Queens and went not geographically far but worlds away to Manhattan and became her true self and in that particular kind of combination of glamour and toughness, where you feel like her name should be on the marquee and yet she could stick you with a shiv if you said the wrong thing. And I just find her inspiring and really beautiful, and I didn’t know but I found out a friend of mine was close with her and was at her bedside when she died so I was just picturing Candy Darling’s ascent to heaven as taking the final uptown train.

Wow. Did you feel like you were embodying her on this album or presenting as her? No not as such, but definitely taking inspiration from some of her energy for sure. I do hear a bit of her voice on the title track, I was wondering if you were kind of modeling your voice after her? On Daddy’s Home? Oh, no.

I love the sultriness of that song, even though it’s just about signing autographs in prison. I found it really funny. Yeah it’s definitely again, I’m writing about my own story with humor and compassion and self-effacement, all that.

Do you see this album as a movement, does it have a narrative? Yeah. It’s a full story, it’s a full collection of short stories. It has a shape and everything.

That’s just how I listened to this album, as a series of short stories. I was wondering how they interlink in your mind? I guess you have the person on Broadway, you have your dad, you have the person who’s maybe thinking of having a baby or not having a baby. I just could write stories of flawed people doing their best to get by because I’ve been most of the people on this album at one point of my life or another. And again I could write about them without condemnation and judgement just, here we are.

Are you a nostalgic person? No not generally.

Not even during the creation of this album? I’m thinking of the humming tracks, your mum cooking in the kitchen. Not exactly, I think that this particular kind of music with its sophistication and some of the jazz language in the harmony and its sense of time, it was a kind of music that I’d loved for so long but never really dipped into myself, and I think we kind of learn things a lot of times when we’re ready to, and I think I was kind of ready to learn some of the lessons that this kind of music had to teach me.

Do you think about shame a lot? Um, I think that shame is the reason why most people do the violence that they do. I think violence is an expression of impotence.

What was it about the post-idealist era in particular that you were drawn to, why not go through the flower power utopia sort of 60s route? I think that there’s an intellectual orthodoxy that is involved in utopian thinking and a lot of times it doesn’t allow for either a complex set of incentives or it doesn’t allow for the totality of human nature in its equation, and then it fails and because the structure of any kind of power is really complicated so I think in general the desire… and I understand that we’re living in, in some ways, I think just with the internet part of it, in some ways unprecedented times. And I understand people’s desire for certainty in times economic strife, cultural upheaval, all this stuff. I completely understand the desire for certainty. But I don’t think it’s as simple as demanding moral purity and punishing anyone who doesn’t fix the orthodox criteria. I understand the desire but I’m not sure it’s gonna get to where I think we want to be, which is just general more equality, whether it’s wealth equality, wealth disparity, all that kind of stuff I just think the matrices of power are really complicated.

You were saying earlier about Daddy and how you were thinking about your dad and the overlap between you two and how we all possibly become our parents. I was wondering how you consolidate the influences of your parents? I don’t know anything about them obviously but I know that your mum was a social worker, your dad was an entrepreneur, and those seem like two totally opposing worlds. Yes, my mother is a social worker and she instilled in all of us I think the idea that the work we do should be meaningful and she’s definitely really humanistic and that kind of thinking I think, that had an impression on me. My dad wasn’t an entrepreneur, my dad was a stock broker I think? But I grew up with my mom and my stepdad and my stepdad was a very different kind of guy, just was an army brat and grew up really poor, and was just coming from a different mindset and they’re just very different kinds of people. Not a judgement thing, just very different. Yeah my mom definitely errs on the very humble side. And yeah, my dad is a complicated, charismatic person who’s also very intelligent, and who went down a path that was full of consequence. Yeah they’re really, really different people so it’s funny to kind of square who was who.

What does your dad think of this album? Oh he loves it!

Yay, that’s good to know. Did you ever rebel against your dad’s lifestyle growing up as a teenager? I didn’t grow up with him, and he was in Tulsa Oklahoma. I don’t know what lifestyle you’re necessarily presuming but..

No I’m not presuming, just wanted a little background on your relationship with him I guess. So he wasn’t in your life that much where you were younger? I would go and we would spend summers there and Christmas, but I grew up in Dallas for the most part with my mom and my stepdad.

Was this album in any way an opportunity to get closer to your dad? Not in any way consciously, no.

  But are you finding with age and with time you’re getting closer to him? Well him being out of prison helps in terms of just proximity. Yeah, here’s what I’m finding. I’m finding that we live by the stories that we tell ourselves and that sometimes we realize that the story we’ve been telling ourselves for a long time was either wrong or lacked a certain amount of information, and then we have the choice of whether to reject the new information because it’s too painful to rethink the story that we’ve been telling ourselves, or assimilate the new information and go, wow life is complicated, this is an interesting wrinkle. I choose to do the latter.

  Yeah, it’s very easy to bullshit yourself, right? Yeah, it's true in all kind of ways you know?

This story, the story of your dad, it almost seems redemptive. I mean I would say so, and that’s not in any way what I intended and you know, a lot of times when you’re making something, I mean you’re a writer you know, you have the compulsion to make it but you’re not necessarily sure where it’s coming from or why or any of those kind of questions, but I think there is the possibility of redemption, I do, I think there is the possibility of people to change and I think there is a possibility of things like forgiveness and growth. And if I didn’t think that there was a possibility for human beings to change, to grow, to take in new information and then continue to write their story, then I don’t know what we’d really be doing, you know? And that’s not really the world I want to live in, we’re a moving picture we’re not a still photograph.

Do you want to try and change the world, do you feel like you have that power, do you feel hopeful that there can be a better future? Sorry for the cheesy language. No, I mean I don’t think that many people would accuse me of being an optimist in a lot of ways, and I don’t think in terms of my “power to change the world” I mean I think all I can do is try to study the human condition and write about the human condition in some way that resonates and then maybe people will hear that and that will resonate with them and I think that ultimately the best case scenario for music is empathy because it’s like psychologically this is why we like to listen to stories or this is why we like to watch movies is so we can go down the empathy exercise and you can see yourself as that person in the film, see someone who isn’t like you in any way, shape or form from a just box ticking kind of way, but then realize oh, we’re very similar in some ways or what would I do if I was in that situation, we do all these things and we live by these stories and I think those stories well-told can encourage empathy and empathy can go out into the world and have a kind of transformative experience. I don’t really think about, I mean I think once I make a thing and then it’s out in the world and it’s for other people to assimilate or enjoy or not, whatever, however they take it, is absolutely fine by me. But it’s for them, it’s not my place in any way to say how people should or should not enjoy it or assimilate it.

Yeah the reason I brought up prison abolition earlier is because that might be how some people contextualize this album. I would say that that’s one lens. That to me would not be the main lens.

[I’m told to wrap it up]

Yeah let’s wrap up. So Tool cover album next? No, I wish.

Someday I’m hoping. I love Tool.

I feel your Paul McCartney nerves Yeah, I’m gonna go shower.

That’s always a good idea. Okay take care, thank you again for you time Thanks, bye.

[shutterbug-12]

Well. I have some Succession thoughts, which I’ve thought long and hard about. It’s made me ask some serious questions about my own writing and writing in general (what is “good” writing, and is that the same for writers, viewers, and actors). 

Performances: I will definitely say that the performances, from a technical perspective, were incredibly, unbelievably amazing. Pretty much all of them, really. The actors put on master classes with the material they were given. There was nuance and brilliance in every one of the performances. I can, at least, appreciate and enjoy that. 

Writing: The Succession writers are certainly fantastic at drawing out every ounce of maximum drama in the narrative. And general wisdom is that this skill is the goal of dramatic writing, or at least a highly valued goal. And if that was the goal, they accomplished it masterfully. Tom’s betrayal would not have been as significant had all the siblings not banded together first. The siblings banding together would not have been as significant if they had not been in such conflict throughout the whole season. Roman’s decision, in particular, was incredibly dramatic, after he spent so much time finding some favor with Logan, only to throw it away and experience even more loss of status and favor than he bargained for. The writers crafted events and decisions to produce as much conflict and drama as possible. No arguing with that.

Opinion: However, this show has made me go further to ask myself: is maximum drama always the most satisfying end for a viewer/reader? For me, as a viewer, it most certainly isn’t. I very important aspect of any show and its characters is having a character (even if it’s just one) to root for, sympathize with, and/or believe in. To be invested in. I am absolutely willing to sacrifice some dramatic potential for crafting a character that I can get behind. And I think that is completely okay and can result in fantastic writing. Maximum drama =/= most enjoyable writing.

With this episode, I felt such intense disappointment when Tom made the decision to betray not just Shiv (even though she deserves all the suffering that comes her way) but everyone except Logan and himself. While it was clear from the get-go that Tom was an ambitious character, he seemed to have some semblance of a heart and so, for me, was one of the only sympathetic characters on the show. No longer. He and Greg both said to hell with their souls and are now one of the Roys, if not in name then in behavior. And for me that...wasn’t satisfying at all. From my perspective, I didn’t see Tom taking control and reaping rewards; I was watching his fall. And with it, I felt like I lost the only character I could root for even a little bit. 

I’ve read some views that said it was satisfying to see Tom “get his” after being beaten down so much this season. I say that it would have been satisfying if it hadn’t been the result of his own slimy, shitty behavior. If he had been elevated because of his willingness to be the fall-guy, for example; a reward for much better behavior than for hurtful behavior. I admit that this choice would have resulted in a little less drama, but (1) there still would have been plenty of drama to explore and (2) I would have found it immensely more satisfying. But there are now, sadly, no characters left that I feel invested in, none I can root for.  

Even Game of Thrones (a show Succession is so often compared to) gave me some characters to root for. Even Game of Thrones made me at least feel torn about character motives versus their actions and still made me feel shreds of sympathy for characters who sometimes made decisions that really hurt other people. Succession hasn’t...been able to do that. I don’t want characters to be angels--far from it. Give me complexity. Give me grey areas. Give me internal struggles. Give me hurtful decisions. I want flawed characters. I love flawed characters, because humans are flawed, have negative traits, and make selfish decisions. But they have other modes. I don’t find characters complex if they exhibit the same terrible traits 98% of the time. I’m actually a little mystified when viewers mention how sympathetic the characters are. I don’t really share that sympathy. I’m not invested in any of their journeys, in any of their successes or “wins.” And I seem to be in the minority here, having that opinion, but I find it really difficult to rustle up sympathy for characters that are constantly so ruthless and heartless, despite the technical skill in the dramatic writing. Sometimes skill just isn’t everything, at least not to every viewer. Not to me, anyway.

What the show has done is provided a technical study of sorts. It serves as an example of those pieces of writing advice: “Make every character tell every other character ‘no’ to ramp up tension and drama” and “juggle situations and character decisions until you can land on the combination that creates the most drama.” Succession does both of those things almost constantly. But it’s also taught me that I don’t find those narratives necessarily “good” or satisfying to watch/absorb. 

A Little Reflection: I think a lot of people have drunk the Succession Kool-Aid without really thinking critically, have joined in on the praise because its gotten so much of it. So I wanted to take some time to give it some thought. *shrug* Honestly, a lot of people--and people I really respect as writers, too--have reacted to this show in a way that has made me doubt myself as a writer, since I find myself disagreeing with so much of it. That we disagree so sharply about the show has made me really doubt my instincts. I know I should remember that art is subjective, in the end, and it’s okay if something is beloved and praised by some but disliked and criticized by others. 

So, if nothing else, I can thank Succession for giving me material to think about, and think about why I can both admire its technical expertise but strongly dislike the story/characters that result, and to think about why I dislike it, and about what I would do differently as a writer. The story and its characters are not ones I’d wish to emulate in my writing, and I need to remember that this doesn’t make me a bad writer. Just a different one. And there’s room for me. 

[cetaceans-pls]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Momentary Vampirism, Discussion of Blood bags, Family Bonding

The one where Bruce gets turned into a vampire, and Alfred has to call in the cavalry to deal with him.

Or, Dick comes through on a Friday night to help wrangle a reluctant bloodsucker.

Bro I just kind of went off on the concept of short-term vampirism and silverware, so here’s some Alfred-Dick-Bruce bonding over Bloody Marys and the different sorts of magic. Please enjoy this pick-me-up I wrote in one weird, frizzy sitting!

On tumblr below the cut:

“I came as soon as I could!” Dick says, rounding a corner so quickly he skids on the marble floor. The text had come through almost an hour ago, but he had been on the tail end of a Zoom interview (quitting policing this pandemic has been both terrifically easy and terribly hard) so between putting on pants and getting through Friday-night traffic, this is how things lie. “How is he?”

“‘He’ is fine, Dick, thank you for concern,” Bruce says tetchily from where he’s sat in the centre of the Yellow Room, surrounded six foot deep by Wayne Manor silverware haloing out around him. The UV lights they use at crime scenes are blaring harsh violet lines around the perimeter, and further out by the edges of the room, 6 of their portable sun lamps are turned off but trained right on him.

“This is all pointless,” Bruce carries on, sweeping his arm ‘round wide in a grand gesture, hissing when a brush against a silver-plated serving trolley has his hand sizzling. “Alfred really shouldn’t have called you.”

Dick ignores him completely to turn to Alfred, who has 3 sets of rosary beads hanging around his neck and irritation hanging from his eyes. “Uhm. I didn’t read further down the text than ‘B was attacked, please come over when you can’. I’m guessing I missed something?”

“You would be guessing right, Master Richard.” Alfred whips off a rosary and hangs it around Dick’s neck, and plops three teaspoons into a blazer pocket. “We aren’t sure quite who is to blame for this latest conundrum, but Batman was struck down by something while making rounds by the Cathedral. Master Bruce appears to have become a, a…” Alfred makes a disgusted noise, “a vampire of some sort, and had insisted I lock him up in a cell till a magic-user from the League could come by and take a look.”

Dick’s ashamed to admit that on hearing the word ‘vampire’ his fist had curled tightly around a teaspoon. After all, the bluntest edge can still manifest as a shiv, if you shove it in hard enough. He’s further shamed that Bruce clearly catches his micro-movement, and he just downright  hates the pleased look B has at knowing that Dick is open to bodily violence against him.

Part of the commute time to get back to the Manor almost always involves him psyching himself up to deal with Bruce, and today it looks like it’s going to pay off.

“Okay, got it.” Dick deeply doesn’t, but bluffing can be as important as actually understanding, so. “Why’s he being kept here instead?”

“No master of the Manor,” Alfred says the way a lesser man would say ‘No son of mine’,”will be tossed into some cell while in full possession of himself, thank you very much.”

“I was going to start an automated protocol to have myself manacled and emergency-signal Superman to come by and potentially put me down,” Bruce interrupts from the near distance, “but I was lured here and now I’m trapped.”

Dick catches himself halfway through a laugh; he can’t help it. If Bruce really, really wanted to, escaping this room with its myriad hazards and shining lights would be possible, especially if the situation was so urgent that he was willing to risk serious injury for it.

If Bruce really,  really  thought he was a danger, thought deep in his messy little heart that he really, really could hurt or injure Alfred while it was just the two of them here waiting for reinforcements, Dick knows he would have grabbed the silver steak knife closest by and, ah, taken matters into his own hands.

It’s as ingrained a response as Dick instinctively putting himself between Bruce and Alfred even while his brain was still catching up to sudden vampirism, shiv-spoon (shvoon?) at the ready.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, untenses muscles that had been ready for something awful since the text had come through. “You’re finally more bat than man, B, so don’t bother pretending to be upset.” Dick spies a tray laden with soup and bread on a little coffee table and heads over, giving up guarding Alfred because their much scarier guard dog has just sprouted fangs. “Oh, man, tomato soup and garlic bread? Alfred, you think of everything.”

“I do try,” Alfred primly says, clearly satisfied that Dick is on his side. “And if you could see your way clear to getting Master Bruce to also partake?”

“I said no, Alfred!” Bruce’s voice cracks like sudden thunder across the room, and it would have been mighty terrifying with its slight unearthly timber if the UV lights bouncing off forks didn’t make the room look a lot like a rave. Even with his eyes starting to turn red, even with the harsh edges of his shape blurring into mist, Bruce can’t quite manage to intimidate.

Everyone in the room knows that it’s just for show, now, so even paranormal powers manifesting doesn’t slow down Dick’s enjoyment of soup. “C’mon, Bruce. It’s just like a blood transfusion, except you take it through the mouth. We all routinely take worse things through the mouth.” Just last week Dick had crunched on something while eating a bowl of soggy cereal he’d accidentally left out overnight, and the certainty that it was some sort of super-armoured cockroach haunts him till this day. “Is it a supply and demand thing? You can have some of my blood bags, Alfred can take some out of me while I’m here.”

“What an excellent suggestion, Master Richard. My blood has unfortunately been turned down because Master Bruce has some spectacularly backwards thoughts regarding older folk, but surely there’ll be no complaint for yours.”

“There are plenty of complaints!” Bruce roars, now up on his feet and pacing in the little circle at the centre of all the silver. “I  will not eat anyone’s blood, I will stay in this space and meditate until Zatanna shows up and cures me. There is a magic user zapping vampirism into people in Gotham, and  none of this  will be solved by you sticking an arm under my teeth!”

His fangs are all the way out now, down almost to his chin, drawing scratches on stubbly skin. Under the native environment of the Bat, out in the night perched somewhere high, he’d be a terror.

Under the warm loving light of the Yellow Room, under the warm loving gaze of people who know him best, he’s more ‘angry hissing kitten’ than anything else.

Dick slurps the rest of the soup, and mops up the rest with the crusty bit of his garlic toast. “So, if it was me that got turned into a vampire, you’re telling me you…  wouldn’t  IV pump me full of blood fresh out your veins? If you lie to me I  will  throw a teaspoon at your head.”

There’s nothing but a mutinous quiet from Bruce, who’s huffing and misting and snarling and floating a good three inches off the ground. Good, at least he’s not feeling so pressed to the edge that he needed to lie.

“… I’ll take my own blood.”

Alfred sniffs, and it’s a dignified sound that somehow echoes in this fairly large room. “After your little altercation with Dr. Ivy last week, sir, your own supply is running unfortunately low. Two bags left, and I intend to keep them in case coming out of vampirism treats you poorly. No, sir, you’ll have a mug of Master Richard’s blood or so help me God I will tranquilise you and feed it to you myself.”

Alfred catches himself mid-rampage, and huffs a little while neatening the cuff of his shirt. “Those are your choices, sir. Pick one.”

Reading the room, it’s easy to tell that the hour it took Dick to get here from Bludhaven has likely been filled with that sort of tersely-worded bitching that Alfred and Bruce have down to the finest art. “A couple of pints of blood, Type D, coming right up. Bruce, I’d recommend just giving up right now. If Alfred works down the line, Jason’s coming in next, and that’s gonna end with a fist to the mouth.” Dick brushes crumbs off his hands, and jumps out of the crouch he’d been in on the arm of the sofa to head towards Alfred. “No one’s getting out of that without a broken finger or fang or both, so just take mine, okay? For us.”

Bruce doesn’t deign to actually say  yes  or  fine , just seems to fade into shadows he’s manifesting himself, but it reads like a grumpy acceptance of defeat.

 Good enough , thinks Dick. “Give us a sec, we’ll be right back. If you’re extra good, I’ll even make a Bloody Mary out of mine!”

Batarangs aren’t made of silver, but they sure do make a flashy  thunk  when they bite into a doorjamb a clean 10 feet away from the nearest person.

Alfred huffs a quiet laugh but Dick is much louder and substantially more insulting as they make their way down to the Cave.

-

The blood fridge is a thing of stainless steel tucked in a corner of the medbay, and it’s covered in magnets. The Wayne brood travel a lot, but Bats and Birds travel even more. It’s become a weird habit that got adopted like kids get adopted ‘round here; Dick looks at a cracked dinosaur magnet he’d bought at the Bludhaven Natural History Museum his first night out as Nightwing, and nostalgia hits harder than teeth in the neck. “We’re gonna need a bigger one of these soon, Alfred. We’re almost out of free real estate.”

“We shall persevere nonetheless, sir.” Alfred opens the fridge, and goes along the top row till he gets to the little placard with Dick’s face on it. The filing system remains sweetly, sweetly old-school, even if everyone knows where theirs is stored by feel alone, and each bag is barcoded with enough details to alarm even the most dedicated phlebotomist.

Looking over the racks, Dick whistles. “Bruce isn’t the only one who’s had a rough time recently, huh? Tim didn’t mention that the last Titans’ fight got him two bags down.”

For that, he gets his ear flicked. “Don’t snoop, Master Richard, it’s unbecoming.” Alfred takes a bag off Dick’s shelf and pops it into a cooler bag. He closes the door, and heads to the kitchenette in the Cave where he scrounges up a little metal straw. “Thank you for coming by so quickly. I was at my wits’ end trying to convince him to have just the littlest nibble. He tried to keep himself locked in the Batmobile when he came back via autopilot.” Alfred rinses the straw with more aggression than necessary. “I tugged on the handle, and the door was locked. A door, locked to me! In my own home!” He sounds as incensed as Alfred ever does, but he also goes to grab some tomato juice and a couple of sticks of celery, just in case.

“You wore him down for me, Alfred, I had it easy.” Dick quietly grabs another couple of bags of his blood, because deep deep down Bruce isn’t the only one hesitant about feeding on family, looks like. “Surprised you’d turn to me for this, though. Seems like more of a Tim thing, have him over with a 50-slide presentation on why vampirism’s really not that different to CPR, or something.” He swoops by Alfred’s side and picks up the cooler bag and the bucket of ice, because there are a lot of stairs from the Cave back up to Yellow, and kind men deserve kind things done on behalf of their creaking knees, thanks very much.

“You certainly have a point, Master Tim can be alarmingly persuasive with his statistics and, ah, unblinking stare.” Alfred doesn’t acknowledge Dick helping him with his things, just looks a little glad to have a hand free to hold on to the handrail, which is acknowledgement enough. “However, I have to admit that when I am at my wits’ end with Master Bruce, I always want to turn to you, Master Dick.” He pauses at the top of the stairs, turns and smiles his neat little smile at Dick who is finding balance harder to maintain than usual. “You have kept me company in my never-ending fight to care for Master Bruce longer than anyone else, after all.”

(Longer, longer, longer even than Bruce’s parents, God love them both.)

Alfred reaches out, pats Dick’s hand and nimbly reacquires his wares. “Do not under any circumstance tell the others, of course, but an old man is allowed his favourite ally.”

Dick is a whole-ass adult who’s lived through more things than people 15 times his age, he’s dressed in a smart suit and tie after an interview for a position as a flight paramedic, and he’s helped ward off the apocalypse at least on three separate occasions.

He knows enough about enough to know that their vampire-magician is deeply, deeply outclassed by Alfred’s mastery over spacetime, because right now Dick knows that if he looks down at himself, he’ll be 9 years old again, wearing oversized pyjamas as he tries not to cry because it’s his birthday and Alfred had made him a stack of pancakes the size of his head, while Bruce skulks by the door holding five separate tubs of ice cream, looking uncomfortable and uncertain and bound and determined to be a responsible parent

(like he’s bound and determined to be a responsible vampire).

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dick murmurs under his breath, rubbing his cheek to break the spell.

“Language,” Alfred’s voice floats back towards him, as they make their way back to the Yellow Room.

-

There’s a bit of a scuffle, trying to get Bruce to actually drink the blood. When Dick had casually tossed a bag at Bruce, it had been batted right back at him like the world’s weirdest opening to a game of ping-pong. Another fight almost broke out then, because at least a third of all of Gotham’s collective stubbornness was sat in the room at that point, but Dick managed to force through a resolution by making a Bloody bloody Mary for Bruce, and regular Bloody Marys for himself and Alfred.

They sit where they want, Bruce in his circle, Dick perched on a windowsill, and Alfred on the sofa, and they sip at their meticulously non-identical drinks. They’re on their third round of Bloody Marys and sweet idle conversation when the message comes through that Zatanna’s on her way, and the tension in the room drains as smoothly as they do their drinks.

“Ah, what perfect timing,” Alfred says like he hasn’t worked his way through an alarming amount of vodka. “Just in time for a really early breakfast.”

It’s 3 AM, and hopefully after unraveling vampirism Z will be interested in some god-tier chicken and waffles. Dick’s stomach is already rumbling, and he’s in an unspeakably good mood. It’s a trinity of trinities, three generations of Wayne and Wayne-adjacents, three Bloody Marys each, it’s three o'clock in the morning.

There’s a father, a son, and Alfred counts as their Holiest Ghost, probably. Funny that Bruce has to become unholy to make Dick feel gently religious, though that might be the vodka and dreams of fried chicken futures. “How’re you feeling, Bruce?”

Flushed with blood, Bruce looks healthier and heartier than he does on average, which is a fight to tackle a different night. “… Better,” he admits, digging a fang into a celery stick with an expression of deep concentration. “I could fly if I tried, I think.”

Dick whoops, and nearly drops his glass. “It’s that vitamin D, bay-bee.”

It even earns a chuckle from Alfred, and Dick can feel god in this Yellow Room tonight. “I think,” Dick says with utmost seriousness, “that being a vampire is a good look for you, B. Feels good to get you something, even if it’s just a drink.”

Feels good to be able to provide for you instead of the other way ‘round, is something a more sober Dick would think.

From his corner, Alfred raises his glass in a steady-handed toast. “Just a drink is plenty when just a drink is all you need. So here’s a toast to you, Master Dick. Thank you for coming to our rescue.”

In the middle of a sea of silverware, Bruce raises his glass too, and oh, now Dick’s the one gone red in the face.

“Any time,” he says, and he’s glad to know he means it. “Honestly, this makes me feel like B should get turned into a vampire more often.” There’s a lot of magic in the Manor tonight, and only the tiniest fraction of it has to do with their rogue magician. Dick can’t remember when he last spent this much time with just Alfred and Bruce, and it feels like a loose anchor digging in juuust right.

The world’s in turmoil and his personal life has seen better days, but there’s a tether that comes off from the Manor and these two men. Sometimes, it’s a noose.

More often than not, it’s a lifeline, and what a fine feeling it is to know that that goes both ways.

Dick doesn’t know what’s showing on his face, though by how Bruce is now sat up and intensely staring at him, he’s probably revealing way, way too sopping much.

Bruce clears his throat, and his flush deepens into a rosy, rosy red. “Well. As being a part-time vampire does have its advantages, it’s. Hmm. I will discuss it with Zatanna, and see what I can do.”

And geeze, time-travel magic must be inherited too because Dick’s been forced back to his 9th birthday again, to Bruce Wayne-the-literal-Batman hovering uncertainly while holding way too much ice cream as he tries to accommodate Dick in that stupid, awkward, and hideously embarrassing way only he knows how.

“I’ll toast to that,” Dick says, ignoring the terrible scratch and crack in his voice, and he and Bruce both only nearly lose it when Alfred raises his glass again, and

quietly, quietly

murmurs, “Here’s a toast to my family”.

[abloomntime]

A Bloom In Time Ch15 Poppy’s Spaceship Tour and Meeting Cooking Cat

(Warning: Poppy cries near the end.)

The pour woman was shaking all the way to the small clearing looking around her with newfound fear as she did so from the scare. But at least now they could take off and get her to a warmer place with food now....Or at least they would've if Bow hadn't grabbed her hand and jumped when Poppy flinched and yanked her hand away from the girl. The poor flesh still tender and sore from the rope suddenly yanking her up. She gave the girls an apologetic look and it occured to Hattie they couldn't teleport her together now if they couldn't hold her hands. Not to mention she was shaking and she didn't want to risk accidentally letting her go in the middle of teleportation again. So what did she usually do in these kind of situations? Go back and bother Snatcher for help of course! The purple ghost was NOT happy when the small girl yanked on his tail and told him about their situation. PECK NAB IT!! Couldn't he get one moment of peace around here?....Then again, it was rather responsible of her to come to him instead of trying something reckless with Poppy, and he didn't really want a repeat of Poppy crashlanding from space somewhere. She was VERY lucky the first time as it was. So, that's how the ghost was talked into coming over and transporting all four of them back to the ship. Wasn't anything like Poppy expected at all. Much to Poppy's still shocked state, he held the girls in one arm while grabbing her good arm in the other and asked her to close her eyes while the spell took place to keep her from freaking out anymore than she already had to which she gladly did so. Curling into him and pressing her face into the fluff around his shoulders. The movement made him stop and stare for a moment...before he cleared his throat and looked away slightly flustered. The teleporting worked as quickly as any other time he did it. Purple energy completely took over the world around them like the many times he's done this before and swallowed them all whole. He's donw this plenty of times before teleporting himself places or taking the girls home against his will when they fell asleep in his forest. But what was one more trip anyways? Especially since it'd help ease the nerves of his beloved-...beloved FRIEND. Just friend. One moment of dark black-purple later the four of them ended up inside of the kid's ship. The control room to be more precise. The controls to the ship were there as well as her Tv and the giant vault of those menacing time pieces.So imagine Poppy's surprise when she reopened her eyes and blinked at the foreign home to her. But was put back down on the ground by Snatcher again before the spook mumbles something about wanting to take a break and to not be bothered again as he gave a firm look at the girls.

"Stay HERE and do NOT bother me again unless it's actually a real emergency until I say so. I mean it."

"AH! But why?"

"Because Im the pecking adult! That's why!" Was all he said before purple energy oozed from his being like living fog and wrapped itself around him. Poppy watching in almost horror as it shrank in size until it was either too small to see or actually disppeared from the ship entirely.

Well.....That was a fast one way trip wasn't it? She was just SO so glad to be out of that nightmare forest she was happy to welcome this.....Space ship. Where was she in here anyways? Looking around she found herself sitting upon a giant pink round rug and a the rest of the floor was covered in green carpeting. Around her were all kinds of strange gadgets and gizmos she'd never seen before. Looking over she was the strangest thing. A child's toy train set and landscape. The cute little engine was making circles around some plastic mountains, a few mountains, and fake plants. WHich for some reason was on a giant metal pillar and blocked off by rope and pillars. An odd television set sat in the corner where a puppy wearing overralls was trotting across the screen. ....She blinked and looked over to her other side where another similar pillar was there but it had some kind of plush??.......Something. It was a hamburger but she didn't know what the heck that was. Beyond that was brick like walls a yellow thing sticking out of the wall, and a couple doors here and there-

"oW!"

Something poked against her foot and she looked down. Immediately a small spooked squeal came out of the woman and she scrambeld back and onto her feet as she stared down the little roomba as it continued to just sweet harmlessly past her. But the woman had never seen a robot vacum so her fear was understandable as she pointed at it.

"W-W-WHAT IS THAT CREATURE!?"

"It's ok. He's perfectly safe." Hattie smiled at Rumbi as he harmlessly swept past them towards the ramp near the far wall.

She didn't look convinced but silently watched him sweep away before looking around her more...before slowly looking behind her to the gigantic windows behind her. And. Her. Jaw. DROPPED!! As she looked out the giant windows, she could seethe darkened purple land of Snatcher's forest and A giant chunk of white which was vanessa's frozen abyss of the planet. Placing a cold hand to the cool glass and watching as it slowly ticked by and just....watched it. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of thousands of stars twinkling....The world! Her world! It was right there! Big, bold and wonderful! The round planet seemed to have an aura of it's own and glowed perfectly. The perfect gentle blue of the sea, the bright tan yellows of the desert. Many islands. The highest mountains surrounded by pure white clouds even looked as if she could reach out and grasp it almost. It was so much more peaceful and beautiful looking when she wasn't falling through space that was. A sense of being so small came over her and she let out a shaky sigh as she did so. So this was really reality huh?

"It's pretty isn't it?," Bow asked walking up next to her and smiling down at the world too and pointing at one small place on the planet. "That's Nyakuza City! I used to live there."

".....Yeah. I-I heard about the Nyakuza Kingdom," Poppy stated softly, "It was supposed to be inhabited by a whole race of cat people."

"It is!" Bow smiled brightly at her that she knew that. "Kitties are the best! They're so soft, and fluffy and really, really cute!!"

Despite herself, Poppy smiled at the cute smile the little girl had on her face. Children always had the ability to make her smile with their adorable nature and innocence. It was just to precious, turning back to the window and staring out she sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. She was really feeling .......confused? Right now. There were too many emotions going through her right now and not enough of it was ok..She didn't have a feeling of being ok. Not after what just happened. She looked back to her slightly scrapped arm. She guessed that's what she got after not listening to a ghost's warnings-

"ACHOO!" Bow flinched and looked up to Poppy who shook her head and looked back to the window sniffing.

"Bless you!"

"T-Thank you." She shivered from her body's still cold feeling. She almost forgot she was still from falling in swamp water and she had been running around all soaked for who knows how long now. She should change out of these soggy rags and warmed up before she caught a cold. So she turned around to ask where the bathroom was so she could scrub the dirt off herself- BAM!! She jumped at least a foot back smacking into the glass window and all three of them looked up towards the ramp area where the pair of swinging doors to the kitchen had been pushed open and small soft footsteps like a child's came scattering out. Another child?? She couldn't see anything past the banister. But all of that was answered when a chef hat and pointy cat ears came into view. All of that was attached to a small plump cat standing on two feet with calico patterns and orange fur.

What the WHAT?!

"COOKIE!!", both girls shouted and rushed towards the cat who giggled and held her arms open wide for the two to go skittering into her embrace as she did so. The giggling of the cat and girls filled the air as Poppy watched and then blinked at the small cat in chef wear-

"Oh how are you girls? It's been so long since I've been up here!," she cooed at the little children her size. By the voice it was easy to tell it was a lady and had a slight country accent. She smiled as she leaned back and examined the girls before her. "I thought I heard a pair of hungry little tykes scampering around hungry."

"We missed you," Bow answered honestly as she smiled at the cat with adoration.

"Did you make cookies?," Hattie asked practically sparkly eyed as she looked hopefully at her making the small cat laugh.

"Well you two haven't changed a bit. Always so sweet and hungry for sugar." She shook her head. "No. But I did make some roasted bird and mashed potatoes! Perfect for two little adventures! Now which one of you sneezed? It sounded like you caught a whopper of a cold." Both girls looked at each other for a moment, before looking behind them at Poppy who still watched silently as they all stood there, as soon as 'Cookie' saw her, the cat gasped and one paw came to cover her mouth as she caught sight of the messy grown, shivering woman in front of her. In a blink of an eye the plump cat carefully pushed past the girls and walked right up to Poppy. The red head could only blink and again feel kinda awkward seeing a giant talking talk on two legs......Wait. Was she a Nyakuza citizen? Was she one of those cat people she heard so much about? Well she didn't have much time to wonder until she stopped right in front of her and grabbed a part of her dress and pulled the material heavy and wet from dirty swamp water into her paws to examine. Sniffing at it before snorting and shaking her head, scowling up at her. She felt oddly small under the scowl of the small cat in front of her but still didn't move besides her shivering. "You look absolutely aweful! Look at this!'' She held up the material to her. "Look at your hair! You look like you went rolling around in the mud during a thunderstorm!"

She blinked stunned by the cat's bold and blunt move only responding with, "Uuuhhh....It's....Swamp water??"

"Swamp water?" She eyed the human up and down before shaking her head and dropping her dress, hands....uh..paws coming to stay on her hips. "I've seen plenty of country folk in my time for sure that don't mind to get a lil dirty, but you're the first one I've seen soaked romping through a swamp."

"It...wasn't really my intention to be soaked by gross water, but I crashlanded in some when I landed." She gave a small look to the little hat girl behind her who smiled nervously at her words. But was soon looking back to the cat when she made a small hum.

"So you landed here to? Does that mean you're another alien?"

"W-What? N-no. I'm from here I promise! I just....happen to be visiting their space ship is all," she clarified.

"Oh!" The small cat lady finally smiled at her like she had come to some brilliant conclusion. "Oh now I see. You must be one of their little friends! They have a lot you know."

"You could say t-that- ACHOO!!" Poppy turned her head to the side before sneezing again and sniffing. Her body still fairly chilly. Which didn't go unnoticed by the cat.

"Bless you! By the temperature of your dress, you must be soaked n cold right down to the fur." Her light scowl came back, "Didn't you ever think to change into a dry pair of clothes?"

"I g-guess it must've slipped my mind."

She was cut short when the small cat jumped up and grabbed her hand yanking her into a leaning over position when she pulled her back a few steps. "Well. There's no sense in you staying like this any longer than needed. You all go get cleaned up before you eat a single bite." She made a grimace looking back over Poppy's soaked self and taking in all the dirt covering her body and how tangled her hair was. "And YOU definately go bathe and get a good change of clothes." One of her paws ungrabbed Poppy to shoo the girls off towards the right side of the control room as she lead Poppy towards it-

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG!!!

Poppy Jumped and they all snapped in the direction of the ramp leading up somewhere and the cat let go of her hands. "OH!! The oven timer. Bird's done." She looked to the girls. "Now you go show her where the bathroom is and wash up. I gotta go make sure that birdy doesn't over cook. You know how much I despise burnt food." The girls nodded and the cat smiled again before running to a small green ladder right below the vault and climbed up it, running back through the double doors with another light slam to them as Poppy blinked.

"Who..was that?"

"Hattie grabbed her still extending hand a smile on her face. "Cookie! She's like a REALLY good chef! The best in the world!" Her steps were jumpy and happy like any child making a small smile come to her face as she was lead over to a small door next to the green ladder Cookie climbed. "She visits a lot and makes a lot of food for my fridge!" She licked her lips. "Her cookies are they best! But she's been really busy with her cooking show after finally leaving Mafia Town."

"Mafia.....town?"

Hattie nodded. "I met Mustache Girl there!"...She frowned a little bit. "She's not very nice.....HEY!" Her face brightened again as she got an exciting idea. "Now I can show you how COOL my ship is!"

"But Cookie said she needs a bath." Bow leaned sideways from behind her and blinked.

"But Snatcher said to show her my ship! We're still going to the bathroom, but exploring too!" Bow rolled her eyes as Hattie tugged Poppy over towards the small blue glowing door. A small blue rug with a wave patterned on it stood before the door and to the older woman's surprise it opened automatically by itself giving her a little jump. Technology had really advanced since she was a little girl didn't it? "Come on, come on! I wanna show you the potion room!" She went through the kid sized door no problem....but Poppy had to literally lean down to look down the long mini hallway.

Bow also looked down it with a worried look. "Hattieeeeeeee!! We're gonna get in more trouble! Knock it off and lets go wash!"

"Y'know we can show her the metro room too," came the sing song voice from down the hallway and an instant Bow's expression change.

"FINE!! But then we wash our hands! I'm hungry!" She called back before also bounding down the hall and poppy lowered more to look in "......Come on Ms Poppy!"

.......She hesitated but braced herself. It couldn't get any more worse than it already was, and she doubted there was any headless statues or dangerous stuff here on a child's chip. Coming down to her knees she went to start crawling as she couldn't stand to walk through these small halls- Which ended with her doing a yelp and leaning back up onto her knees to clutch her sore wrist which throbbed out a course of pain when she put the slightest bit of pressure on, still pretty sore from the giant yank the noose gave her- Poppy shivered from remembering that encounter. One of the children called out to her again sounding impatient..and if this was indeed the direction to getting cleaned up, then she might as well not complain anymore and suck it up. That's what she always did growing up in a poor farming community. Sucking it up and being grateful for what you're given. Even if it means crawling down a hallway with only one hand, which she did. It was....Kinda embarrassing and time consuming, but a couple little children probably weren't going to judge her for having no choice but to squeeze through these blasted tunnels. As she crawled along she took in the details of the walls and especially the carpet. There was some very impressive details in the blue carpet, they were so beautiful. Some grand weaver must've put a lot of work creating these wave patterns and she briefly wondered how many pons it cost the little girl to buy and put in here. In her day it would've cost a pretty penny. It took a bit more but before she knew it. The other door opened and she was allowed to crawl on through and stand to her feet again. Shivering as a blast of cold air hit her freezing body and opening her eyes to a-.....Very strange sight.

"What IS this place?" The air was chilly, and down below was a dark blue water which could've been mistaken for water on first glance and a few things like random barrels and chests, with some furniture. A tall closet like space with the words saying Dirty Laundry Cleaner 3000, And a ladder leading up to a different doorway above them there.

"The storage room," Hattie replied before regrabbing her none hurt hand and tugging her towards the left, making her blink down as the two girls excitedly pointed towards another small door to the left. Unlike the one she just came through, this one glowed purple and had a bottle like shape on it. "I wanna show you around!" She wasn't sure what to do but didn't fight against her as she pulled her towards the door which opened with another Whoosh like noise and Hattie disappeared within it's hallway excitedly. Poppy didn't feel like arguing anymore than she already did today, and again leaned down to look down the hall. Unlike the first one, with one has a lighter blue rug with dark blue gear patterns when she looked down it. The children waving at her from the other side of the tunnel as well, excited grins still on their faces as she blinked. "Come on! Don't be a slowpoke!"

With another sigh, guess who did more slow crawling down another cramped hallway, but she'd be lying if she wasn't curious about an alien space ship. I mean who else from her time would've gotten the honor of being given a tour of a real flying space craft by a real alien no less? She was curious to see what mechanics and insides made up this thing, and besides it'd be rude to say no to someone who's offering to show you they're home so excitedly and if it meant she was going to be staying here for a little while then she might as well know where things were. By the time she got to the other side and was finally able to stand back up, she sighed at the feeling of warmer air at least. Warming up was definately on her to do list. But the almost emptiness of this room compared to all the other rooms Surprised her to say the least. This one was much more open and tidy looking with more stone walls, a couple metal pillars, and equipment you'd see inside a labratory. Right dead center of it all was another metal table thing blocked off by rope like in the control room, but this time it had a giant box of crayons sitting on it. The crayons were a simple green, blue, and red color.

"This is my potion room!," Hattie announced proudly pointing at the room itself, "But don't touch anything. Snatcher dropped one of those pink potions once and it turned him pink for days. He said we shouldn't mess with weird potions."

"Potion room?" Poppy gave the children another curious look. "Are you sure you're not a witch?"

"No. Only when I wear my brewing hat! But I don't know any magic."

.......That only confused Poppy more so why would a child have a potion room? But she again didn't get the chance to relax before Bow ran over towards the other side of the room and towards a small door like hatch on the floor, the small girl grabbing one side of hatch and pushing. Bow strained and after a few seconds a metalic screeching noise rang out as it opened, both women wincing, cringing back at the fingers on chalk bourd noise, and clapping their hands over their ears in some attempt to block out the screeching noise. Poppy was SURE the creaking, screeching noise could be heard everywhere on the planet from their place in space from how loud it was. Up, up, up the hatch went and one giant push Bow managed to push it over. With a giant metal banging sound, the hatch's round metal door SLAMMED and I do mean slammed against the floor with enough sound to be mistaken for a cannon going off. For a moment nothing happened and both Poppy and Hattie stood there still hands clamped over their ears and eyes shut closed.......before slowly reopening their eyes and after a moment of silence, uncovering their ears to the smiling curly haired girl standing there pointing at the the now open hole in the floor.

"Geez, Kid! I think you were loud enough to wake the dead all over space!......ACHOO!!" She sniffed again at the third sneeze.

Bow's smiling didn't waver, instead pointing to it. "Come on! You'll like it promise!" With another smile the tiny curly haired girl turned and jumped down the hole.

"HEY!! KID!!" Poppy ran down the small set of stairs and ran over to the hole in the floor, the fear of the child getting hurt randomly jumping into a hole taking over and immediately looking down the opening. At first she saw nothing. Nothing but a ladder leading down it and some kind of wooden circle thing....but she could definately hear giggling and someone shouting for her to come down as well. ......DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD AND UNSAFE IT IS TO CLIMB DOWN A LADDER WITH A SORE HAND?! Poppy wouldn't recommend it to anyone but the fear of just seeing Bow dive down here and the looming presence of an angry ghost made her do the crazy thing and start to decend the ladder to her uneasy feeling. Which doubled MORE when Hattie fell past her making her cry out for the child only to watch the hatted kid bounce on the round wood circle and catapult herself like a spring out of eye sight. Panic coursed through her as she went down as fast as a sore bodied woman with one good hand could and paused on the ladder when she could actually see the inside of the room. To her relief, Bow wasn't hurt at all but giggling and laying face up at the opening in a pile of weird green paper. The small girl giggled as she made a snow angel in the pile, and Hattie was luckily safe as well looking through another telescope on top of the weird gigantic pile of green paper. Poppy sighed and noticed breifly another small metal table with another small item on it. This time some kind of white dummy and pretty looking gold necklace. With a shake of her head the frazzled woman slowly climbed the last of the steps down and stood by the ladder leading back up. Looking around the room she noticed it looked at it she was on one of the town's busy streets, with plants along the wall behind the metal table, glowing eletric things she was sure only an alien would have mysterious shaped like a blue cat, and behind her by the wooden circle on a spring was a rack with newspapers of all things. .......She blinked. "What is this strange place?" She paused seeing more in color tv screens on fans hovering about and jumped as something rumbled past the window on the far side of the wall flashing yellow making her scramble back. "W-WHAT WITCHCRAFT IS THAT?!"

"That's the illusion created by the monitor," Bow happily replied sitting up now and smiling around the room with a bigger grin, "Hattie said the time pieces add stuff to the rooms on the ship to help show where most are located. *sigh* It....reminds me of home...Without all the crime and bad things. I like it here."

At that little sentence Poppy paused. Before looking away with a guilty look, feeling bad over being about to scold the little girl for scaring her like that being so excited to show her home and the place that reminded her of it. Taking a second look around the weird room, she couldn't understand any of it. Were the Nyakuzian people technicalogically advanced too? Or did all this technology form as she slept? She may never know but the face of longer on the little girl's face hit home almost immediately at her. As far as Poppy knew Bow's home still existed just with 'crime and bad stuff' as she put it. Has she fled the country under a war or something? So many questions buzzed about her skull it was starting to give her a headache as she leaned into the cool metal of the ladder next to her. This was all too much too soon. And she wasn't sure how much more she could take at this pace-

"What are y'all doing down here?!" Poppy yelped and ended up accidentally hitting her forehead against the ladder. Instantly her good hand came to clamp at the sore area as she hissed and looked up above her and saw a pretty familiar orange calico face scowling down at them all, one dark orange paw holding onto the chef hat as she did so. "I thought I asked you all to go get cleaned up. I could hear all that ruckus right through the kitchen floor!"

Instantly the children had froze at the annoyed cat's voice and now sported a pair of guilty looks at one another. "We were just showing her!" Hattie's voice answered back for them.

"Well then. The next room she sees is the bathroom! Now you all get up here before I take my cooking back for Conductor to eat."

At the threat of their delicious dinner being taken away both children scrambled for the spring pad kicking up more dollar bills in their way. And Poppy watched with slight surprise as both jumped onto the spring pad one by one catapulting themselves all the way back up as Cookie leaned back to not get knocked over by the two shooting girls. ....Poppy briefly looked down to the spring pad then back up the hole.....Yeah. She was taking her chance with the ladder. The slow climb back up was agonizing but by the time she poked her head at the top she witnessed the older cat lightly scolding the girls for taking so long, but as soon as she saw the head of Poppy, Cookie turned and grabbed her good hand. Pulling with surprising strength of a small plump cat and helping her crawl the rest of the way out, sighing when she was able to climb to her knees.

"Are you alright, Pumpkin?," Cookie asked placing a paw on her shoulder before letting go quickly. "Goodness! You're colder than my home made ice cream!"

"ACHOO!!" Poppy sniffed again and looked up to the tiny cat giving a tired smile. "Y-Yeah. I guess I am a little chilly...And tired...and sore. And now that you mention food-" Her stomach gave out a rumble and she winced. She didn't even know she was hungry."

Cookie gave her a sorry look before sighing and looking back towards the watching children. "Ok you two. I think this young lady's had enough exploring for now. You two go wash your hands in the kitchen and eat your plates I placed in the fridge. I'm going to show your friend here to a room where she can get tidied up and warm." The two girls gave excited smiles at the mention of food and with an excited cheer they scampered off towards the hallway with another sigh from the cat who turned her attention back to Poppy. "I'm so sorry. They can be a little over excited sometimes."

Poppy smiled back and waved a hand. "Oh. No, no. It's ok. I should've expected that from children.....ACHOO!!''

"Well, I expect we need to get you all better before you catch a cold instead of just sneezing." Cookie gestured her up at Poppy slowly stood and made a grab to her hand- Fur suddenly bristling when the human yelped and pulled her still sore hand away from the grip of the cat....Which was immediately pulled back with a pained whimper from Poppy as Cookie frowned and held up the sore limb to her eyes. "....You're hurt."

"J-Just a few scrapes. I-I'll be fine."

"That's no excuse young lady. You should get this under some ice!"

"Yeah...That Snatcher ghost told me too."

Cookie hummed before tugging her and walking towards the small hallway with her in tow. "So I see you met this ghostly friend of theirs too."

Poppy blinked at the small cat. "Wait. You know who he is?"

"I stumbled across him a few times coming up here to visit. Hmph! He's very rude and always steals any dish I make with bacon when he's around me cooking. Quite the oddball out if ya'll ask me." The door whooshed open as soon as they were close enough and she walked on through gesturing for her to follow. "But never fear! Cooking Cat is here! I'll have you all better in no time flat. We'll just get you a change of clothing, a hot meal, and some ice then you'll be good to go!"

Poppy could feel her stomach drop a little as she bent down and proceeded to slowly crawl through the hallway after the cat. "Uh...About that. I-I don't have any clothing for myself really."

Cookie stopped mid step in the middle of the hallway before looking over her shoulder at the slowly crawling woman behind her and reached a paw up to rub to her head. "Well aren't you more forgettful than a penguin on the sun? *sigh* Alright then. I suppose I'll just have to borrow the girls' washer and dryer."

"What? Oh n-no! You don't have to go through all that trouble for me, Ma'am! It's fine."

"Nonsense! I'd be ashamed of myself if I didn't offer a hungry person like you some help and this wouldn't be the first time I helped a person get better...OH! That reminds me. You never told me ya'll's name."

"Oh..I-Im Poppy. Poppy Rooo- ACHOO!!....Rose Bloomington, Ma'am."

Cookie smiled at her. "No need to call me ma'am. Just Cookie. Cooking Cat's only mah stage name you know. Nice you meet ya." She smiled and turned to continue walking down the hallway with Poppy right behind her.

A curious question bubbling in the young lady's head and she blurted out, "So...Since you're a..cat. Does that mean you're a Nyakuzian?"

Cookie didn't stop walking or smiling but her tone shifted a little bit to the sad side. "Well, yes...But not anymore I suppose. The city became too crowded for my liking and too many crimes were comitted. Mostly theivery."

"Yes, I think Bow might've said something about that."

"Poor girl. No child should have to grow up in a place like that."

"So ....you two fled the country?"

Cookie chuckled as the door back to the storage room opened up and she walked out. "You could say that. No. I moved to Mafia town persuing my own dreams of being a master chef a long time ago. You see where ah'm from there's lots and lots of food carts and cafe's so I knew I wouldn't stand much of a chance if I just stayed, and even if I did I would've just become another small store in the piles of stores around myself." She stopped a little aways from the door just as Poppy was nearing the exit staring at the ground. "No. I never wanted to be just like the crowd. I knew I wanted more for my nine lives, so after saving as many pons as I could, I moved far away to Mafia town. I heard it was a big fishing community and they sold most of the city's fish to us. There were rumors about their leader being a chef too. So I thought it was the purrrrfect oportunity for me......I wasn't too right about that though."

Poppy was all wars by now as she slowly climbed out at last and rose to her feet. Giving Cookie a sympathetic look as the cat looked back up to her, her body shivering from the cold air again. "I-I'm....I'm so sorry. What happened if you don't mind me asking?"

Cookie chuckled again. "Don't mind a bit. The mafia hired me on bourd straight away in their kitchen....But it turns out they only did so because they wanted me to chase down all the mice they were having a problem with." Poppy made a scowl and Cookie waved her off. "I know. I was disappointed too. You see usually us cats don't have a very good reputation because of all the theives who happen to coincidentally be cats, but it wasn't too bad. I decided to become an under dog hero of cooking if that made sense. I thought I would be doing a good thing if I switched all their bad food for my good food and maybe spare a few taste buds, but I knew I was wasting my talents there." She turned and began to walk again with Poppy following politely listening interested. "Eventually I did grow tired especially after meeting the cute lil alien. And I just couldn't help myself with all the questions. Was alien food really better than ours? Was there advanced tools to better cook with? My curiousity got the better of me and before I knew it I had so rudely snuck into her bridge using some moon penguin's teleporter to get themselves to and from the moon."

"So....Does that mean Bow fled with you?" They had both reached the ladder that lead down to the storage room floor that would let anyone get to the washer and dryer to use and upon reaching it Cookie turned around and descended the ladder. Poppy slowly doing the same but with her sore arm it was still a little slower. "What happened?"

"No. Honestly I have no idea how she ended up in mafia town herself, but that's a different story. Turns out an alien's kitchen is exactly like mine. In the long run I guess I was hoping for some kind of miracle to help me out of my rut but it didn't matter. I got fired by the head boss as soon as I came back for comspiring with traitorious aliens."

"Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry." Poppy's foot touch the ground and she watched as the calico waved her and made her way towards the Laundry Cleaner 3000.

"No. I was sick of working for those brutes anyways."

"So...What did you do next?," she asked as she followed.

"Well....I stayed home and felt pretty bad for a long time, but then I found an ad in the newspaper for a cruise ship needing a cook! So obviously I took the chance. It was....not better than the mafia to be honest. Those seals were decent cooks but they were so accident prone and their kitchen was so dangerous. I'm almost glad the ship sank, but it just meant I was back to square one again.....I was so about to give up and go back home. Better a small cook like the rest than not being a cook at all anywhere." Her smile grew as she just waltzed right into the closet like space and turned to poppy. "That little alien is more resourceful than you might think."

"Why? What did she do?"

"Why?...She introduced me to the man....or penguin that made all my dreams come true. We met up again by chance when she was on the same cruise, talk about coincidence. She saw how unhappy I was and wanted to help. But I didn't beleive she could do anything about my situation having already had so many set backs." She made almost a happy purr as Poppy finally walked in next to her after gesturing for her to stand next to herself. "So imagine my surprise when one day Mr. DJ Grooves himself arrived on my doorstep and asked ME of all people to star in a cooking show series! He said his little star told him all about the delicious food his staff received on their vacation and my cute face was absolutely perfect for it! IT WAS A HUGE HIT!! Turns out those moon penguins LOVED all my fish recipes and tips! Next thing I knew I signed a business contract and finally saw my dream take off right before my own eyes. I'll NEVER be able to thank them all enough for making it come true."

"A...cooking show? I didn't know they made those."

"Really? I guess swamp people wouldn't have tv. Oh. Push the red button there to take us down." Her paw pointed to a red button on the inside of the machine they were in.

"A-Actually...I grew up on a farm. W-We were pretty poor." She frowned and reached over to push the button like Cookie had asked. Wobbling a little when the ground beneath them suddenly lowered and she looked up to watch as the light disappeard.

"Oh. I'm so sorry. I had no idea," Cookie apologized with a paw placed gently on Poppy's arm. "You poor thing."

"Uh...N-No. It's ok.....You can't change the past." Her frown saddened even more at that.

Cookie's smile came back as she looked at her. "That's true. I can't change how said and how much I struggled then, but that don't mean we can't have a happy future."

".....Heh. Y-Y'know...Y-You're the second person to r-really....t-t-tell me that." When light came back up Cookie's smile vanished seeing the older woman starting to cry but quickly trying to stop once light hit her face." I-I'm sorry. I s-shouldn't get so emotional. I-It's just that so many big bad things have happened recently a-and I.....I-.."

She stopped when a paw grabbed her and Cookie gave her a slightly stern and determined look. "Honey, there is no reason not to cry if you feel like you want or need to cry about it. Now you go on right ahead and don't mind me. Because I'm not gonna stop someone if they need to cry out their emtions. It's unhealthy to keep that bottled up."

That's just what she needed to hear. With watery blue eyes Poppy stared at this little cat for a long silent moment before she sniffed again and finally small little tears began to drip down that face one after another and before she knew it she was on her knees sobbing harder and louder than a baby. Cookie shushing her and rubbing the poor sobbing gal's back as all the pent up emotions finally came out as she cried and cried.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!!," she wailed out to no one between chokes. Her good fist coming down to hit the floor in frustration and anger. "IT'S NOT FAIR!! IT'S NOT FAIR!! WHY DID IT HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME!? I WANT TO GO H-HOME!!" She hiccuped hard and reached her arm up to wipe at her heated face. "I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!! B-B-BUT I C-CAN'T B-BECAUSE EVERYTHING'S GONE!! *hic* AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO!!"

"Shh. There, there. I know it must be tough not having a home. Feeling so lost and scared having no one around. But it'll be ok. You just let it all out, Sugar."

"H-How do y-you know?," she hiccuped again and looked to the cat in question with tears blurring her vision.

Cookie smiled sadly. "Because I have a little blonde girl living with me who felt the same way. Sometimes these things happen and we just need a little help." The paw came up to her shoulder as Cookie pulled a small hankerchief from her chef's pocket and offered it to her to which Poppy was rather grateful. "Feel better?" She hiccuped and nodded wiping her face with that small tissue. A little relief coming to her from letting all the emotions out. "There, there. Come on. I bet you'll feel even better after getting all this dirt off your pretty self and getting a bite to eat."

Her stomach rumbled again at the mention of food and Cookie chuckled. Slightly pushing her body upwards to help motivate the sniffing gal to her wobbly feet once again and have a look around the room once those tears were dried away. ....Oh. This must've been the bathroom they were talking about it was all very clean with sea themed things everywhere. Starfish shaped handles on the drawers, sea shell covers for the lights, towels, a sink, mirror, bottles of soap, laudry soap, and shampoo on the shelves along with the towels, bath toys, and anything and everything else a bathroom would have including what looked like an extra set of washing machines with one right open with what looked like warm water and a stepping stool in front of it. There was even another metal table like thing with a tray of fake cakes on it. But funnily no showers or a bathtub in sight. Perhaps she was supposed to use the sink to wash her face but was surprised when Cookie lead her over to the full washing machine.

"Alright. Here. I'll get you a nice herbal shampoo, those work wonders for silky, soft hair."

"I-.....B-But this is a-

"Washing machine? Oh heavens no. It was recycled into a bathtub. Something the aliens call recycling. Fascinating isn't it? Now go on. Wash up. You don't want to be filthy forever do you?"

Well......She was in really no position to argue about anything anymore was she?

[transmutationisms]

okay i mentioned this in the tags but genuinely i have this like whole vampire theory of the roy siblings LMAO so traditionally (like, since the 18th or 19th century i think) the reason vampires can't see their own reflections or cast a shadow is supposed to be because they don't have a soul. i like the work this does as a metaphor with the roys: none of them are 'real', they don't see themselves as real, so they'll have these flashes of insight looking at each other but retain massive blind spots when they try looking into the mirror, metaphorically speaking. there's nothing of substance looking back, they're only composed of what they take from other people.

speaking of which, i've mentioned before that for a show obsessed with bodily fluids (piss mainly; there are at least 28 different bathroom scenes i've counted) there's not really that much blood flowing. the exceptions that come to mind are the therapist at austerlitz, kendall's wrist after the car crash, and kendall's nosebleed after logan yanks him from rehab in iceland. whereas piss is used as an assertion of power and dominance, blood spilling is much more life-threatening, which ties nicely with the vampire concept (there are plenty of folk beliefs about the undead that don't involve the drinking of blood; vampires are feared in a very specific way because of it). if the roy kids are metaphorically blood-suckers, part of their problem is that they keep trying to suck each other's blood and they're all relatively bloodless on account of being dead. they're dependent on the draining of other people to give them life and self-image.

the characters most overtly compared to parasites are sandy and stewy, and i can never help but think of the marx quote (capital is dead labour living vampire-like by sucking living labour etc etc). but the reason that comparison is made is ultimately just because they're capitalists, which the roy kids all are as well. they like to think they're better than private equity guys like stewy (shiv and kendall especially like to think this) but kendall guts vaulter and all three of them are explicitly living off their dad's fortune: parasites attached to parasites, another description we get of sandy in relation to stewy in "prague".

bloodsucking is a potent metaphor i think because vampires are on the one hand totally devoid of substance to the point of being literally soulless, and on the other hand drinking directly from the source of life itself. so much of the horror comes not just from a fear of death/decay but from that mismatch between being drained/pale/lifeless and simultaneously utterly sanguine, but only via another's blood. the roy kids see others as sources to bleed dry and see themselves as insubstantial; other people see them as monsters out for blood.

i also like the vampire tropes wrt to the roys because we often think of them as these like, ancient ideas and it's true bloodsuckers have been in folklore for a long time, but most of our recognisable vampire tropes date much later (primarily 19th century, lots specifically from bram stoker and "carmilla") which i think nicely parallels the way the roys think of their family business as this, like, thousand-year dynasty but really they're extremely nouveau riche. which i think also contributes to their bloodthirst and inability to perceive themselves head-on in any objective way. they fear disappearing and not existing because fundamentally they feel like they lack whatever is supposed to be anchoring them to the earth (soul, conscience, etc) and when they look at/inside themselves there's nothing looking back.

anyway there's my succession vampire thoughts of the day thanks

[cheshiresense]

Oooh! Um... How about Kisuke/Yoruichi/Ichigo? Shadowrun AU (Fantasy AU if you don't know Shadowrun)

Lol I have no idea what Shadowrun is, did a quick google and it’s something like magic + cyberpunk + vaguely futuristic post-apocalyptic setting + virtual reality?? Omg it’s too complicated to write just from reading the wiki lmao, I’ll just give you a cyberpunk fantasy AU.

Edit: This got away from me a bit whoops.

1. Kisuke is your average humble toymaker in the Slums who may or may not supply the underground Robin Hood-esque rebel faction Visored with not-so-average weapons and prosthetics and various repairs and upgrades. The Visored are pretty much wanted in every kingdom in existence, partly because half of them used to be nobles themselves and were part of the minority who hated the way they treated their citizens, mostly because they keep fucking with the other nobles, but no one except said nobles actually wants them to stop because everybody who isn’t nobility pretty much hates those who are. Mostly, it’s the three neighbouring kingdoms - Seireitei, Silbern, and Las Noches - sitting cozy up in their walled off flourishing cities up high, constantly at war with each other but with plenty to eat and plenty of money to fund their large-scale chess games, and paying almost zero attention to the poor and homeless outside their walls. That doesn’t stop them from forcibly conscripting the lower class as cannon fodder or using the Slums as their personal dumping grounds or imprisoning or executing anyone they decide is breaking one law or another. Kisuke’s stayed under the radar so far, so nobody knows he’s the man even more wanted than the Visored, if only for his prodigal skills with cybertech. He’s the one who built their equipment and vehicles, who repaired Hiyori’s spine after she’d been left unable to walk from an ambush and produced a new arm for Hachi after it was cut off in a skirmish, both of which work just as well as the original parts. Most of the nobles either want to kill him or “hire” him. But a toymaker in the Slums who cobbles together tiny cats and dragons and chickens and pixies out of scrap metal for children to play with isn’t anything to look twice at.

2. Here is a secret only a handful of people know - Shihouin Yoruichi was born a cripple. She couldn’t walk, at all, and even the best prosthetics money could buy from the various cybertech companies were clunky and awkward and only allowed her to limp a certain distance. Her family, one of the great noble houses of Seireitei that specialized in seduction and assassination, hid her away out of shame, right up until a rebellious teenaged Yoruichi had had enough and snuck out one night on nothing but her wobbly fake legs and a crutch. She’d spent enough time on her own for the majority of her childhood to know just about every passageway and secret door that snaked through the length and width of Seireitei. She didn’t stop until she appeared in the Slums, and she fainted from exhaustion and hunger only a few days later, but she never looked back. Kisuke found her, took her in, and then made her legs on a whim, upgrading them every time he figured out something new and better that he could add to them. In exchange, Yoruichi used her newfound mobility to retrieve better materials for Kisuke, robbing delivery trucks en route to Seireitei’s cybertech companies or outright stealing from her own family’s weapons storage. Anything they could buy, Kisuke could reverse-engineer and make better. Ten years after she left her old life behind, her legs are a work of art, connected to her nerves to give her complete control over them but granting her superhuman speed and jumping ability, and she’d practiced enough with them over the years that her mind had no problems keeping up with both.  The prosthetics are lightweight but strong enough to withstand the swing of a blade or the impact of a bullet, and she would give a lot to see her family’s faces if they ever realize just who has been ransacking their vaults.

3. Most people carry some kind of weapon these days, but the best - for those who can afford them, or can call Kisuke a friend - can take the form of a companion when not in combat. Shinji’s is in the shape of a sphinx, all sleek lines and feline flexibility, but one that shifts into a sword in a silent whir of pulsing blue lines and polished metal at his command. Mashiro’s is a pixie, not unlike the toys commonly seen in Kisuke’s part of the Slums, except hers includes translucent wings threaded with pale green wiring. It’s perpetually perched on her shoulder, but in a fight, the pixie fuses with her hands and legs, the wings melting and sliding over her skin like liquid mercury to form gloves and boots that increase the power of her kicks and punches.

Yoruichi’s is a black cat but nobody actually knows what kind of weapon it can turn into. More often than not, Yoruichi sends it off as a spy because the thing is so realistic nobody can actually tell it’s not a real animal unless they get close enough to see the delicate wiring in its yellow eyes.

Nobody’s ever seen Kisuke’s either, weapon or otherwise, until a spy from a cybertech company snoops too closely around his shop. Then the other occupants get front-row seats to the bright red threads that extend from his hands - hands that light up with the many, many upgrades inside, a complicated maze of crimson circuits swirling beneath his flesh - and attach themselves to their target like strings on a puppet. At least he takes it out back before he literally rips the spy apart.

4. Once upon a time, before Yoruichi was even born, there were five noble houses instead of four. But the fall of the Shiba Clan is never talked about, and most don’t even remember the details anymore, only that most were put to the sword and the rest were scattered. One of the runners in Kisuke’s employ - the many who scrounge through the Slums’s trash heaps for parts Kisuke might find useful - is a boy on the cusp of twenty who looks uncannily like the last Shiba clan head before the family’s collapse. He goes by Ichigo and doesn’t seem aware of his lineage, and if he notices the way Shinji almost always makes an appearance when he comes in with his haul, and his payment always ends up including several extra portions of food and some high-grade medical supplies and even a new change of clothes now and then, he never says anything. After they find out he has two little sisters to feed, a handful of toys get bundled in as well, free of charge.

Kisuke wouldn’t know a Shiba from a Shihouin, and Yoruichi’s family never bothered teaching her all the things an heir or even just an average noble-born child would’ve needed to know, so neither of them treats Ichigo differently because of his blood or background. They do treat him differently because none of Kisuke’s runners have lasted as long as Ichigo. Sooner or later, they disappear, arrested by guards or killed in a back alley scuffle. Ichigo slinks into the shop at fifteen and still comes around every week like clockwork five years later. He always shows up with a decent haul too, and once, Yoruichi follows him, just to see where he’s getting his loot because surely most of the trash pits in the area have been picked clean over the years? There’s always more added to them, but not at the rate Ichigo is scrounging materials. So Yoruichi follows him one day when he leaves and that’s how they find out about his sisters and the makeshift hole in the wall they live in, shabby-looking on the outside but clean and cozy on the inside and insulated well from the cold. That’s also how they find out about all the enhancements Ichigo has, because Yoruichi makes the mistake of underestimating him and almost gets beheaded when he disappears and almost shivs her from behind with a hand-turned-blade, teeth bared like an animal as his eyes burn with golden circuitry.

(The Shiba Clan had been widely feared, once upon a time, for their genius in the more explosive weaponry and their talent with artificial intelligence and robotics and other biological cybertech enhancements. It was why they’d been so swiftly sentenced to death when they’d come down on the side of the poorfolk. Even one Shiba would’ve been equivalent to having a small army in one’s arsenal.)

Ichigo moved faster, jumped higher, hit harder, than anything Yoruichi had ever come up against. The crack of his heel coming down against the ground shattered rock and cement everywhere, and the only thing that saved her life that day was her dodging ability and a quickly shouted explanation for why she’d followed him in the first place. Ichigo wasn’t unreasonable, even if he wasn’t entirely human. His enhancements explained how he could move further through the Slums for loot and still put down roots in the area. It took some coaxing and several dozen more months of coming and going from the shop, but eventually, he’d also admitted that he didn’t know where his enhancements had come from, he couldn’t remember anything from before waking up the Slums with two regular human toddlers who called him brother depending on him. The only thing imprinted in his memory were the directives: 1) Take Care of Your Sisters, and 2) Survive.

But he was the most powerful thing around for miles, and Kisuke was fascinated because the work done on Ichigo was only vaguely like his own, and far more advanced than anything the nobility churned out these days. Yoruichi didn’t care as much, but she liked having a new sparring partner, not to mention Ichigo was very easy on the eyes, and a few more years on him meant Yoruichi could appreciate the sight without feeling like she was preying on a child.

Ichigo kept coming back, and eventually Kisuke managed to wheedle Ichigo into getting a checkup and upgrades, especially when he started outgrowing a few of his joint ports. Yoruichi watched the two of them make moon eyes at each other, listened to Kisuke ramble about something Ichigo told him the day before, noted the way Ichigo’s eyes sometimes strayed to Kisuke when the man wandered outside without a shirt and his pants on backwards after too many hours in his lab, and she was almost tempted to lock them in a closet together.

(She doesn’t notice the way Kisuke smiles indulgently at her when she comes home from a trip into Seireitei with an icebox of fresh strawberries from the Kuchikis infamous gardens because they’re Ichigo’s favourite, nor does she see Ichigo blink and cock his head in new understanding sometimes when he observes the way she drapes herself over Kisuke, comfortable and relaxed, but never does it with anyone else.)

In the world they live in though, trust is more important than love. Yoruichi has trusted Kisuke since she met him, and Kisuke’s trusted her since she was down two legs and still flung herself between him and a thief with a knife who thought the shop easy pickings. And the day Ichigo brings his sisters over and lets them run around out of his sight is the day they know he trusts them. It’s only natural to offer him and his little family a room of their own at the shop.

5. The day Yoruichi comes back with news of the Silbern Kingdom’s royal family and Las Noches’ royal family both being overthrown by several of their own noble families - the Ishidas and the Kurosakis, and the Coyotes, the Tu Odelschwancks, the Cifers, and the Jaegerjaquezs respectively - is the same day Shinji comes to them and tells them about the revolution movement that’s been in the works for a while now, about the remains of the Shiba Clan currently helping the Ishidas and Kurosakis take over Silbern, and about Ichigo’s own past - memory wiped for his own good because rumours of a Shiba child successfully integrated with his clan’s still experimental but groundbreaking technology had leaked, and if they’d gotten their hands on him, they would’ve turned him into their weapon. Better to hide him in the Slums, along with his two sisters who wouldn’t be of any use in a war for several more years, until they need him again, which they do now, because as soon as Silbern and Las Noches are theirs, they’ll be moving on to Seireitei post haste, and a two-pronged attack while the Gotei is still scrambling to defend themselves would hit them hardest, because for all that the kingdoms have been at war with each other for years, it had never been so direct, nor had their goals ever moved beyond poaching each other’s technologies. But for the revolution movement to succeed, they need Ichigo on their side, and it wouldn’t hurt for Kisuke and Yoruichi to join them too, technically Kisuke’s been their weapons-backer for years, and Yoruichi’s been their ear to the ground in Seireitei for just as long, and they’ll need all hands on deck. The kids can be left with Tessai.

Ichigo storms out. Yoruichi demands to know why they were never told before. And Kisuke surveys a tense-looking Shinji (who explains that it was supposed to be for their safety too - because Yoruichi was their only successful spy in Seireitei, and very, very few could match Kisuke’s genius, and it was just better to keep them out of the way) from beneath his hat before smiling blandly and promptly catching the man with a flick of his hand and five threads, unceremoniously tossing him out the window before he and Yoruichi both go to find Ichigo. It doesn’t take a genius to guess he’d returned to the hole-in-the-wall home he’d made for his sisters, and they join him after Ichigo acknowledges them with a jerk of his shoulders. They don’t speak right away, Ichigo sitting in stony silence, Yoruichi curled on one side of him still seething, Kisuke on his other, absently flexing one red-tinted hand in that way he only does when he’s contemplating murder.

They’ll help, all three of them. They don’t even need to discuss that. It’s high time for the upper-class to get their lives shaken up, the Slums are a disgrace, and if they have the chance to change that, they’ll take it, even if it means working beside people who have been using them for their own ends without giving them so much as a heads-up. Or in Ichigo’s case, will be using him since it’s pretty apparent he might not be the Gotei’s weapon but he is still very much the Shibas’ weapon, reserved for emergencies.

“Regimes come and go every day,” Kisuke remarks first, right hand fanning open, then closing, then opening again, crimson circuits shimmering along the vein lines of his palm.

“What a shame,” Yoruichi agrees with a grin that’s two-parts teeth and all-parts spite.

“…Three of us against three kingdoms that’ve just taken a beating?” Ichigo muses, but his eyes flare gold, and he’s smiling too. “Sounds like fun.”