#that is still himself. that isn’t playing a game of deception and recognizes that his own genuine faith saved multiple lives.)

[borom1r]

I have thoughts abt Beanix but they are NOT coherent ooooargh!!!! HIM!!!!!!!

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

✨ Seven days of:

Day #3.

✨ REQUEST: Request for El Presidente 😁 I've been thinking of this idea: Maybe Bishop is trying to flirt with the reader but we all know he's flirty with most women so the reader doesn't think much of it until they are at a party and “...How long has he been flirting with me?” another mayan: “Only the entire time.” [ I hope you haven't written something like this. I love you 💖]

✨ MADE BY: @ocetevasgirl

WORDS: about 1.9k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ OBISPO ‘BISHOP’ LOSA MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

“C'mon, dance with me”.

The whisper into your ear takes you by surprise, producing you some shivers down your spin. Turning around, you frown to El Presidente. Being insistent as fuck is a personality and it's his.

“Ay, ya, Obispo. I can't believe Vicki is running out of girls to flirt with”. Rolling your eyes, you have a drink from your beer.

“Have I told you how good my name sounds in your lips?” He replies not caring a shit about what you have said. “Vamos... You never dance with me”.

“Yeah, and today is not gonna be the day it changes”. Palming his chest with your free hand, you raise both eyebrows.

“Why?”

“Because I ain't a number on your list. It's called self-love”.

“Who said I want you to be a number?”

Rolling your eyes, you can't believe that he's denying the fact that he flirts with you the whole time. You like him, and you have been about to fall into his claws a lot of times, but then you see him with another girl sitting on his lap, or clinged to his arm. The deception is bigger every time.

“Why don't you give up at damn once?”

Not giving him the opportunity to respond, you pass him away with a loud snort. Getting out of the clubhouse, you're able to have a deep breath of fresh air closing your eyes, guiding after that your steps to the sofa on the porch. Resting your feet over the wooden fence and lying back against your seat, trying to keep blank your mind. The silence outside helps you more than you could think, only being broken by the crickets around you and the bonfire in the middle of the yard.

You aren't sure when he started to act like that. At the beginning of meeting you he was kind, respectful and sweet. But bit by bit, you started to see his intentions. Being aware that the only thing he wants from you is a one night-stand. It's painful, even if you don't want to recognize it, because you were feeling something. Something good. Until he changed. Then it turned into sarcasm and rage. Every time that you turn him down, he finds his way to one of those bitches who are always in the club, cheering the view. And of course it's not their fault, but maybe if they weren't there, things would be different.

“Can I sit?”

Taza claims your attention with a soft tone of voice, pointing with a hand to the empty seat by your side. Showing him a fleeting smile, you nod in silence. As soon as he sits down, the man places his free arm over your shoulders to urge you to rest your head on his.

“What's happening inside that beautiful mind, ah?”

“You already know it”.

He draws an oh in his lips, before chuckling shaking his head.

“He's really in love with you”.

“No, he's not. And, god, please! Don't take his side”.

“I would never lie to you, chamaquita. The problem resides in that he doesn't know how to show it properly. You're the whole time kicking his ass and he's desperate for opening your eyes”. That sounds like a possibility. Like a valid one. “Why don't you give him a chance? We have closed a deal that has given us a lot of privileges. He's happy and he only wants to celebrate it with y—”.

The main door opening interrupts your conversation, seeing the crew abandoning the club.

“We're going to Vicki's, you comen'?” Coco asks, having a smoke.

Taza looks at you, arching a brow, but you shake your head getting up.

“Do you want me to ride you home?”

“Nah, don't worry. I will walk, so I can… clear my mind”.

Placing a kiss on your forehead, the older joins his brothers as you come inside the club. The silence is installed all around, once the buzz of the engines disappear through the scrapping. You were wanting to stay a little more, because you don’t have any other plans for tonight than this. And you’re not in the mood to come back home, so you are thinking about finding a bar to drink, even if it means to be alone.

When you’re about to grab your jacket from a chair, the crash between two pool balls calls your attention. Turning around with the piece of clothing covering your forearms, you find Bishop standing up from the table with a cig in his lips. You can see him pretending normality with his eyes focused on his own game. Not understanding why he hasn’t gone to Vicki’s place, you’re starting to think that maybe he did on purpose. Pressing the inside of your cheek with the tip of your tongue, you can’t help but contain a laugh by showing up a smile.

“Need a partner?”

Having a smoke and swallowing it before spitting it, the mexican turns to a side to grab another stick and offer it to you in silence. So, that’s a yes. Putting your jacket back on the chair and leaving on the poker table your phone, you two start a new game after placing all the balls forming a triangle. Bishop gives you some space, resting his back against the wall, to see how you break the formation with an accurate hit sneaking a striped red ball into a hole, in the middle of the pool. It’s the first time he plays against you, and he isn’t sure that he has seen you playing before. But he knows that it’s going to be an interesting game. Holding his stick between both of his legs under your attentive gaze, El Presidente takes off the clock in his right wrist and the ring from the same hand.

“Since when are we competing?” Tossing a loud laughter, you place both hands over the tip of your stick, resting your chin there.

“If I win, you will give me a kiss”. Bishop sounds very convinced of beating you, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt under the kutte. And you know he’s going to play hard, when he also takes off the leather garment to put it away.

Licking your bottom lip, squinting at him you offer him a hand to accept the deal.

“If you lose, you will stop with this… flirt, or whatever it is”.

At first, he doubts. You’re not stupid, you know that he will never stop flirting with you, but for a moment, you doubt too. Until he finally shakes your hand firmly, secure of himself.

Ball against ball, striped and smooth, they all end up falling through the different holes of the pool table. When the only one left is the number eight, you notice the tension installed between both. It’s your turn and Bishop is expectant, making you feel nervous with that grin contained under his black moustache. Leaning over the table with your gaze focused on the tip about to hit the ball, you calculate the exact way it has to take. Pulling it back, you move it forth with a fast move to beat the eight. Straight to the hole, bouncing against the wooden wall and coming back to the table.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Bishop breaks into laughs, not being able what just happened. It was inside the hole and that motherfucking ball didn’t fall through it.

“YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME! I WON! IT WAS INSIDE IT!”

Screaming like a madwoman and pointing at the pool with a hand, you turn at him. The man is running out of air, choking in laughs and almost arching back his body.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, estúpido”. Palming his shoulder with more strength than you wanted to use, he complains this time. “I’m not playing anymore, I won”.

“You didn’t”. The man leans over the table, doing exactly your same moves, but having more lucky than you.

“I’m not gonna fucking kiss you”.

“Sweetheart, how many times you can say fucking in a sentence?”

“Every two fucking words”.

Chuckling and taking off from your hands the stick, he places it in the holder close to his.

“I’m going to be a good man, and let you kiss my face wherever you want”.

Taking your right hand, Bishop pushes you into his arms, wrapping with them your waist. And even if for a moment you want to put up some resistance, deep inside you being hugged by him is everything you want. There’s still a couple inches of distance between both when you toss your hands on his shoulders respectively, rolling your eyes as if you were feeling uncomfortable. Leaning forward, you press your lips on his cheek. The fucking longer two seconds of your life. But if you were thinking that this would be enough for him, it isn’t.

Bishop embraces you tightly against himself, making you feel warm and loved for the first time in your life. It’s not only the gesture, but what he is transmitting you with it. Now you’re believing what Taza has told you almost an hour again. And you don’t reply with a single word, when he starts to kiss your face with such dearly touches, as he speaks.

“I want you —one on your neck— to be mine —another going up to the line of your jaw— and only mine —the last one close to the corner of your lips—, why don't you believe me?”

His facial hair makes you some tickles, provoking you a long shiver that bristles your skin. There’s no distance between you two, guiding your steps backwards until your body meets the pool table. His mouth is coming closer to yours, tasting the waters just in case that you really want to push him away. But you don’t. You don’t do it, closing your eyes as soon as he presses his lips against yours.

You can taste the flavor of beer and smoke in his saliva, not being disgusting for you, with your fingers getting placed at both sides of his neck; caressing with the tips of them his short beard. The heat is starting to burn down your heart barriers, transforming your doubts and insecurities into ashes.

Pulling away your faces from each other, when you are running out of air, Bishop urges you to sit on the edge of the pool table as he makes his way to between your legs. And there’s a detail that catches your whole attention. He’s not hard. You’re sure that if he does the same moves with one of Vicki’s girl, or any man with any woman he just wants to fuck with, he would be already hard. Quite the opposite, El Presidente is only focused on showing you that you’re more than a night-stand for him.

“Will you give me an opportunity?”

“Just one”. You highlight, bringing your eyes to the darkest ones.

“As if I needed more than one, querida”.

[sirdust]

 more striker analysis/rambling bc i just. won’t shut up

this dude is actually deceptively tough to figure out in some ways. i don’t think he’s going to be as complex as our main characters because, frankly, you don’t hire a voice actor that expensive for a character you plan on spending a whole lot of time with. that doesn’t mean he has no depth though.

i’ve already talked at length about how he’s class-conscious but cruel, which makes him in some ways more threatening than if he was cruel but unaware. i really am starting to think he has a superiority complex with the way he talks about and treats other imps, because while he’s initially friendly, he’s clearly disdainful of them by the end of the episode. see: calling himself and blitz superior, kicking a random audience member in the face, etc. you get it by now

even though the majority of his antagonism is directed at moxxie specifically, his attitude toward blitz is also interesting. even though they tie at the games, his song suggests that he considers himself the only winner, and he calls blitz a rodeo clown behind his back, which makes it seem as if he doesn’t respect him. he also lies to him about why he’s trying to kill stolas and actually manages to pinpoint his exact insecurities after a very brief time of knowing him, which is interesting. and they are similar, they’re both imp assassins who have deals with the goetia family, and my current guess is that stella is the source of striker’s angelic weapons (in parallel to how stolas is the source of the grimoire for blitz). so it’s possible striker understands what blitz is up against and how it’s affecting him in a way nobody else blitz has met before does. the problem is, like i said, he’s using that against him.

i really do think striker is out for himself. he’s aware of the oppression imps face, but he’s internalized the idea that imps are inferior and he needs to distance himself in order to be on the same level as those in the upper echelon of their society. at the same time, by doing that and by working for someone who actively wishes to maintain the status quo, he’s playing into the system, and i wonder if that’s what he doesn’t realize. if he does then he’s really just purely mercenary, but it’s interesting to think about.

but i also want to get back to his relationship with blitz, because even though i don’t think he truly views him as an equal, he does seem to think more highly of him than he does moxxie (or at least recognizes his strength, and recognizes that strength could be useful to him). there is one thing i saw pointed out though that i hadn’t really considered and it does... throw a bit of a wrench in what i was reading into this character before now. 

...he has his knife during this entire fight and doesn’t, like, use it. granted, in this particular scene he’s using it as a distraction so he can wrench the barrel of blitz’s pistol towards moxxie, but we don’t see it knocked out of his hand during the subsequent action sequence or anything (unlike with blitz’s pistol) so we can assume he still has it by the time he gets away. arguably there were no opportunities for him to get stabby, but deliberately showing that he has his knife is interesting to do here from a writing perspective, because the fact it doesn’t play a key part in the fight itself seems more noticeable upon revisiting.

maybe the reason he doesn’t stab him is so he can maintain some potential emotional leeway, but he does point his shotgun at him and moxxie during this fight with seeming intent to kill. i don’t think he really had plans to let blitz get away from this encounter, so his seeming restraint here is strange. in the end, the fact he doesn’t use his knife could possibly be an oversight, but it’s too interesting to ignore.

that isn’t even to mention the fact that he mockingly calls him “blitzy” at the end, which is a nickname that stolas has always meant to be affectionate but blitz takes as condescending. its usage in that scene could actually imply many things, but here are my primary takeaways:

1) this was originally pointed out by some lovely person whose account i cannot remember for the life of me, but it contrasts with the usage of “blitzo” by verosika and fizz. whereas “blitzo” encapsulates the ways blitz is dissatisfied with his past, “blitzy” encapsulates that with which he’s dissatisfied in the present.

2) it’s, again, condescending. striker implies that by relying on other “weaker” imps instead of rejecting solidarity with them to pursue his own interests, blitz is equal to “weaker” imps, and any exceptional skill he may possess is rendered moot by his place in society. that’s how the higher-ups in hell already view the situation, anyways, so striker is once again using his insecurity against him.

3) arguably of less importance but still interesting, the overt attraction blitz has to striker throughout the episode serves to place him in the role of pseudo-love interest as well as rival. having striker use the nickname coined by blitz’s main love interest draws the contrast between their attitudes towards blitz to the forefront. stolas is above blitz in terms of class, but he seems to like blitz for who he is (he’s still the only character he’s shown to be attracted to), and his prejudice is born out of ignorance and not malice. striker actually share’s blitz’s class interests, but seems to value him on the basis of how useful he could be as a partner in crime and maliciously exploits his anxieties about life at the bottom.

(i forgot how i was originally going to end this, holy shit this got long)

so yeah. to sum up, while i don’t think we’ll be seeing striker too many times throughout the series, this character is becoming more interesting the more i look back, and his relationship with blitz really does present an interesting question for blitz as a character. at the same time, it may serve to provide striker more depth later, but we really have to wait and see since his behavior has sent contradictory messages to us as the audience. not in a way that feels unintentional, just difficult to parse without further information.

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

In a way the whole "Izuku is the Dragonborn" fic would need to leave most of the backstory of Izuku the 4-14 years old dragon slayer on luck or Inko doing all the work while Izuku is, like, put in a position of safety (he still needs to eat dragon souls tho, same for Miraaks... How would that work even?) So I might need to move things around a bit.

Basically here's the backstory on all major shit:

Helgen: Inko and Izuku run away with Hadvar. They are not scheduled for execution because, you know, Hadvar might not go out of his way for a stranger but there is a small kid involved, younger than his cousin dammit, way younger than your usual Stormcloak Child Soldier Conscript from Dawnstar (an actual canon thing believe it or not) so he puts his foot down. In the keep Hadvar does most of the work obviously, even if Inko does, in her desperation, cut down people getting dangerously close to Izuku. She is a better lockpick than she expected, especially with her Quirk, and Izuku in his curiosity ends up pawing off the book and a strange, mysterious ring inside the Mage's cell. They then go to Riverwood with Hadvar, where they are directed to both Farengar and the College for matters regarding magical space travel, so to speak.

Riverwood: However, they are pennyless and alone in a foreign world, so Inko tries first to make money by working at the local lumber mill as she sends a courier to Whiterun for the Dragon Thing. Assume we are playing with my modded version of the game, which means Riverwood is currently the home of one Triss Merigold from the Witcher. She is also spacially displaced as of late, and is searching for Yennefer, Ciri and Geralt, with whom she jumped into this reality before getting lost from them. Dorthe and Frodnar will direct the small Izuku to her, since Dorthe is the one "babysitting" Izuku while his mother works so he's playing with the slightly older kids. Basically, they know she is a mage of some sort since she showed them some sort of light show, and Inko still needs to make money if she wants to leave with the proper equipment so they can't even go to Farengarym yet.

This allows us to 1) Set up the Triss Merigold X Midoriya Inko endgame and NO I AM NOR FUCKING STUTTERING and 2) Give Inko a competent bodyguard of sorts before she actually does get used to the unforgiving land of Skyrim and starts giving people heart attacks with her Quirk.

Of the Major Guilds:

Companions: Inko Joins as a way to make money for Izuku. With the mercenary work she manages to buy the house in Whiterun, so now Izuku can be left in a safe location, with "Aunt" Lydia as his babysitter. Whiterun Shenanigans ensue with Izuku befriending Lucia and Lars. Also Braith but, like, after lots of character development. Lucia is obviously the first to be adopted.

Inko is the one who becomes a werewolf and the Harbinger in the end, Izuku is not involved in this Storyline outside of some encounters with "Aunt" Aela and "Uncles" Vilkas and Farkas. Inko renounces her condition in the end.

College of Winterhold: They move to winterhold together since Farengar can't help them. Izuku is actually a quick study, as exemplified to that one spell book he found in helgen that thought him within seconds how to shoot lightning from his hands, much to his mother's worry. He ends up killing a bandit in self defense that way when he's barely 5. It was either do that or let them get to his mom.

Anyway, Inko is enrolled, but so is Izuku, the two now living on College Grounds. Triss is also there as an honorary lecturer. Anyway, Whe most of the adventuring is still done by Inko, is Izuku who receives the visit of the Psijic Order and, ultimately, he is the one to kill Ancano and close the eye of Magnus. Inko becomes Archmage still, even if she tries her hardest to have Toldfir step up instead.

The way Izuku kills Ancano is actually more based on guile than actual magical prowess. He is the only one not paralyzed in the boss fight, so what he does, is grab one of J'Zargo experimental Scrolls, summon a Skeleton Minion (Oblivion spell he was recently taught so to have someone protecting him in times of crisis), and then run with it against Ancano, too busy as he is being a megalomaniac, suicide bombing himself. He survives, but only thanks to the Restoration Professor quick intervention as Ancano dies and the paralysis falters.

Restoration magic did save the day in the end.

J'Zargo, who is usually aloof and snarky over his experiments, is actually horrified his rival's son almost got killed because of him, so he pledges he will do everything in his power to find a way to help them with their issue. He is a great magician after all, and his class is one of the brightest to date, they can find a way out for them.

Dragon War: Since all they can do now is wait for the College, Inko returns to Whiterun with Izuku and Triss, but on the way the watchtower is attacked, Mirmulmir is slain, and Izuku absorbs his dragon soul. This jumpstarts the events of Skyrim, with Izuku and Inko having to go on a pilgrimage to High Hrothgar to better understand what is happening to her son, who is now terrified of talking least he blew his mother apart with his voice.

A 5 years old kid makes a poor warrior, so the Greybeard offer to train him for his destiny, but Inko refuses. They don't need her son to kill dragons, just to eat their souls, so what she can do, is do the actual dragon slaying, and then have Izuku eat the souls. This still forces her to bring Izuku on her adventures, which isn't ideal, but only the dragon related ones. Izuku still learns the shouts of unrelenting force and whirlwind sprint as well as Dragonrend, but is Inko the one wielding the blade.

As a side note, Paarthurnax, for once not having to deal with a 4th era Nord, can finally give the unadulterated lore of the order rather than the imperialized, akatosh centric one, which leads Izuku to grow interested in Kyne, Warrior-Widow of Shor, for how much she reminds him of his mom.

Anyway, Inko is the one doing most of the stuff, Paarthurnax isn't killed, and Izuku gets two dragon buddies, one a wise and aging mentor war criminal, the other a brash and snarky red dragon he can call with his voice.

Izuku and Inko go both to Sovengarde. Inko meets back Kodlak, but also Ysgramor, who she now recognizes as a war criminal bastard, and she is the one dealing the killing blow on Alduin. Inko, Breath of Kyne, is the one sand in the songs now, the mother of the dragonborn who delivered them from evil.

Thieves Guild: Inko also does it all, but is the start of Izuku's involvement with Daedras. Inko takes the pledge to Nocturnal, so her soul is now bound to her realm, but is her son that catches the Prince's eye. Inko also tries to reform the guild back to its old robin hood ways, with divergent results.

Explorer Guild: This is the Legacy of the Dragonborn Mod. Inko founds the explorers guild and moves to the now bigger home in the Museum in Solitude. Proudspire manor has been bought by Yennefer, now advisor to Queen Elisif, who thanks to her influence has grown more confident. Girlboss helping Girlboss prosper and all that. She lives there with husband and daughter, and there's a reunion with Triss. Usual angst about "is she going to leave me? Are our adventures over?" But Triss stays because she cares about Inko and shit.

Anyway, inko is the one doing most of the stuff here too, but she now has a big enough home to adopt more than just Lucia.

She adopts every orphan, as well as Sissel and Britte in Rorikstead after murdering their abusive father. She then kills Grelod in Riften, so to also be able to adopt the orphans at the orphanage. To do so, she catches the attention of the Dark Brotherhood since she just stolen their contact. She of course adopts Aventus Aretino too.

Dark Brotherhood: All Inko. Unlike thieves guild, Izuku isn't even aware she's doing this, since he's back in Solitude with his new siblings.

Princes:

Izuku does Sheogorath. He's playing in the streets with his siblings and the other Solitude kids, when he finds Sheogorath abandoned follower. So he sneaks in the blue palace, gets to the forbidden wing, and meets Sheogorath, the Hero of Kvatch. Does his quest since it's a pretty easy quest even for a 5 years old kid, and then gets the Wabbajack in exchange.

Inko does Sanguine. The sham marriage is actually to Triss this time, which leads to more angst obviously.

Inko also does Vaermina (destroying the staff), Dagon (Destroying the Razor), Hircine (Gets the Ring), Malacath, Namira (Saves the priest and kills the cannibals), Molag Bal (Just... Never completes his quest and leaves the bastard hanging), Boethia (sacrifices one of the two racist dudes in Windhelm after trucking him into following her), Azura (Uncorrupted Star) and Peryte.

Izuku finds Meridia's Beacon but it's Inko who does the quest.

Izuku is the one meeting Barbas and they have "A boy and his dog" adventures together before he manages to bring him back to Clavicus Vile and convince him to take him back without needing to do his quest. He gets the Mask as a Result, but also a dog in the form of Styx, the spectral wolf, another mod.

Izuku does Mephala, pretty early on too. He befriends Baalgruf's bastard son while still living in Whiterun, who tells him about the whispering door, and after a couple of deceptions he gets the blade. He never charges it tho.

While is Inko the one getting the Ogma Infinium, she can't open it, and is Izuku the one opening it and gaining the boost in knowledge, as well as becoming Herma Mora champion.

Dawnguard and Dragonborn are also done by Inko, but is Midoriya who is sent to Apocrypha when she opens a black book. There he has a odd "Older Sibling trying to murder Younger Sibling" relationship with Miraak, and is ultimately forced to see him get killed by Herma Mora. Aunt Serana becomes a permanent fixture in the house.

Bard College is done by Inko but Izuku is also part of the college now.

Most quests are done by Inko, but the misc quests that require either speech or guile are done by Izuku, especially if they involve children. This includes stuff like paying for Erik the Slayer armor in Rorikstead, or cheering up that girl in Solitude whose uncle was executed for aiding in regicide.

Speaking of which:

Civil War: Inko does it obviously, and she sides with the empire, because 1) Hadvar, 2) Baalgruf, and 3) Elisif.

And also because she went to Windhelm one time to stop a serial killer and gods she couldn't believe how racist those fuckers were.

Modded followers are obviously Inigo, Lucien and Shirley Curry, to name a few.

Forgotten City is done by Inko, Izuku is not even in the time loop. Project AHO is done by Inko and ends with her freeing the slaves and murdering every single slaver in the settlement. Most modded quest mods are done by her honestly.

Izuku obviously keeps himself up to date with his magical studies, which means around 8-10 years old he moves back to winterhold, still waiting for a way home, so J'Zargo can study him to reverse engineer his quirk, and he can learn more spells. Most of his siblings are almost of age by now too, and his mother has started calming down in her worry, since she trusts her old coursemates and teacher to keek Izuku safe...

Ok, no, she trusts Onmund and Toldfir to keep Izuku safe, in this order, but it's still more people she would trust if he started living with any of her other guilds.

Anyway, can't think of much else.

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 7 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

I ended up spending most of this past weekend setting up the Mermaid AU on AO3, so I do hope y’all will check it out over there!

Please note that on AO3, this Marco’s Bauble story is going under the title On the Courtship of Monkey D. Luffy. I didn’t really know where this series was going when I began writing it, and “Marco’s Bauble” was most definitely a starting point, but it’s expanded well beyond that now, as you’ll probably see in this update ^ ^; I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll rename all the parts on Tumblr or not.

BUT in the meantime, I’ll continue posting updates in advance here on Tumblr (and on Patreon even further in advance ;D), so here’s an update for this week!

In which Sabo confronts Koala.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 3

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 5

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble, Part 6

~~

Hmm, Koala thinks. So this probably counts as a "kabedon."

A kabedon, according to the young new recruits who'd explained it to her, is a situation in which one person, ideally tall and attractive, leans over a second, ideally smaller person, boxing them against a wall with their arms, essentially pinning them in place. Koala thinks it sounds like menacing posturing, but the recruits insisted that if done by the right person, it's a terribly titillating scenario, the kind you'd find in romance stories.   

It happens to be the situation that Koala finds herself in now, with her back against the side of Merry's cabin as Sabo looms over her, effectively blocking all exits with his arms braced against the wall on either side of her.

Sabo, Koala grudgingly thinks, probably not only qualifies, but is likely the recruits' very definition of tall and attractive.   

Right now, he's doing that thing where his eyes are half-mast, dark and unreadable as they peer down at Koala through the curtain of blond locks that have fallen across his face. It's a look that Koala knows has half of Baltigo swooning, and she's heard people call it Chief's Sexy Look.   

Koala feels very strongly that those are a poor choice of words, because from personal experience, she knows it's a look that's usually followed immediate, brutal interrogation that often ends in screams and excessive bloodshed. 

"Koala," he breathes, in that voice that has stolen the hearts of half the Revolutionary Army, and has convinced more than one unfortunate soul that perhaps, they might survive this encounter after all.   

But Koala knows better.   

Because his next words are, surprise surprise, "What are you hiding from me about my Luffy?"

He smiles then, and it looks misleadingly gentle, and Koala can see why strangers may mistake him for a benevolent princely gentleman.   

But Koala knows Sabo. And all she sees is the manic sadism behind the oh so very fake expression.   

She cringes, because no, there is absolutely nothing romantic or exciting about this situation at all. All she feels is Doom.   

"Hmm?" she says, keeping her hands behind her back so he can't see them twist. In these situations, Koala's more than well aware that the more she talks, the more she incriminates herself.   

Many who observe their partnership are under the impression that Sabo's just the overpowered guy who beats people up and destroys shit, while Koala provides intel. And while it's true that Koala has intel, Sabo's the one who often personally extracts it from their most stubborn sources.   

In other words, what Sabo wants, he usually gets. It's usually a comforting thought, but not today.   

"Hmm?" Sabo parrots back, eyes lazily tracing over her face, and Koala frantically tries to keep her expression neutral as he searches for an opening. 

It's like when they were children, Koala thinks, when they played interrogation games with each other as assignments for Inazuma's class. Except this time, it's not Koala's grade on the line. And while Koala knows that her partner would never actually hurt her, he's also very capable of making life pretty miserable for her if she doesn't spill.   

And right now, she has a secret she'd really, really like to keep away from Sabo.

The secret being, y'know, the fact that someone proposed to his dearest baby brother.   

And even though it's extremely unlikely that Luffy understands the significance behind the gesture, she considers the gift hers, which, for all points and purposes...means she accepted.   

Koala does not want Sabo to find out about this, from her, at least right now, before she has more information.   

But, Koala glumly remembers, she's never actually managed to win any interrogation games against him.   

"You know," he says, voice deceptively light, and Koala wants to groan because here we go. "Luffy and Ace mean the world to me. They're not just my past, they make me who I am. Even when I didn't remember, they were with me, and I was with them. They're everything to me."   

Koala won't break. She tries to look for an opening without shifting her eyes, but Sabo's not an amateur and there are no escape routes.   

"It would truly be terrible, if something happened to one of them, something that should be stopped, that I could have prevented if only I had known."   

He's poking her defenses. He wants her to say, you're blowing this out of proportion, it's not that big a deal, or maybe you're overthinking this. Possibly even lie, I'm not hiding anything, or even counter, what makes you think I'm hiding something?   

Koala knows better. Those are all traps, all openings that he'd pounce on, and she's seen him rip people apart for falling for them. Koala won't give him the chance.   

He leans in close, and whispers in her ear, voice low and dark in a way that would make his fans cry, and his enemies cry too but for an entirely different reason. "You wouldn't know something that'd prevent me from fulfilling my duties as Luffy's older brother, now would you, Koala?"  

Well, Koala thinks snidely, depends on what you consider your brotherly duties, and whether they include homicide and starting a war with an Emperor.   

She says, "Mmm."   

Sabo, or rather his mouth, smiles. His eyes are a void. Koala's not used to be on the receiving end of this particular stare, and she isn't enjoying a moment of it.   

"Alright. If that's how you want to be. Let's figure this out together, now shall we?"   

Sabo's voice is calm, exaggeratedly patient, like a therapist. He never talks to Koala like this, but Koala still recognizes this particular tone, and cringes as she realizes which interrogation pattern he's chosen. It's one she's ill equipped to counter at the moment, and he no doubt knows it.   

Koala braces herself. Blank face, she tells herself, even breathing. He's using his stupid over-powered Observation Haki to keep track of your pulse.

"Well," he begins, "I know it's already about Luffy, because you're more nervous about me talking about her than Ace." It's stated as fact, and Koala blinks rapidly to moisten her eyes because she knows the real deal's starting now, and she'll have to avoid blinking when it might give her away.   

"And it must be something you found out during your Fishman Karate sessions, because you don't have any other time together, at least when I'm not watching."   

Koala isn't remotely surprised that he's monitoring everyone; after all, she's been doing the same. She wants to sigh but keeps it in.   

"It's probably something physical, because Lu can't keep secrets if she thinks of them as secrets, so it might have been something you saw...a scar, or a mark on her body? No? Then an object she has on her...Ah, there we go."  

Fuck you, I didn't give you any tells, Koala thinks indignantly, but she knows that expressing any annoyance will only confirm his guesses, and continues to refuse to speak.   

"You've been going to the kitchen more often than usual, but not during meal times, or even prep times, but rather lulls...times that you have no business in the kitchen, and times where only cooks are present, cleaning up or otherwise doing tasks that don't require their full attention...the perfect time to chat."  

Maybe I wanted a snack, Koala thinks, but keeps her mouth shut, because Sabo already knows when and how she snacks. This interrogation really isn't fair.   

"And as for the cooks in question...well, if it were Sanji, I'd just ask him myself, but you knew I wouldn't do that, right, Koala? You know I could get it out of him, so if it was him, he wouldn't know anything of value. But I don't think he's involved at all."   

Sabo looks at Koala expectantly. Koala stares right back at him, though her eyes feel very, very dry.   

"So the question now is, why would my dearest partner want to protect Thatch, Fourth Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates and temporary first cook of the ASL Pirates?" Sabo talks as though he's asking himself, but he isn't, and Koala's not fooled. She keeps her face blank. "I doubt it's a personal thing, after all, his intentions towards Luffy couldn't be more obvious, he announces it at least once a day. And given my partner's obvious little lesbian crush, it doesn't seem in her best interests to help him, no?"   

This does get a reaction from Koala, and her breath leaves her in a whoosh. Fine, make it personal. If he's figured out this much, it's only a few more steps till the answer, and at this point what does it matter. Koala glares, relishing freeing her face from its mask, and for a moment Sabo's back to his usual self, giving her a cheeky wink as though to say told you so. But then Interrogator!Sabo is back, because he's not quite done yet.  

Whatever. She tried, alright. It's not like she owes the Phoenix anything. She leans back against the wall, bringing her arms in front of her chest, and scowls, hoping her expression projects exactly what she thinks of Interrogator!Sabo at the moment. Sabo likewise drops his arms, because he knows she's no longer going to escape.   

"You're not protecting Thatch himself, because if you were we could solve it here, and it never needs to get out of hand. So you're protecting someone connected to him. The fact that you're being so stubborn, tells me that it's not just a personal thing, but something that could cause an incident, that would likely affect the Army. Which means, obviously, a Whitebeard pirate.   

"But I don't think it's just any Whitebeard pirate. They're someone high profile enough that it would be a big deal if I were to confront them, possibly jeopardizing any potential future alliances the Army forms with them, or drawing the eyes of the World Government. Which, they're already watching us, which makes me think it's gotta be someone even bigger than Thatch..."   

Which, of course doesn't leave much.   

"It could very well be old man Whitebeard himself," Sabo says, but he's shaking his head. "But something tells me it's not. And I know that some very interesting little blue birds have been stopping by the Merry, likely with letters for Thatch, but possibly also with unsolicited deliveries for my baby brother..."  

Your baby brother, chill with your possessiveness, does rubbing it in feel that good? Koala sniffs.   

"And as for why it's a big deal...you wouldn't be so secretive over a crush. Everyone on the crew has a crush. That can be dealt with. This is a few steps beyond, something you think would make me mad, right, Koala?”

Sabo pauses a moment, but it's for dramatic effect, because Sabo knows that Koala knows that he already has an answer.   

"So tell me, Koala. What did Marco the Phoenix give Luffy to try to claim her as his bride?"   

And well, there you have it.

"Bravo," Koala says dryly. "I see you're qualified for your position, Chief. I'll be sure to inform the Boss."   

Sabo tips his hat, and even though she allows herself to relax, Koala keeps her eyes trained on her partner.   

He's taking this calmer than she expected, to be honest. Interrogator!Sabo still hasn't fully faded from his face, but he's no longer giving off sadistic vibes, and has that little frown that tells Koala he's still sorting through his thoughts. His ability to remain composed is likely affected by the fact that they're still in Paradise, and the Whitebeard Pirates and the New World are still quite a ways away.   

Which is good, because it means Sabo can't just impulsively cause a massive incident on the spot. But it's also bad, because it means he's got more time to plot, and Sabo can come up with some pretty devastating things if given the opportunity.   

"Sabo, I barely know anything myself, and neither does Thatch," Koala says, finally willing to speak. "I'm working on getting more information. Don't plan anything rash yet. It could all be a misunderstanding."   

Sabo slowly nods, still quiet. Koala sighs.   

This might be a good time to bring up a certain topic, she realizes. She'd been thinking about it for a while now, but had wanted to give him more time.   

She first thought about it when the night after he regained his memories, she sees Sabo slip away from the Merry to pursue the ship that's transporting the slavers who tried to sell Luffy at the auction house. The slavers have already been passed in the hands of Army agents, all of the enslaved have been freed and are on their way to safety, and Luffy's back with her crew. Their job should have been over.   

Sabo comes back before dawn, accompanied by Ace who had likely transported him with Striker. He seems calmer than the night before, but Koala doesn't miss that his gloves are still damp from recently being washed.   

There've been other incidents too, in the short period they've traveled together. Koala's seen Sabo dangerously close to snapping (and actually snapping) more during the past few weeks than their entire decade together. And on one hand, it's understandable, but on the other...   

"You know," Koala begins, as gently as possible. "she's no longer the child you left behind. She's an adult. Even if this ends up being nothing, she may still find someone, one day. What are you going to do then?"   

If Luffy's in physical danger, protecting her is one thing. But what if it's something that she chooses?   

The change is subtle, but Koala notices when the last of the Chief of Staff fades from Sabo, as his head tilts downward ever so slightly. And all of a sudden he reminds Koala all too much of the tiny, battered child who stared at himself in the mirror when he thought everyone was asleep, touching his scars and asking, Who are you?

"I can't lose her, I can't lose either of them," Sabo says quietly, and he overlaps completely with the lost child, and ah, Koala thinks, because she gets it.   

That child, that self who was missing for so long, is back now, inside Sabo where he always belonged, where he always existed but couldn't be recognized. That child now takes up so much space, too much space, and still hasn't been fully reconciled with the adult that Sabo's grown up to be. Simpler, childish emotions and desires that feel too vibrant and raw, clashing with the adult's more weathered world view, aggravated further by all the darkness that Sabo's seen in their line of work.   

Sabo's less concerned about Ace, Koala knows, because even though Sabo loves both his brothers, Ace is like his other half. They don't protect each other, but function seamlessly as a single unit, a unit with one priority that stands above all else.   

Luffy.   

Luffy, who as a child, Sabo was able to protect from anything and everything in their isolated microcosm. Luffy, who as an adult, Sabo knows all too well is more vulnerable than ever, as proven by the very situation in which they reunited.  

A gilded glass tank, hidden away behind dusty curtains, with a dark, motionless shape crumpled at the bottom. Chains, chains, and chains upon bruised skin, and bubbles rising from parted lips, getting smaller and smaller as she slowly fades...

That was bad enough, but Koala doubts Ace or any of the others know exactly what the fate of a captured mermaid is, at least in the way that Koala and Sabo do.   

Koala understands, she really does.   

But she also knows the importance of freedom, not just to Sabo, but likely to Luffy and Ace as well.   

"Would it be losing her?" she asks, and child!Sabo flinches.   

"We vowed to be free," Sabo says, and he still sounds lost, like he doesn't know what the word means anymore. "And we will be." His hat shadows his eyes, and Koala can't imagine how they look at that moment. "But I don't want her to go where I can't follow."   

"Then follow," Koala says, because what else is there to say? "Follow, if that's your freedom. But you can't stop hers."   

"I know."   

She couldn't have known how Sabo would take her words.

~~

Part 8, we see more of Thatch.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, any comments are immensely appreciated and help motivate me to create more for this AU! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression, radio version - Ep 41, July 2016 - Underwater band Aquasonic, Tracking a spouse with GPS, Ichiro beats Pete Rose's world record.

Kaoru starts by commenting about how close he came to not being able to play Utafumi on the last show. He thinks Hiranabe was talking so much on purpose. He then asks listeners to contact the show as usual, and reminds them of the ongoing new jingle campaign. He will play some more entries on the show once he has a few more gathered up.

Kaoru's first topic is about a 5-piece band from Denmark named Aquasonic, who perform music entirely submerged in water tanks. They have specially designed instruments, and use no oxygen tanks, but come up for breath at timed intervals during the performance. Kaoru thinks this band is cool. Joe says the sound that they produce is very mysterious, and Kaoru agrees. He is pretty perplexed as to the types of instruments and methods the band uses. Joe comments that when we usually hear music, it comes via vibrations in the air, but with this we are hearing the sound vibrate through water. Rather than the freedom of expression, this is more like seeing the possibility of expression increase. It may be possible to produce sounds in this way that human ears have never heard before. Watching the video of the band's performance, Kaoru felt an entirely new sensation, and felt inspired in regards to the possibilities that are out there. Joe mentions that he recently interviewed a musical saw player on his other radio show, who claimed that when he played his music in the mountains, the bugs and birds sang out in unison with him. Joe thinks that in this age of everything digital, there is a whole world of discovery waiting to be unlocked in the natural world. Kaoru mentions that playing underwater could also be different if done in the sea, due to the effect of the waves etc. The vibrations in the sea would be different from in a water tank. Joe thinks that although this idea comes with a certain physical danger (being submerged underwater), its great if something that has been overlooked for so long could give new creative ideas. Maybe he is a bit of a romanticist. Kaoru repeats that he finds this idea quite fascinating, and Joe suggests using underwater music as this show's bgm. Kaoru replies, no, this is not possible.

Tasai joins them next for the Tokyo Sports corner. He congratulates Kaoru on the public revelation of the new single.

His first news story is about the comedian/impressionist Kintalo, who gave some marriage advice to her newly married friend, Yashiro Yu. The advice was, 'Don't track your husband with GPS'. The reason for this is that Kintalo herself had used GPS to track her own husband 24/7, and it had soured thier relationship. Joe is not surprised that it affected thier marriage. Tasai questions the idea of a woman wanting to spy on a man who she likes 24/7. Kaoru says it works both ways though, it would be just as bad for a man to spy on a woman. He also says this type of thing infringes on the relationship of trust between close people.

Kami then joins the conversation to say that he agrees with using GPS to track a spouse. Joe and Kaoru disagreeing with the idea makes them look like they are guilty of something. Kaoru says even if he is not guilty of anything, he just doesn't want anyone to know if he's been to the amusement park, and rode on the roller coaster or that type of thing. Kami insists that there are so many deceptive people out there, its definitely better to track them. Joe asks Kami how he would feel if he was tracked with GPS by a girlfriend. Kami says he would be completely happy with that. He isn't like Joe. Joe says its not really the GPS thats the problem, its just not a nice feeling when someone doubts you. Kami says there is nothing about him that would get him into trouble if discovered, so Joe asks in that case, why does he use that weird voice? Kami gets angry and accuses Joe of discrimination. This is his natural voice! Kaoru suggests that Kami, being a god, ought to know the whereabouts of everyone anyway, even without gps. Kami says he does, and that is why he's happy to wear a gps device himself. Joe asks Kami if he can see what Hiranabe is doing right now. Kami says he can, he is out drinking. Tasai confirms that this is true. Kami then repeats his assertion that anyone who refused to be tracked with gps must be harbouring some kind of guilt. Tasai admits he wouldn't like to be tracked skipping work or something, and says that everyone has little things to be guilty about in this way. Joe aks Kami if he's never skipped work on his night-shift. After a very brief, but telling pause, Kami says he has never skipped work. The others get the feeling that he probably has. Before leaving, Kami comments on how short the new song Utafumi was, and Kaoru has to remind him that this was the promotional edit. version.

Tasai's next story relates to baseball, specifically that Ichiro has overtaken Pete Rose's world record of 4256 hits. This is a total of his combined hits from in Japan and the USA, which causes some people not to recognize the record. Pete Rose himself does not recognize it, comparing hits in Japan to high school hits. On the other hand, some point out that fewer games are played in Japan than in the states, which makes Ichiro's tally all the more impressive. Kaoru says that record or not, there are always gonna be people who are stingy about this kind of thing. Tasai says that even Japanese comedian Ariyoshi had half-jokingly called Rose a piece of trash over this issue. Kaoru states that a record is still a record, to which Tasai responds that Ichiro could claim the world record and Rose could claim the major league record.

Kami then appears again to suggest that Ariyoshi's use of the word 'trash' (クズ/kuzu) could be a play on words with the food 'kuzu' (*I think*). Joe aks Kami if has any records of his own. Kami says his record is that he has never skipped work, and never been late for work. The others are not that impressed with this. Kami ends up calling them all 'trash' too.

To close the show, Kaoru plugs the release of Utafumi, and the upcoming DSS tour. He mentions they will play at Nakano Sun Plaza for the last time during this tour, as the venue is due to close. They will also play new music other than Utafumi on the tour. They may even play some of the songs that were rejected from the new album. Next he mentions that a 'Best of' album is in the works for the following year, reminds listeners of the new jingle campaign, and plugs his blog. He says his blog is due to feature a guest for the first time, namely LM.C's Aiji. Joe asks Kaoru if he has any summer vacation plans before the next tour starts in September. Kaoru says he will only be in Tokyo working on new music, so maybe they could think of something special to do for this show. Kami appears once again to tell them to wear a gps device if they make any plans. Joe suggests Kami must be late for his night shift by now, but Kami says he has taken the day off. Also that Dir en grey shouldn't worry about being tracked with gps because they surely have nothing to hide. Kaoru says he prefers to remain a little mysterious. They finish by repeating thier desire to make some kind of summer plan for the show. Kami will have to take time off to avoid being late for work, which is the exact opposite of Hiranabe who is unapologetically late for everything.

Songs - Dir en grey/Utafumi, Snot/Joy Ride.

[insanityclause]

Guillermo Del Toro is no stranger to widespread acclaim, especially from his ride or die legion of fans. Pan’s Labyrinth, the Hellboy duology, the list of genre-bending, timeless masterworks goes on. Coming off his 2 Oscar wins for The Shape of Water in 2018, and moving into finally releasing his animated Pinocchio film from the pits of development hell along with an adaption of Nightmare Alley next year, this couldn’t be a more thriving time for the Mexican auteur. Though amongst all the praise and glory, something has still felt missing these last handful of years. Besides his Oscar-winning film, Del Toro’s works prior to the 2010s are what generally buzz conversations of his genius. Those aforementioned films did, after all, skyrocket his name to fame. His titles from the last decade, however, are just as crucial to the Del Toro canon and emphasize his greater influence as a filmmaker. One, in particular, has seemingly gotten by in its young life at the hands of few. But now that Crimson Peak has officially turned 5, it’s time to turn that few into many.

Del Toro’s trifecta of the 2010s (not counting his work on television) stand out vastly from one another. Pacific Rim, Crimson Peak, and The Shape of Water: all love letters penned from the ‘nichest’ corners of his mind. These 3 arguably boast more diversity in genre than Del Toro’s 5 films of the 2000s (3 comic-book adaptations and 2 Spanish-set fantasies). Not a criticism, as established, those films now flaunt an immovable place within the cultural zeitgeist. Though with a career notoriously marked by a slew of unrealized projects (more on this later), it’s not often recognized how the ideas that did make the cut still lead a crystal clear trajectory in Del Toro’s growth as a storyteller. In the eyes of many, Del Toro pulls ideas out of a hat and gambles on which one actually sees the light of day. Humorous sure, but this is far from the truth.

Each Del Toro project feels like a pivotal step for what would come later, take his work on Trollhunters paving the way for his upcoming first animated feature for instance. Despite this trajectory, Crimson Peak feels criminally unsung 5 years later. Pacific Rim continued its life with a sequel and more planned spin-offs. The Shape of Water literally set a new bar for the Academy. This leaves Crimson Peak feeling like the pushed aside middle child of this trio. This isn’t a call for a sequel, and ‘underrated’ gets tossed around very loosely in modern film discussion. But for cinema as quintessential as Crimson Peak, it just doesn’t feel like it gets enough recognition – especially when the current film industry is seeing less big-budget, R-rated projects heavily steeped in genre.

You can easily trace Crimson Peak‘s short-lived spotlight back to its marketing. The timely October release and scare-heavy trailers sold a classic ‘Haunted House’ horror, when in reality, Del Toro’s film is a Gothic Romance. Set in the early 1900s, an aspiring American writer, Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), is swept away by a promising English baronet, Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston). They discover true love and marry, leading the young newlywed to her husband’s decaying mansion in the English hills. The age-old manor is slowly, but surely, sinking in red clay – the very source of Sharpe’s wealth. Here Edith is forced to live with her new sister-in-law, Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain), a reserved yet commanding force who works to hide the true nature of the house and its endless secrets. Mystery lingers as untamed lust, envy and greed unfold between the mansion walls, not leaving enough room for the restless red-colored spirits who haunt them. When it snows on this cursed hill, the clay surfaces, making it seem as if the land bleeds. Given more than just red clay rises from beneath, a deeper meaning is given to the place locals call ‘Crimson Peak’.

Just like the clay at the center of its mystery, Crimson Peak is an amalgamation, but of genre. It would be novice to expect anything less from Del Toro. The Gothic elements call back to many classic tales, such as Alfred Hitchcock’s adaption of Rebecca and, of course, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. On the horror side, homage is paid to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Jack Clayton’s The Innocents. It’s a devilish blend that only this filmmaker could pull off so beautifully. And oh is Crimson Peak so god damn gorgeous. To contrast common period pieces that go for muted or sepia-toned color palettes, Del Toro turns the saturation on high. The result is an eye-popping picture that heightens the core emotions at play: fear, pain, and more importantly, love. Simply mesmerizing, avid fans will be quick to recognize the same shades of golden yellows, sea greens, and ruby reds found in Del Toro’s other works. It feels right at home in his filmography visually, while packing its own unique punch.

Red, a color mainly associated with passion, here instead intricately represents endless bloodshed. A twist that would suggest Crimson Peak is just as equal a horror film as it is a love story. Regardless of what might have been initially marketed to audiences in 2015, this film is a Gothic Romance from start to finish. Del Toro himself made this distinction clear to the studio from the get-go and repeatedly draws the line whenever given the chance. Yet, much like the rest of his repertoire, Crimson Peak utilizes horror not as a means to an end, but as a means for introspection. Yes, there are classic horror conventions such as jump scares, but it couldn’t be more obvious that Crimson Peak isn’t trying to evoke the same kind of high and dry fear other films heavily rely on. Del Toro is actively trying to get under your skin to achieve a hell of a cathartic viewing experience.

The ghosts of our past and how we let them define us is a core theme in Crimson Peak. The film opens on a flashback in which Edith is visited by the charcoal black ghost of her recently deceased mother. The nature of this visit sets the groundwork for the rest of the narrative. Mother Ghost, dreadful in appearance, doesn’t necessarily come to haunt her child, but to warn her. “Beware of Crimson Peak,” she says. The way Edith takes in this otherworldly occurrence, and those that follow, sets her apart from everyone else in the film. Wherein others flee from or lock away the ghosts of their past, she learns how to wear them on her sleeves – reaching out to the dead multiple times in the story, each attempt more confident than the last. Not too dissimilar from what Del Toro was playing with before, Jaeger pilots confronting past trauma in their quest to defeat Kaiju. At the same time, the transformation that occurs in Crimson Peak when neglected demons consume you from the inside – humans becoming the true monsters of their supernatural tales – would only be amplified in Del Toro’s next film.

Every minute detail coincides with this strategized, therapeutic use of horror. And to the everyday moviegoer trained by common tropes, Crimson Peak is quite deceptive. Just like Mother Ghost at the beginning of the film, the red spirits never manifest with the intent to cause physical harm, but instead to give messages and guide. Red clay seeps down the walls and the mansion ‘breathes’ as the country winds burst in. The house feels alive in the most cinematic sense possible, but the case as to it being ‘horrifying’ is not so black and white. Expertly designed to every inch, there is plenty of beauty to be found in the manor. Much of it has just been corrupted by a debauched affair – keeping this story rooted as a Gothic Romance. Subversion has always been the name of Del Toro’s game, and it’s within Crimson Peak that he uses it to mix genre so well while still staying true to his vision.

Though Crimson Peak saw Del Toro take subversion to a new level, notably with his main character. This film is a key chapter in his overarching legacy; not the first of his works to be lead by a defiant woman, but the first to have the female hero entangled in an unabashed love story. Effortlessly played by the brilliant Mia Wasikowska, the not so damsel in distress at the center of Crimson Peak is one of the most significant characters of Del Toro’s career. In discussing Gothic Romance with The Mary Sue in 2015, Del Toro explains: “This is quintessentially a female genre, that was written with characters that were very complex, very strong. I wanted to make a movie in which to some degree I recuperated and, maybe if possible, enhanced all that.” And enhanced he did for every central male character acts in more distress than Edith ever does, even when she is literally at the edge of death. A more than welcome change of pace that makes for a more resonating film.

Edith’s willingness to tackle the unknown is captivating and her vigor inspiring. But she isn’t absolved of frailty. For someone who comes to terms with facing the dead, her sheer vulnerability to heartbreak and suffering brings great humanity to the role. Hardly recognized, but Edith is one of Del Toro’s most self-reflective protagonists. A marginalized writer, inspired by the great Mary Shelley no less, in the midst of drafting her magnum opus, she immediately faces backlash from her novel’s inclusion of the paranormal. “It’s not [a ghost story]. It’s more a story with a ghost in it. The ghost is just a metaphor… for the past,” she says – giving Crimson Peak a rare Del Toro tongue-in-cheek quality that he utilizes until the credits roll. Meta enough given that the crimson ghosts Edith later encounters are, in fact, echoes of the past, but when looking back on the public’s initial perception of the film, it creates a charming, albeit ironic, wit only found here.

Additionally, when tracing back to Crimson Peak‘s pre-production days, you’ll find something even more profound. Penned by Del Toro and an old collaborator, screenwriter Matthew Robbins; this was the first script completed after the release of Pan’s Labyrinth in 2006. The two first worked together an entire decade earlier on Mimic, which has now gone down as the only film Del Toro has truly lost to studio interference. Del Toro was supposed to direct Crimson Peak in the late 2000s, but along came Hellboy II and his involvement in launching The Hobbit (another R.I.P). Through this hectic time, Del Toro would reunite with Robbins in writing 2010’s Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, directed by Troy Nixey. However, the two also spent time together writing something else: an adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness.

For those unfamiliar, At the Mountains of Madness is by far one of, if not, the most tragic of this filmmaker’s unrealized projects. After spending years trying to get this dream off the ground, Del Toro had the following to say to Empire in 2010: “It doesn’t look like I can do it. It’s very difficult for the studios to take the step of doing a period-set, R-rated, tentpole movie with a tough ending and no love story.” The payoff of Crimson Peak being a period-set, R-rated, tentpole film only 5 years after that statement couldn’t be sweeter. In the film, Edith is told to insert a love story for the better of her novel. Del Toro is obviously commenting on expectations tied to gender here, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s also referring to one of the biggest thorns in his own writing career – one that also ties back to writing partner Matthew Robbins.

When faced with the question, Del Toro has consistently said that all of his films carry an inherent Mexican touch just from the utter fact that they come from him, and Crimson Peak is no different. Whether if deriving from his personal experiences with tackling genre, both on and off paper, or from actual events tied to his life – Del Toro reimagines two separate ghostly encounters experienced by him and his mother through Edith – this film beams with the very essence of Del Toro’s soul. Perhaps most personified when the marginalized writer gets bloody and fights back with nothing but her pen, a visual that cements this as an important stepping stone in his career. It’s a fascinating through-line, connecting to very different segments of his canon while still defining a clear path. The mending of our wounds and subversion of gender roles is continued from Pacific Rim, while setting a bold new course for delving into unfiltered, mature romance in The Shape of Water.

This is only a fraction of what makes Crimson Peak quintessential Guillermo Del Toro. Gothic Romance has long been part of this auteur’s framework, and you would be remiss not to indulge in all of its glorious melodrama. Even if it isn’t your cup of tea, Del Toro will make it so. Reaching its 5-year anniversary, the film hits stronger than before. The intricate motifs, compelling use of practical effects (complete with the involvement of Del Toro veteran Doug Jones), and cathartic use of horror make for something that has yet to be replicated by a major studio. Its lacking box office performance suggests that maybe the world merely wasn’t ready for this masterwork? But just like its characters, we hold the power to define what comes next. Del Toro himself has previously ranked Crimson Peak as one of the 3 best films he’s ever made, and straight-up called it the most beautiful. Take his word and dive in no strings attached, because who knows when we’ll get another large scale, unapologetic Gothic Romance with this much grandeur.

[jade-masquerade]

Jonsa Halloween Day 2: singing to the stranger, begging for his kiss (colors)

Written for @jonsa-halloween Day 2: Colors

The hall was awash with color, and from her vantage point at the back, Sansa could see it all.  

 The flicker of flames from the candles fashioned by House Waxley illuminated on the stone walls, autumn scents of rich nutmeg and cinnamon-roasted apple and mulled spice floating on the air. Pumpkins, the largest of all those grown in Westeros she’d heard, adorned the tables, flanked by squashes and gourds for the smallfolk to take home after they’d done their decorative duties. Strings of sewn leaves that matched the colors of those outside stretched from sconce to sconce,

 And in between, the crowds themselves were a vibrant departure from the plain dark cloaks and furs of grey and black. Whereas usually house sigils provided the only bits of color in a sea of monotony, now there was nary a sigil in sight, unless one counted Ser Hubert Hersy wearing outrageously oversized white wings and holding a chalice in hand or Ser Uther Shett dressed as a seagull.  

 The costumes of many women were even more elaborate. The likenesses of Shiera Seastar, Princess Nymeria, and Sharra the Witch Queen filled the hall, interspersed among horned unicorns and mermaids and wood nymphs. Girls of all ages wore the floating fabrics of Lady Alyssa Arryn, tears of shimmering blue and silver painting their cheeks, even while they were all smiles. Sansa would have once envied them their extravagant appearances, spending years coveting the bright yellow and blue of one of the branches of House Flint and the pretty violet lilies of House Fenn, bored by the dull white and grey of House Stark.  

 She smoothed over the dress she wore now, all dyed grey, a simple bodice that fit her snuggly and a skirt of wool flaring outward from the waist. Alayne would have looked down at such a drab shade, and truth be told, Sansa would have too, but that was the color of freedom now, of anonymity. With her darkened hair and her unadorned silver mask, she thought even she herself would be hard pressed to recognize herself in such a guise.  

The most flamboyant costumes of those up on the dais caught her eye—huge hoop skirts, towering hats, and embellished cloaks made of velvet and satin and exotic furs. Across the hall, seated among them, Alyssa Stone dazzled in Alayne’s silk dress of mockingbird gold and her ornate mask imported from Braavos. They looked similar enough, and in the darkness with the ale flowing freely, Sansa knew anyone would be hard pressed to tell the difference, yet she still worried the deception would be discovered.

 “I would die to be a lord’s daughter, even just for a night,” Alyssa sighed weeks ago as they sat sewing the garlands of leaves after Sweetrobin’s host of Winged Knights had exited the room with the little lord, each taking a bow before Alayne as they did so. 

“Littlefinger isn’t a lord here, not truly,” Sansa had said, sharper than she should have. “He’s only regent for Sweerobin.”

 “Close enough!” Alyssa said. The handmaid snatched Alayne’s mask from her wardrobe, which Littlefinger had gifted her with earlier that morning, and held it up to her face. “It was your suggestion for the feast to be a masquerade, after all…”

 It had not taken much more convincing than that, the mere inkling of an idea, and so when they’d dressed earlier this evening, Sansa had let down her hair in simple curls and Alyssa pinned hers up in elaborate twists anchored by a golden comb inset with glittering black diamonds, and when they’d emerged from her chambers, no one had been the wiser.  

 Once Sansa had dreamed of harvest feasts and masked balls, and while she still did revel in the magic of it all, in those dreams she had danced, she had fluttered her lashes at the knights who drew here interest, and she had shared sweet kisses with them. She had never imagined she would instead be trapped beneath the watchful eye of a man who called her daughter yet wanted her for himself or be pestered by an intended suitor who saw her as merely a conquest, with whom there would be no love, only desire until his interest waned. In those dreams, she had been among her true family, and in the comforts of her home, and she had always been Sansa, never Alayne.

And so for tonight she decided to call herself Jeyne, a common enough name not likely to arouse any suspicions, the name of her closest friend from Winterfell whose memory still pulled at her heart. Sansa vowed she would find her someday, once she escaped this place. Jeyne had shared those same dreams with her, and Sansa remembered the faces she’d pull whenever her friend sighed over Robb, how they had tittered together over Lord Beric Dondarrion, and how Jeyne had once squealed when Sansa admitted she wondered how Ser Waymar Royce most liked to be kissed, earning a sharp glare from Septa Mordane.

 Now, though, those intentions seemed positively innocent. Sansa would be lying if she said she had not thought of far more than gentle kisses nowadays and if she denied being curious about the things Myranda spoke of. She craved the brief, easy whirlwinds of romance the older girl and her handmaids shared in hushed whispers, to merely experience what exhilarations of youth had been stolen from her when they took her father’s head and Cersei’s demands turned her captive. She wanted a single night where she did not have to play this game, a moment where she felt liberated, no longer the little bird kept in a cage. She knew it was silly, maybe stupid even, but she could not help but hope for a kiss and perhaps more with a man she found dashing, a man who cared little or not at all if she bore a bastard name, a man who wouldn’t laugh at her blushing the way Harry sometimes did when she pushed away his insistent hands or turned her cheek to him.  

 The feast cleared quickly despite the many rounds, and soon the musicians struck up “Fair Maids of Summer” in celebration of the true end of the season. Sansa watched a couple dressed as Jonquil and Florian take the floor, another garbed as Lady Shella and her Rainbow Knight soon following. Alyssa danced with Ser Harrold, and the fact that it seemed he couldn’t tell the difference only confirmed what a dolt he truly was. They would giggle about this later, Sansa knew; Alyssa had become a true friend in the time they spent together, as true a friend as Alayne could have anyway.

 Sansa herself set her sights on the handsome knights and men-at-arms seated at the long tables on the floor and below the salt. Some she recognized from the tournament where Sweetrobin had crowned his Winged Knights, but Harry had filled her sights then, and most of them wouldn’t have dared to look askance at the daughter of Lord Baelish or cross Ser Harrold by intruding on his betrothed. She was no longer confined though; now she was free to choose, and she eagerly drank them in.

 The seven sons of House Sunderland all equally striking, even dressed as the seven drunken oarsmen. She admired Ser Cadwyn Egen and his riot of blonde curls, Ser Osbert Woodhull and his sweet smile, and how Ser Robbett Ruthermont so tall she would have had to crane her neck to glimpse his face if he held her in his arms. And then there were some things about them she liked for no reason at all it seemed: the way Ser Symon Crayne wore the collar of his shirt open to expose his chest, how Ser Landon Hunter looked exceptionally good in his tight huntsman breeches, what it would sound like for Jace Stone, a bastard son from one of the Templeton branches, to whisper in her ear with his deep voice.  

 She avoided Ser Morgarth and Ser Byron as she made her rounds. Ser Byron was good looking enough, but Sansa didn’t trust him more than her arm could reach, and the risk of recognition there would be too great anyhow. There were plenty of others, who came from lands afar and would return there after this night, and it did not take long until she was swept into the throng by Walder Upcliff.

 He wore a high-necked cloak and a white mask, and she could smell ale already on his breath. She tried to engage him in cordial conversation, but Walder seemed far more interested in glancing down her dress than meeting her eye. With his leering smile and the way his hands dug into her hips to hold her closer than she would have liked, Sansa was grateful when the song changed, and he evidently lost interest in the slow, mournful rhythm of “Fallen Leaves.”

 She participated in dancing the steps of the next few songs, a reel and a quick number where she spun from one partner to another, laughing breathlessly.    

 “Ser Andar,” she said, looking up at the knight with whom she’d had the fortune to finish the previous song. Ser Andar was every bit the picture of gallantry and comeliness, with his wavy golden hair, broad chest, and hands that spanned her waist. “It’s so lovely to see you this evening.”

 He frowned. “Beg pardon, have we met?”

 “Oh, I’m Lady Elesham’s handmaid. Jeyne,” she said, catching herself. “I admired your performance in the tournament of the Winged Knights. It’s a shame Lord Arryn did not choose you for his guard. I can think of no one more deserving.”

 He did smile at that. No matter how stoic he was, it seemed he enjoyed flattery as much as anyone else.  

 “You’re so strong,” she said, running her hands along the muscles in his arms.

 “It’s only sword work,” he said. “It requires none of the great effort needed to tend your lady, I imagine.”

 She giggled, reaching up to touch her hair. She found herself not minding so much if Ser Andar found it fit to study the bosom of her dress, and she found herself very much wantonly wishing to draw his attention to the curves of her body there.

 His attention seemed elsewhere though, either that or he possessed a remarkable streak of honor that no other man could manage to compete with, for he steadfastedly maintained his gaze on some point over her shoulder.  

 “Excuse me,” he said as the last chords of “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” faded, and he disappeared in the direction of one of Sweetrobin’s Winged Knights.  

 It was no matter, though. Sansa turned, and she whirled right into the arms of another.  

[pastelbrachypelma]

Blind Date

Requested by @swampythesweetsketch ! Thank you for your suggestion and I hope you like it!

~

“I’m so nervous,” Murray admitted, sitting in front of the mirror and staring at himself. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Dude, c’mon!” Sly retorted, barely looking up from where he was putting a top coat over Murray’s nail polish. “If he doesn’t like you, then I’m Santa Claus!”

“That can be arranged,” Bentley teased. “Seriously, though, Murray. Just be yourself. That’s how to be the most attractive.”

“Yeah,” Murray looked away. “I guess. But…”

“Hey,” Sly slid onto the vanity, gently pushing aside a makeup palette with his tail as he sat directly in front of his friend. “Stop worrying, okay?” He grinned. “You know this guy is into you. You’ve been talking for ages. It’s worth a shot at least, right?”

“Right!” Murray squared his shoulders like he was going into battle, and wasn’t wearing holographic nails and a smokey eye. “Thanks for doin my topcoat for me, Sly. And thanks for helping me with my suit, Bentley.”

“No problem,” his brothers said simultaneously.

Sly patted Murray’s shoulder. “Go get ‘im, pal.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Bentley promised.

Murray smiled, and headed out the door.

“All right, Sly,” Bentley said, “you know what to do.”

Sly grabbed his binocucom and cane. “On it!”

~

Murray was already nervous enough being in a sizable crowd with bounty on his head, but, just as Sly had assured him, Murray was the best at disguises out of all of them, and nobody would recognize “The Murray” with makeup on.

He liked his makeup look; just a foundation to match his skin tone, a little contour, blush, and a smokey eye. Sly had helped with his nails, and they looked good. It wasn’t like Murray couldn’t have done it on his own, but Sly wanted to help, and he was better at nails than at eyeliner. Murray chuckled to himself, thinking of the last time Sly tried to do a winged liner. He’d looked even more like a raccoon than usual!

He was sitting alone at the table, waiting for his date, like he had been for the better part of an hour. Every time the door opened, he would look up, expecting to see a handsome man looking for his table. But, it was just couples or families. He sighed. He was sure a blind date would’ve been better, seeing as nobody could turn him down just because of his weight, but maybe the guy had guessed, judging by how much Murray talked about recipes. Or maybe he thought Murray was a sissy, or…

The door opened again, to someone by themselves. Except Murray could recognize that tail in his sleep. Sly had a satin jacket over a button-down shirt, hair slicked back. He was wearing the dance shoes they’d stolen from India, and was looking a little lost. Murray was a bit worried for two reasons. The first was that Sly was here at all; had something happened? The second was that Sly could only handle big crowds if he was at a social event. Parties, he liked. There were excuses to mingle in small groups. He had never liked large throngs of people. If Sly has a panic attack…

But instead, Sly found him (after pretending to have been looking for him) and waved. Murray waved back, confused, as Sly strode forward confidently through the crowd.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Sly said, brushing dust off his lapels. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“You didn’t,” Murray said, a bit confused. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Sly demurred, giggling shyly. “Oh, don’t be silly! How could I ever turn down a hunk like you?”

Murray wanted to laugh. Sly liked playing the effeminate gay. The question was, why was he doing that in the first place? At that moment, the door to the restaurant opened again, and Bentley rolled his wheelchair inside. People who were waiting for a table stepped aside to give him room. He was disguised as well, a cloth hat matching the more casual dark wash denim jacket he was wearing over a black necktie. Murray could appreciate the aesthetic...but he was still confused.

Bentley made his way towards the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, pitching his voice deeper in contrast to the way Sly’s had been more high-pitched. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” He glared at Sly.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Sly pointed an accusing finger at Bentley. “I’m here for my date!”

“So am I,” Bentley said, and Murray smiled, starting to catch on. “One of us has the wrong table and you, buddy,” the turtle wheeled into Sly’s space, making the raccoon step back, hand splayed on his heart in dramatic offense, “are definitely at the wrong table. This gentleman is far too handsome for you!”

“I think he’s just the right amount of handsome,” Sly argues. “Just look at those bulging muscles,” he gestured, and Murray flexed, having a bit of fun now that he was in on the joke. “A man like that deserves the world!”

“Guys, you’re gonna make me blush,” Murray grumbled under his breath. Sly winked before sliding back into character as Bentley charged further.

“And? You still kept this gorgeous man waiting! Look at the poor guy’s makeup! All smudged because you were off…” Bentley waved his hand as he searched for an insult, “vaping!”

Sly gasped. “Do you think I would smoke around such a deceptively delicate flower?! The nerve!”

Murray looked over again as the restaurant doors opened. It was his real date, a buck with gold chains draped artfully around his antlers, dressed to the nines in a slimming suit to complement his slender body. Murray recognized the designer logo on his tie, and felt shame creep up his throat as he thought of his thrifted jacket and pilfered shirt. Even the silk skirt he was so proud of made him feel like a freak next to this guy.

“What’s going on here?” The buck spoke, his voice like molten chocolate, as he approached the table. “Which of you is Murray?” His eyes slid approvingly over Sly, and Murray hid his face. “I hope it’s you, handsome.”

“Sorry,” Sly slid in beside Murray, hooking his arm through the hippo’s. “I’m taken. Happily.”

“Me too.” Bentley took Murray’s hand, glaring at the buck.

The deer narrowed his eyes, then laughed. “Oh, thank god,” he said, relieved. “I could never be seen with such a,” he waved his hand derisively, “hideous beast.”

“Hey,” Sly said, voice sharp despite the different pitch. Murray recognized it as the raccoon’s “don’t fuck with me” voice, a rarely seen anger flashing in his eyes. “Murray is amazing! He’s funny and kind and always knows what to say!”

“His strength and skill can’t be matched!” Bentley agreed.

“And tonight, he’s my date.” Sly declared. “So fuck off.”

“No, he’s my date,” Bentley argued. “You fuck off!”

As his two friends bickered, Murray watched the deer walk away. He felt a little bit upset at the rejection, but his friends were nearby, defending him on what was technically their night off. He felt warm inside even so. It was good to be with his brothers again.

Once the deer was out of sight, Sly deflated. “Ack, my throat,” he complained. “I don’t know how you do those high-pitches voices, Murray. I feel like I’ll be raspy by tomorrow!”

Murray chuckled. “It takes practice.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Bentley suggested. “I think we’ve caused enough of a scene.” He glanced at the table. “Nothing needs to be paid for, right?”

“Nope. I didn’t order yet.” Murray replied.

“Let’s get Chinese,” Sly said, stretching as Murray got to his feet. “I saw a great place on the way over.” He locked his arm through Murray’s, hiding a yawn in the hippo’s bicep.

“Do you mean you saw it or smelled it?” Bentley asked, guiding Murray to the handles of his chair. That was about equivalent to hand-holding, Murray knew.

Sly laughed. “Both!”

“Chinese sounds fantastic,” Murray said, sighing in the fresh air. He was still upset about being stood up. He was glad for his friends, but…

“That guy was a complete jerk,” Bentley grumbled, going back to controlling his own chair as Sly let go of Murray. It wasn’t a sudden “no homo” sort of thing, though. It was more of a natural progression as they walked together on the sidewalk, with Bentley’s chair a half-step ahead. “What didjya day his name was?”

“Pierce Monogram,” Murray said. “Trust fund baby, I think. Works in the family business selling shoes.”

“That’s ironic,” Sly mused, swinging his arms up to rest behind his head as he walked. “He wasn’t wearing shoes.”

Murray laughed. “No, I guess he wasn’t. That’s a dealbreaker for me.”

“Murray, you don’t wear shoes either,” Bentley said.

“Exactly!” Murray went on, still laughing. “Somebody has to wear the shoes in the relationship!”

All three of them laughed, and couldn’t stop laughing until they reached the Chinese.

~

“Ah, the smell of sweet, sweet MSG,” Sly licked his lips as he set out the various cartons and bowls.

“This isn’t going to give me indigestion, is it?” Bentley asked skeptically, wrinkling his nose.

“No, no, I got your egg rolls and plain rice here,” Sly set out the food separately for Bentley before using a set of chopsticks to serve himself liberal amount of pork fried rice and vegetable lo mein, claiming one of the containers of scallion pancakes for himself.

“Man,” Murray grinned, slurping his hot and sour soup, “I forgot how good Chinese food actually is.”

“Right?!” Sly beamed. “Glad I thought of it. I haven’t had a good Chinese in months!”

“It’s delicious, I agree. Pass the wonton soup, Murray?” Bentley asked.

“What’re we watchin?” Sly asked between shoveling noodles into his mouth.

Murray blushed. “Are you guys gonna kill me if I say I wanna watch “Pitch Perfect” again?”

Sly swallowed noisily. “Nah, I like that one all right. It’s funny.”

“I’ve no objection,” Bentley said, taking off his glasses momentarily to clean them of the fog from his soup. “It’s date night, after all. You always pick the films for date night.”

“You guys still wanna call it date night?” Murray asked.

The gang had always jokingly held “date nights” for self care, movies, and video games. But that had been before Murray was officially out of the closet. His friends were straight. He thought they hadn’t had a date night in a while because his friends didn’t want to do that sort of this with him now that he was out as gay.

Sly leaned forward. “You okay, big guy?”

Murray sniffled. “I...I dunno, I thought you guys...didn’t wanna do this with me anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Bentley asked.

“I’m gay,” Murray confessed. “I like guys.”

“So?” Sly twitched his tail in confusion. “You’re still my brother. My friend.” He waved his tail in Murray’s face, making the hippo sneeze. “In case I haven’t made it abundantly clear,” the raccoon snuggled up properly against Murray’s side, chittering quietly, “I love you, pal.”

“So do I,” Bentley affirmed. “And...not to be too blunt about it, but...it was pretty obvious to me that you weren’t straight. But,” he cleared his throat, smiling. “That never mattered to me. You’re still my brother. And I still love you.”

Murray rubbed the tears out of his eyes. “Thanks, guys.”

“Sure thing, Murray,” Sly replied, butting his head against Murray’s shoulder before sitting up to properly shovel more food down his throat.

“I’ll get the DVD,” Bentley abandoned his food momentarily and rolled his chair over to set up the TV. Once he was done, he took his food and rolled closer to the couch, so Murray could enjoy his comfort, too.

Murray smiled warmly, happily chowing down on Chinese food and shouting all the words to the songs at the top of his lungs.

That was the best part about being home, Murray decided as he laughed at Sly nearly choking on a wonton and Bentley snorting soup out his nose. Being with the people who loved you unconditionally.

[bevinbrand]

What would you describe Flash personality and looks like because I really need an other opinen I'm kinda lost

Ooh, interesting! I see Flash as a deceptively complex person, but then I also have an extensive head-canon for him that may differ from yours. Essentially I see him as a warm and principled person with an unusual amount of emotional resilience for someone his age.

We see in the first movie that he’s popular and considered cool by his peers, has the style sense of a rocker but the demeanor of a gentleman. He broke up with the most feared person in the school and doesn’t seem intimidated by her, and he also went out of his way to stand up for the new girl when she was being framed. So he has the self-confidence to stand up for himself and for others when he sees it’s the right thing to do. He also doesn’t seem to fear the judgement of his classmates for appearing less “cool” by going along with Princess Twilight’s dancing style at the end of the movie. So to me that speaks of a person who truly understands not only his own self worth, but the intrinsic worth of others and will go to bat for them.

In the second movie we see more endearing clumsiness from him, his continued interest in the girl/person/pony he has a thing for, as well as a competitive side that gets brought out by the Dazzlings, to the degree that it makes him more self-centered and goal-oriented than he normally is (this is true of everyone else under the spell). This competitiveness is a part of him normally, as we see in the Friendship Games and its related shorts– he can become focused on his vision and his message as much as anyone else can (and doesn’t enjoy having his hair messed with), but at the end of the day is still open to the value of others’ perspectives and interests when they’re all related to the same core value (ie: friendship, teamwork, collaboration). We see a bit more of that competitiveness in the movie, along with an evident interest in baking that’s good enough to get him into the competition. And even more clumsiness as he once again runs right into someone, and then helps her up and finds her glasses like a decent person.

So then in Everfree, we see that he’s still carrying a torch for Twilight, even forgetting that Sci-Twi isn’t the same person he had more of a connection with (can you really blame him? that would be confusing). So we see him trying to connect but not getting much back, which is hard for him but he never blames her or gets possessive or tries to get in the way of her flirting with someone else. As much as it’s clearly hurtful and disappointing for him, he recognizes that she doesn’t feel the same way about him and is interested in someone else, and respects that. And also respects himself enough not to keep pining after her– he acknowledges that Sunset’s less than gentle talk was right, that the thing he wanted wasn’t going to happen and he needed to move on.

And here’s another very cool aspect of this guy: this is a conversation he’s having with his ex, whom he broke up with for specifics we don’t know but in general because she was a bully. It’s safe to say their relationship probably wasn’t very healthy, at least by the end, and he’d be totally justified in never wanting to speak to her again. But he’s noticed how much she’s changed and offers her this little olive branch of acknowledgement, which going from her reaction, means quite a bit to her. And the fact that he’s the one offering to start over with a clean slate, as friends, is pretty remarkable on his part. We can only imagine what she’d been like before their breakup but it clearly ended badly and she probably hurt him quite a bit, so to notice her changing and admit that it was genuine and then deciding that it was worth it to have her back in his life in any capacity, particularly during a time when he’s nursing another heartbreak and feeling vulnerable, well that says a lot about his capacity for forgiveness and that there is something about her as a person that he likes.

So through most of season one we see Flash quietly trying to move on from the relationship with Twilight that never was, a bit more insight into his areas of interest (he’s in the baking club and the chemistry club, he gets a role in the school play, he’s involved with the student news and also a giant adorable dork), as well as making progress on the mutual awkwardness with Sci-Twi. He’s *trying* and it’s clearly not the easiest thing, but he’s making progress, anyway. Season two is more background interests, we see him in the background hanging out with Sunset more, following through on that whole “starting over” thing, plus we get a glimpse that he and Timber are on good terms, and even a few moments of heroism in Spring Breakdown and Cheer You On.

So in short, he’s had his own small emotional arc, just a lot of it was in the background. He’s someone who knows his own self-worth, who stands on his principles, has a competitive edge and a little bit of a temper sometimes, but doesn’t take his feelings out on others when he knows it’s something he has to deal with. And it is a process to go through rejection and heartache, but it is possible to come through it and to find better, more genuine relationships with people through understanding that they deserve their own happiness but also that you deserve your own too. He may not be a superhero, but he can still do the things he can do, make a difference where he can, and support others in what they can do. In Cheer You On he gets Sunset’s geode when it falls off, but instead of putting it on himself and fighting, he gives it back to her, because it’s not his power to take. His role here isn’t to swoop in and be the big hero and he knows it– it’s to do his part in giving power back to the person it rightfully belongs to. And that’s his heroism. It’s not flashy, or about getting the glory, it’s about doing the right thing even if it means not getting what you want, and if no one notices.

And that’s why I freaking love Flash Sentry.

(Did I actually answer your question?)

[dungeons-and-divination]

Oath of REDEMPTION PALADIN - Draconblood DRAGONBORN - Prisoner

I don’t necessarily have a love for paladins despite how much my characters usually end up being “spiritual”. But I gotta admit, I was kinda fascinated by what came out from his story and I wouldn’t mind playing him myself at all. I hope you all enjoy him just as much.

NAME: Zral’thid Benorax (52yo)

TAROTS

Mind: Knight of pentacles (upright) I wasn’t really expecting to get a card with so many positive traits linked to a character with that kind of background. Apparently Zral’thid has always been a person of common sense and practicality, someone that believes that honest hard work is the way to truly achieve your dreams. It made me wonder how he even got imprisoned in the first place, but don’t worry, you’ll found out about it later. I still had from this immediately the feeling that because of his very determined and loyal nature, he probably was doing something related to protecting other people most likely. It also seems like his time in prison made him even more committed to the kind of person he used to be though, like instead of breaking him, Zral’thid found purpose in the punishment. Very noble intents indeed then somewhere in there.

Body: Five of wands (reversed) This card just confirmed that impression that there was some kind of struggle that Zral’thid had to live through. It was something deep in his mind and spirit, so much so that he felt physically ill at times. Till he just exploded and did something rush, totally contrasting his practical nature. It seems his time in jail was enough for him to find peace and harmony once again. Where others might have surrendered to despair, he found a new balance, like I already mentioned, in his focus for order. I do feel like he also probably came to a solution to the dilemma that made him end up in jail in the first place, even if maybe it wasn’t necessarily a solution he wanted at first or particularly liked.

Spirit: Page of swords (upright) The tarot are being very good to me with all these confirmations of my impression going on here. Indeed, Zral’thid found a balance between his protective nature and the need to be patient, to wait for the right moment to act. He’s more vigilant, but he’s still the same man that doesn’t like injustice and always tries to be fair to people. He will always be inquisitive, on the hunt for the truth and a stickler to rules, but he’s also well aware that the justice system isn’t always right nor fair. All in all, he has this tormented, wise, loner vibe to him, but deep inside he’s just an overprotective bear that prefers to use words to defend people instead of a sword because of his oath.

Past: Eight of cups (reversed) So, I had already pretty much a good idea of what Zral’thid’s “past” tarot could have in store for him. I was not surprised when a card that expresses a deep discomfort with the status quo came up, then. I knew that he’d been kind of struggling with something but at the same time his instinct to follow the rules was probably holding him back from acting of whatever the problem was. Yet, this card adds a layer of fear for the uncertainty that lies within the change that his actions might have brought were he to actually succeed. I felt like I needed to clear a bit where this fear might have come from, and the deck gave me a Four of swords reversed. Which made me even more confused for a moment. Then I remembered that one of the meanings of this card is losing faith, and I can see him crumbling under the pressure of whatever situation he was dealing with and losing the righteous path he’d been following, especially if he felt like there was a lack of support or deceitfulness around him. Maybe not a lack of faith in his deity, but on something else then.

Present: Six of cups (upright) It just makes sense that after that big hit from the “past” tarot he gets something related to nostalgia of better times. Yet, Zral’this is well aware that he remembers them as good times cause he did not know, at the time, of the deceitfulness around him. So, like I said previously, despite his facade of the loner wolf, he actually craves the company of a new family so that he can leave behind that homesickness for a home that he knows he doesn’t belong to anymore. Very, very fitting indeed.

Future: Four of pentacles (reversed) I’m so happy that this is the last tarot for him. A hopeful ending after such a hard life is just what Zral’this deserves honestly. So, I really hope that he in fact has the chance to let go of the past, that he stops regretting not being able to do more for his people. But especially, that he realizes that he absolutely can’t control what happens to others, and that he can only do so much to save the world when it crumbles around him. As a general suggestion on how to play him, I’m pretty sure I said enough already, but in case it wasn’t obvious, I’d say have him be slow to trust the people in the party, especially those that like to lie a lot. He’s not necessarily gonna be confrontational with them; actually, he’s probably just gonna be quiet most of the time. Just, I imagine him being able to open up at first only with those that are more open and friendly with him in the first place.

FULL BACKSTORY

Zral’this was born in the house of family friends. By the time he was born, his father, Galxer, had already been executed for treason and his mother, Praam’teth, was still a member of the same rebellion group his father had been part of. It wasn’t long after his birth before his mother had to flee the Realm and leave him behind to avoid being executed herself. (The rebellion was trying to get rid of the people that had forcibly taken power of the Realm he was born into.) With no other family left to raise him and none of his mother’s friends left in town to help him (since they all were put to death or had to go into hiding), Zral’this ended up in an orphanage, where he was raised to despise his own family and believe in the laws of the new established power. It wasn’t a happy childhood, but the orphanage was basically a preparatory school before he was allowed to join a true military academy. So it was pretty much a given that when he reached the right age he started to train to become part of the Realm’s army. Being part of the military, despite how unimportant he was all in all, made Zral’this have a taste of the corruption he had vague memories of his mother and her friends talking about it all before he “moved” to the orphanage.  Despite how much Zral’this hated himself for doing it, he started giving information of what he overheard to someone that approached him once they recognized him as Praam’s son and they presented themselves as an old friend of his mother. It wasn’t long before Zral’this was found out for giving information to a newly reformed rebellion group. Despite his crime, it was decided that he was just to spend some time in jail instead of being put to death, in hopes that he would see his mistakes and return to his service of the Realm. Apparently, one of his superiors saw some potential in him and believed he could make a good general out of him, with enough time. In prison, Zral’this had time to reflect on how wrong he had been to trust the Realm; just because the people in it had shown some mercy in raising him, it didn’t mean that everything they did was right. Actually, it was mainly the contrary. He’d just been a pawn, like many others before him and many more would become if nothing changed.  With that realization, came the calling of a greater purpose, the growing knowledge that sometimes the better course of action is in fact not action, but waiting for the right moment or the right word placed in front of the right person. But most of all, he wanted redemption, not for himself, but for the people he hurt while following a leader that aimed only to hurt and manipulate their people instead of serving them. So, Zral’this promised himself, and the god that started to guide him, that he would make the world a less violent place with each world he uttered once he got released from jail.

SUGGESTION CORNER

Suggested features Ability scores: High Charisma and Strength, Low Constitution (I know, I don’t really think a lot of players would actually do this. Cause it’s not really a good thing to do mechanic wise. But sometimes you gotta do these things just for the sake of it. It was my first instinct.) Skill proficiencies: Athletics, Religion; replace Deception from the Prisoner Background with Persuasion (discuss it with your DM, obviously). Gaming set proficiencies: Cards or Chess Other: his Ex-Convict feature can seem a little bit in conflict with his backstory. But it’s actually not. Once again, a little bit of rephrasing, and everything is fixed. Instead of knowing people that accept bribes or having a chance to find shelter with criminals, he knows guards that are lenient because they don’t really like the people in power, or he might have an idea of where to look for groups of rebels that are organizing uprisings against tyrannical people in power. Give it a little bit of a flavor with the help and approval of your DM.

Suggested Characteristics Trait: I hoard information, you never know what may come in handy. Ideal: I never betray those who trust me. Bond: I will not rest while others suffer fates similar to mine. (This is referencing unjust imprisonment and unjust laws.) Flaw: I hate lying. If the choice is between dying and lying, I just might choose dying.

[this-is-my-canon]

For @kakaobiweek prompt, Spies and Secret Agents

All’s Fair in the Line of Duty

Explicit, read here on Ao3

“Our timeline has moved up.”

Obito eyes the grinning pale associate sitting across from him, who clasps his hands over the table and sits upright, favoring a lean toward the briefcase pressed against his left leg. Even while delivering news with urgency, this man can maintain an air of control. He seems to have no fear, or maybe he’s oblivious. Obito sighs and pans his gaze across the bar. People come and go from dark and alluring places like this on a regular basis, which usually works in his favor in this line of work. But right now, he’s not the only one using this locale to his advantage.

“My employer is not a lenient man, Tobi.” Zetsu leans forward this time, his grin finally faltering as he eyes Obito with displeasure. “Are you hearing me? He expects to know what is in Room ten’s safety deposit box by tonight. We can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Obito raises his chin toward the bar. “How long has that man been sitting there, Mr. White?”

[[MORE]]

Zetsu follows Obito’s gaze with a glance over his shoulder and a dismissive shrug. The man in question has been there since before Obito’s arrival and hasn’t moved. His head rests on the bar, silver wisps of hair shadowing his eyes, concealing what few features aren’t hidden behind a bent elbow. His hand is cupped around a half-filled glass of amber liquid, but he hasn’t moved beyond the slow and subtle rise and fall of rounded shoulders.

“You mean how long has that drunk been lounging on the bar?” Zetsu asks, his smile returning as he meets Obito’s eyes. “Hours.”

“Since before you arrived here?”

Zetsu raises a brow. “Something you’re not telling me?”

“That drunk,” Obito spits, keeping his voice low and eyes fixed on the unmoving figure, “is in fact Konoha’s top agent. It’s no coincidence that he's here.”

Zetsu frowns. “A spy? For Konoha? But that’s where you-“

“How much have you said here?” When Zetsu doesn’t respond immediately, Obito presses a clenched fist into the wooden table. “Mr. White.”

Obito remembers Kakashi Hatake well enough to recognize him even with his face hidden. He also knows better than to underestimate him. Positing himself at the bar like this is the perfect way to gather intel unnoticed. If Madara’s plans are to be carried out, Obito needs to do some damage control before he moves on to illegally examining safety deposit box contents.

“Oops,” Zetsu says with a coy smile under the heat of Obito’s gaze. “I can’t say I recall. I did take a call from...him when I arrived here.”

Obito presses his fingers into his eyes, because this is most certainly going to be a problem. He has a long night ahead of him. Fortunately, he does have some advantage when dealing with his former rival turned enemy.

“Maybe I should-“

Obito stops Zetsu with a raised palm. “I’ll take care of this. You just...stop talking for tonight. You’ve revealed too much as it is.”

“But you’ll be able to meet the new demands?” Zetsu narrows his eyes. “I won’t be the one in the line of fire, Tobi, if you can’t deliver.”

Obito gnashes his teeth. “I let you do your job. Now let me do mine.”

Obito stands without giving Zetsu a chance for another stupid comment. He strides to the bar as if he has no aim, taking a carefully chosen seat several empty barstools down from Kakashi’s. He waves over the redhead behind the bar, who flashes him a stunning smile beneath eyes just beginning to show the lines of her age, and props a hand on her hip.

“What’ll it be?” she asks, rather loudly, considering her customer inches away from them is passed out on her bar. Apparently.

Obito gives her his best smile. “What’s this guy having?” He nods his head toward Kakashi. “It’s gotta be good. I’ll have one of those.”

“You think you can handle it?”

As the redhead’s eyes light up and she spins her head toward Kakashi, Obito reins in the unwanted feelings that come about from hearing that voice after so long. He remembers that voice low and heady in his ear, the taste of that wicked tongue, the feel of being in Kakashi’s arms. If Obito hadn’t changed so much, he would be petrified when Kakashi looks at him. Kakashi would be pissed, seeing him now, knowing what he’s doing. But as he expects, there is no recognition in Kakashi’s deceptively hooded eyes when Kakashi throws a glance his way. He can’t see through the new facial scars earned by close calls, the eyepatch hiding Obito’s nearest and most distinct eye, the orange hat concealing his hair. Mostly, it’s the complete change in Obito’s demeanor that makes him unrecognizable. He’s a new man now, one Obito doesn’t expect Kakashi to want or to understand.

Obito meets the bartender’s blue eyes clouding with doubt and scoffs at Kakashi’s challenge before telling her. “Yes.”

She gives a nod, in spite of whatever doubt Kakashi’s questioning has triggered in her. “I’ll have to get a new bottle of gin from the back, y’know. Just a minute.”

As she skirts away and through the back door, Obito side-eyes Kakashi. “Finished off the bottle yourself?”

“Now that’s a rude assumption,” Kakashi drawls, slowing raising his head from behind his folded elbow and revealing to Obito the handsome face that hasn’t changed a bit. “Maybe the bottle was nearly empty when I arrived.”

“Or maybe it wasn’t,” Obito says with a grin.

Kakashi frowns and casts a glance over his shoulder where Zetsu still sits. “Isn’t your friend going to be disappointed you’ve left him?”

“He’s not a friend.”

“Date, then.”

Obito grins and leans across the empty stools between them. “You know that’s not what this is. Now cut the shit.”

Kakashi’s eyes don’t widen, but there’s a flicker of surprise that quickly fades away. If Obito didn’t know him so well, maybe he wouldn’t have seen it. But he does, and he enjoys the feeling of sparking that reaction in him far too much. Maybe it can’t hurt to get a little sidetracked tonight. He’ll pull off the heist of the safety deposit box in no time. He can enter and withdraw from a place these days undetected with more ease than his employers realize. And seeing Kakashi again is an opportunity he can’t pass up. Obito turns his smile to the bartender returning with his drink in her hand, appreciating the excuse for the smile betraying his face.

“Okay.” Kakashi narrows his eyes. “Tell me what you and your associate are doing here.”

Obito snorts as he slides the drink toward himself. “Fat chance.”

He sips the icy liquid. It burns as it slides down his tongue. He’s never understood how Kakashi can drink these types of drinks. Immediately, he regrets his stubborn decision to have the same. When he sets his glass down, he catches from the corner of his eye a smug smile on Kakashi’s face.

“How’s the drink?” Kakashi says.

“Shut up.” Obito bites his tongue just in time to stop himself from tacking on the insult that would reveal his identity to Kakashi, in spite of all the physical alterations.

Of course, Obito will have to reveal his identity at some point now that he’s decided he wants to see more of Kakashi. There’s no way Kakashi won’t recognize his skin.

“Are you familiar,” Kakashi says, swirling his finger around the rim of his half-empty drink, “with that man’s other associate? Black?”

“Can’t say I’ve heard the name.”

Can’t say, but definitely heard it. Black is an elusive man, even more than Madara. Perhaps he is the one truly pulling the strings in this organization. If Kakashi even knows about him, Konoha may be onto Madara more than they realize.

“Well, he took something of mine,” Kakashi continues with a note of hostility in his voice. “And I want it back.”

“I’m sorry,” Obito says, knowing the something is Konoha’s list of secret agents whose identities are now exposed to Madara. “I can’t help you.”

“Can’t?” Kakashi raises a brow. “Or won’t?”

Obito meets his eye, shakes his head with a huff of a laugh and sips his terrible drink again. It goes down even harsher this time. When he sets his glass back down, watching its caramel colored liquid swirl with the blocks of ice, Obito tenses at the feeling of breath against his neck. Kakashi has moved in, the sly bastard, and is literally breathing down his neck. From this position, he could put a gun to Obito’s back without anyone in the bar the wiser. He could kill Obito in a single move, not that Obito expects him to. So Obito remains still and waits.

“You’re not getting into that deposit box tonight.”

“What deposit box?”

“It belongs to a friend of mine.”

“Oh? And what about this?” Obito turns and lifts his eye patch, revealing the red eye that speaks volumes to Kakashi’s memory.

He’d damaged it when they were young together in the same agency, working side by side in Konoha before Obito left, quitting the field - as far as Kakashi knew. Obito’s tired of playing this game now, though. It’s too easy. It’s time Kakashi knows who he is and Obito prepares himself for the backlash.

Daringly, he meets Kakashi’s eye. “Does this belong to a friend of yours as well, Kakashi?”

Kakashi’s eyes are wide with horror. Obito has never seen him like this. If he enjoyed the reaction he pulled from Kakashi before, he is reveling in this current reaction. Kakashi slowly shakes his head, staggers over a barstool before catching his balance with a hand bracing him against the bar, and exhales.

He’s still shaking his head when he says, “This can’t be you.”

“It’s me,” Obito says resignedly, reaching again for his drink. “I’ve changed, Kakashi. You seem to be up to the same game as always, though.”

“You’ve changed alright,” Kakashi says venomously. “Madara? You’re working against Konoha? I thought you were-“

“Dead?” Obito shrugs. “Madara faked my death. Easier to take me on as his agent that way.”

“You bastard,” Kakashi says, tossing a few dollars on the bar as if they could strike out at Obito. “If you think you’re getting anywhere near that deposit box now, you’re mistaken.”

In spite of the dark tone to Kakashi’s threat and the fact that he leaves without another word, Obito feels no concern. He feels disappointed that it had to play out this way, but what did he expect? He was stupid for thinking this could work out differently with Kakashi knowing what he is. A goal is a goal, though, and Obito has no intention of failing to meet his.

“You’re the one who’s mistaken,” Obito murmurs into his drink before throwing back one last sip and dropping a few dollars on the bar.

[explicit parts only on Ao3, read continuation via the link]

[scriptsandlattes]

Sherlock Holmes and Fanfiction: A Study in the Development of Humanity

August 17, 2019

           Along with having a Zygoma that would make a cheese knife jealous, Benedict Cumberbatch marvelously portrays the fictitious, and often socially blind, detective created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and is brought up as one of the many iterations of Sherlock Holmes. Whether you prefer the serious only-time-for-fun-when-I-drank-to-much, Cumberbatch and Freeman as Sherlock and Watson respectively, or favor Robert Downey Jr. and his Watson, Jude Law’s more comical approach, you have seen at least one version of the duo represented on-screen that is different from their literary counterparts; Which is anything but surprising, as it is a series of shorts that were written in the 1880s. Some laugh at the idea that fan-made fiction is an artifact of pop culture, but every story is inspired by another story. Even the original stories are often based loosely, stiffly, or satirically around witnessed events. Fanfiction is a study in humanity, and it's social and historical developments. It also brings out creative thinking, individually and collectively.

What makes writing stories using Sir Arthur Doyle’s characters on a platform such as Wattpad (or Tumblr) less accepted than a BBC or Hollywood production? It does not matter where the source material comes from; the original idea will be spun into someone's inspiration. The amount of research and work that goes into a good fanfiction should be commended as well, as writers can spend hours researching methods or mental incapacities. Then again, "good" is a subjective term, and you can often tell when something isn’t thoroughly researched. Even with films, tv shows, and big, commercially marketed books, there is an argument over whether the story is good or bad. While some consider fan-written fiction lower than kitsch, being a mimic is a skill. Yes, some of the characters are already established, but the writer still created an original character- or characters- and plot ideas, which means the story already has a new element added and they now must create interactions with the pre-established characters without disrespecting the constitution of the original characters or their creator. Whether the original creator would accept the fans version of the story matters little, as both versions are the author’s head canon. As with any form of art, kitsch or not, it will enviably cause controversy.

Cumberbatch's portrayal of Sherlock Holmes is the updated inspiration presented by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. To be more relatable to a broader audience, Holmes, Watson, and Moriarty are younger, and electronically inclined but still clever enough to keep the “old-timers” interested. As times change, more ideas are allowed. The mental health of it all has developed as well; the more scientists learn about mental wellness and the human psyche, the more we can be algorithmic with how characters will or won’t react to different disorders. Sally Donovan calls Sherlock a freak, John Watson rolls with it, and Detective Lestrade sees Sherlock’s potential.

While there is little exploration as to why Downey Jr’s Sherlock Holmes is the way he is, looking at it from a psychological point of view, we can identify the adolescent issues that caused Cumberbatch’s Sherlock to have grown into the man he is. Nothing sums up young Sherlock’s development more than “the mind is inherently designed to understand life as a narrative.” (Borges, 1962) Even Sigmund Freud agrees that the psyche reshapes the conflicts revisited in narratives as a way to cope (Danesi, 2019). In Gatiss’ version, the Holmes brothers have a younger sister. She was closer to Sherlock’s age and began to feel ignored and jealous of Sherlock’s relationship with his best friend Victor, so she shoved Victor down a well and refused to tell them where he was. It is not until after she burned down the family home and is sent away that Sherlock rewrites his memories, forgetting his younger sister and making his childhood friend his childhood dog, (that never existed), Redbeard. At one-point, Mycroft tells Sherlock he is the man he is because of the memory of his sister.

The same events also lay the foundation for understanding Mycroft as well. The human psyche is a precious thing. Where Sherlock forgot his trauma, and his brain seems to have rewritten the way he reacts completely, Mycroft lives with the guilt of knowing what he did. He knew the Eurus was locked away and did not die in the house fire she set, as he told his family. Perhaps his internalization of emotions is how he lives with the guilt, like a self-inflicted punishment. The more you pay attention to Gatiss as Mycroft, the more you can tell he truly cares about his little brother, but he is afraid to look weak, so he instead acts like he does not and allows the hostility.

Inspirations grow with the times. More ideas are accepted, and technology is upgraded. While Cumberbatch’s Sherlock Holmes occasionally falls back into archaic tendencies, he uses modern technology such as keeping a blog and texting. Downey Jr. offers us the closer to the original version with telegram communications. Setting aside the Abominable Bride episode which is meant to take place in 1895- it is likely that if the two versions were to switch places, they would not be able to do their job as efficiently, if at all. They wouldn’t have the technology they know how to use; one would have the advanced tech while the other would think waiting for, or writing, a telegram is tedious.

When studying Pop Culture, we must recognize that linguistics and logistics have changed to sate modern speech and society. “The game is afoot” becomes “the game is on.” Texting and calling someone on their mobile phone became the new telegram and messenger correspondence. Phrases like “brother mine” and “blud” are granted between the Holmes brothers to show affection, even if it is sarcastic. There is a scene between Detective Inspector Lestrade and John Watson where Lestrade tells John that Sherlock is a great man and that maybe one day he will be a good one. (Moffat et al. 2010) Which implies that Sherlock is good at what he does, but not the kindest person. It is this scene that tells the viewers that if Sherlock were less talented but compassionate, he would be a good person.

The good man speech is alluded to in the third episode in the fourth series when Sherlock shows genuine concern for his brother and even addresses Lestrade by his correct first name, indicating character growth. That humanizing character growth is what gives Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock an appeal that Robert Downey Jr.’s version does not have. It also suggests that Cumberbatch’s Sherlock pays attention but chooses to goad their disdain deliberately, thereby making moments like that more precious.

What was it Carl Jung said about mischief? “In every person, there exists a predilection for puerile mischief.” (Dansei, 2019) So In a way, this incarnation of Sherlock Holmes is The Hero and The Trickster. He also has more than one form of the shadow he is dealing with- the shadow within himself, and the shadow that takes the form of cases and enemies. When considering Sherlock, a “trickster,” we must look past the usual villainy that is partnered with the mythology. His trickery comes from his lack or denial of social skills. In the second episode of the first series, The Blind Banker, Sherlock allows himself to be contradicted to move his case along. He also tends to use physically harmless manipulation when a case is involved. In that same episode, there is a scene with Molly Hooper that illustrates this action. Though non-cannon to Sir Conan Doyle’s original work, she is a specialist registrar, (intern), in the morgue at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital that Sherlock flirts with Molly to gain access to bodies in the morgue without having to go through official channels. He recognizes her affection for him and manipulates that. However, he has never intentionally been cruel to his tolerable affiliates. That is where he differs from the usual trickster mythologies.

When Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat created their version of Sherlock Holmes, it was not your twelve-year-old-girl-who-doesn’t-understand-the-dimensions-of-the-characters, fantasy. They cared about the characters and enjoyed the adventures of the detective so much growing up they wanted to create their own version., and that admiration demanded the creation of a beautifully magical world that transcends the archaic and challenges the archetypes. There are even liberties taken with John’s wife, Mary. As she does not have a detailed back story in the original work, she is probably the most natural character to build around. She could have been a ‘villain’ or ‘the wise old Oak’ that helps John in ways Sherlock can’t. Which takes us back to the role’s women play throughout history and anthropology.

Pop Culture can be considered an experiment and expression of postmodern democracy, and as with any other viewpoint, it is not shared universally (Dansei, 2019). This democracy and societal growth are evident in the way BBC’s Sherlock portrays Mary Watson as a strong, independent, and charismatic woman who enjoys the eccentricities of Sherlock Holmes. She even understood why he faked his death. Since the beginning, she has been in his corner and pushed the relationship between John and Sherlock to stay the same. It was not until later in the series that we find out why she is so accommodating. Where Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes shows us Mary Watson as ‘John’s soon-to-be-wife, who happens to be a governess,’ Sherlock shoves the progression in our faces.

Historically, women have been submissive; to be seen and not heard. 2009’s Sherlock Holmes movies played by Robert Downey Jr, there is the implication that women are second-class citizens and not often taken seriously, which allows the deception between Ms. Adler and Mr. Holmes. While she was using him for information, he was using her for creature comforts. It was not proper to openly discuss sexuality or lack thereof. The audience doesn’t even know how or when Sherlock Holmes met Irene Adler in this ideation. However, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat challenge their audiences with a polar opposite character in their version of Irene Adler. She is an open and marketed Dominatrix, which accepts that women can take charge of their own life. In the wake of movements like #HeforShe and #Mettoo, Laura Pulver gives us the power to challenge inequality and harassment.

As previously mentioned, Molly Hooper is a character of merit in the BBC world of Sherlock Holmes. However, there is no place for her in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works. The idea of women being in a power position like that was outside of comprehension in the 1880s. There is some subjugation with Molly accepting the way Sherlock treats her, but she is smart and influential and respected. Her education in the medical field illustrates how society has grown.  Women can study more than the necessities for being “Susie Homemaker.” Molly is Sherlock’s access point to bodies and labs in the hospital. Her allowing him access to the hospital helps him solve the crimes without breaking more laws himself by breaking into the morgue. He will never admit it, but she helps keep him human and occasionally inspires ideas with her medical perspective. It also helps that she is not “a complete idiot.”  

While the drug use seems to be a staple in the Sherlock Holmes lore, Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock doesn’t drink eye drops to get high when he can’t find substance. He also isn’t trapping flies under a glass container and plucking the violin to observe their reactions. This version of Sherlock Holmes also portrays scientific advancement outside of women now contributing. It is mentioned in the show the Sherlock is a graduate chemist, and he is often seen appropriately using a microscope and slides when testing drops of blood and chemical compositions. There will always be new scientific methods and discoveries. The microscope and sterile slides are scientific improvements that were needed to help science move forward. The best science starts with a sterile environment. Sherlock even enjoys experiments with microwaves and refrigeration, implying that he is monitoring the viability of a subject in various temperatures, and the bacterial reactions as well. Though there were refrigeration units, the microwave experiments would not exist unless he was to first invent a unit to conduct and control microwaves.

Some of the experiments are used to solve current cases, while others are entertainment because he is bored. He is meticulous with his work and can even identify 140 different types of tobacco ash. Another thing that has grown with over the years is the knowledge of chemical reactions. The scientific advancements shown to audiences with any Sherlock Holmes variation seem to live with the memories of Sir Conan Doyle’s own growing up in the era of scientific change. Some, such as BBC’s version, highlight the advancements, some stay stagnant, but the impact is still there, whether it is a history in science lesson or scientific progress that inspires new ideas. Each version of Sherlock Holmes has a certain cleverness to it. New ideas in science, intelligent women, even annoyingly clever criminals. Every release is another piece of the puzzle, a collaborative art form that feeds on societal growth, innovation, and invention while somehow keeping our history present.

In general, Sherlock on the BBC gives more humanity and dimensions to the characters. Character building is a skill that many take for granted. World-building is two steps beyond that. But to take old-fashioned characters and throw them forward in history is taking that challenge and upping the ante. Both versions illustrate how much humankind has changed over the years, but also how we stayed the same. We’ve always been creative beings, and while Robert Downey Jr. was not afraid to don a dress and bonnet (which offered him anonymity as a woman), Cumberbatch takes a different approach to the “hide in plain sight” idea. Creative difference, but just as effective. Whether our creativity comes from something manmade or our own ingenuity, we never grow out of it, just develop it.

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 74)

*Pet by A Perfect Circle is eerily befitting to this fic me thinks*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warning: language

Since the curse was broken things were pretty chaotic. Regina regained her powers, I learned that Rumplestiltskin has a beautiful girlfriend, Ruby is a werewolf and got accused of murder, Emma and Mary Margaret finally got back from the Enchanted Forest, and Archie was believed dead.

All the while that chaos was going on I was basically glued to Henry’s side. I had to be. Not that it was easy. That kid gets around a lot and keeping tabs on him got harder and harder. When I wasn’t following Henry around I was reporting back to Regina. She didn’t have a lot of friends and as the only person that could take on Rumple I wasn’t letting her go as an ally.

Speaking of the Dark One I was keeping as far from him as possible. He’s the only one here that knows who I am. If he blows the whistle on who I am then all the progress I’ve made will be erased. He’ll most likely kill me too so there was that problem as well

With everything that had happened I didn’t think living in this hellhole could get any stranger or more annoying. That was until the night a stranger drove into town, as well as a familiar face. One Captain Killian Jones scraped and bruised and lying in a hospital bed. If he was here then he could come in handy. I needed more information.

After he was stabilized and Emma did her little interrogation I snuck into the room.

“Heard an old seadog got hit by a car.”

“Oh joy…” Hook groaned. He opened his eyes and saw me standing at the end of his hospital bed. “I thought I had seen the last of you near thirty years ago.”

“You’re glad to see me, Hook. Admit it.”

“Maybe I would if I didn’t know you.”

“Such harsh words, Killian, harsh words. Still preferable to listening to you hit on Emma. Other attachments? Really? You’re gross.” I rifled through his personal effects until I found his flask. I took a nip but was saddened to realize it was empty. “Come on. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a good bottle of rum when the drinking age is twenty one and you look like you’re in your late teens?”

“If only they knew.”

“If only.” I tossed the flask aside and started searching through his other things.

“No go ahead, what’s mine is yours.”

“Of course it is.” I pulled out his coat, “I’ve always wanted to try this on.”

“That’s enough, love.” he lifted his chained hand to try and stop me.

“Problem?” I smirked as I set down the coat.

“When I am free of these chains--”

“You’ll what? Hunt me down? Kill me? Is that really in your best interests?”

“Tell me he’s not here as well.”

“He isn’t. Good for you, huh?”

“What do you want, Y/N?” he growled.

“Come now, Killian. We’ve known each other a long time. What do you think I want?”

“You need a way back to Neverland.”

“I need an ally. Someone who knows the real me. Someone I can trust.”

“Trust?” he laughed, “After everything you and that demon of yours did to me, you think I’ll help you?”

“I think that if you were to return Peter’s long lost Lost Girl he’d be inclined to grant you anything you desire. No strings attached.”

“Not interested.”

“What other options do you have? Outside of the Dark One no one here knows who I really am. They trust me. I can help you if you help me.”

“Still not interested.”

“For now.” I took the paperclip from his medical papers and handed it to him, “Should help with the cuffs. I’ll be seeing you.”

I started to walk out of the hospital when I collided into someone. “Sorry,” I looked up and my blood ran cold. Rumplestiltskin.

“Best to look in front of you when you walk, dearie.” his gaze slid over me before stepping around me and walking into the hospital himself.

I let out a breath of relief. He didn’t recognize me. Thank the gods. If the Dark One doesn’t remember me then I have no enemies in this town outside of Hook. I don’t need to keep worrying that I’m gonna get murdered.

Satisfied I walked deep into the forest. I’d been keeping a cozy little camp of my own in these woods since the curse broke. It was the closest thing resembling home I had here.

I wish I could go home. I’ve tried a couple times to call the shadow but it never showed. I don’t know if it is the barrier around the town or what but it wasn’t coming to my rescue. The only way I can get out of here now is a portal and given that a bunch of our problems in this town are that we can’t leave it means that option is out.

I don’t know what I should do. The shadow can’t hear me, there are no magic beans, and if I tried to leave the town I would forget who I really am. The day grew later and soon the stars dotted the sky.

I had chosen this particular spot in the woods for a few reasons. It was far from civilization and easily hidden. There were natural cover points for if I ever was attacked. Most importantly, when the night sky rolled by, I could see Neverland. The second star to the right glowed above my forest bed inviting me home before it moved on and was hidden by the foliage again.

Now that I could remember everyone I was missing home more and more. The twenty eight years I had been trapped here were still stuck in my head but it had also made it feel like no real time had passed at all. I think it has to do with living on an island that never ages for hundreds of years that it didn’t affect me too much. But now I was awake and I was aging and I could feel every second of my life ticking away. Every moment I was here was another moment I could have been home with Devin and Wendy and Tigerlily and Felix and everyone else. Every morning when I woke up cold and alone was a stab to my heart because I knew that I should be wrapped in Peter’s arms warm and safe and happy. But instead I was here. Playing a game of long term deceptions in a hope to keep myself alive and bring Henry back so that he can save Peter.

I looked at the stars. The one that led to Neverland and didn’t try to stop the tears that leaked from my eyes. “I believe…”

I waited for something. Anything. Then I felt it. A buzz in the air. Magic. Dark magic.

“Peter?” I looked for a shift in the shadows.

“Not exactly, Lost Girl.”

“Damn,” The fire sparked to life to reveal Rumplestiltskin on the other side of the flames, “I see now it was naive to think you didn’t remember me.”

“How could I not remember you? You escaped my dungeons.” he looked around at my camp, “You know, this realm has a wonderful thing called indoor plumbing and central heating you could be taking advantage of instead of roughing it out here in the dark and cold.”

“I like it out here. It’s what I’m used to.” I reached for my club feeling more in control with a weapon in my grasp, “What brings you out here? Something tells me you didn’t come to chew the fat with one of your former torture victims.”

“And you’d be right for the most part. How’d you end up here? I thought you had absconded back to Neverland.”

“I did. Unfortunately I traveled back to the Enchanted Forest looking for something and got caught up in this nightmare. I’m aging again, I’m surrounded by goody-two-shoes all the time, and I have no way to get back home. So I’m a little agitated and if you don’t want me to break your face in, Rumple, I’d get to the point of this chit chat.”

“You think you could land a hit on me?” he scoffed.

“I’d really like to try.” I gripped my club tighter.

“Such ferocity. I think we could have been good allies in another life.”

“Oh we could have been I’m sure. But things are not like that. So again, what are you doing here? Come to kill me? Torture me? I’m Henry’s babysitter, if I go missing I think there are a good number of heroes that are going to notice.”

“I know. You’re too close to the Charming’s to be offed without notice. That’s why we’re going with a less bloody method.”

Before I could react I was no longer at my camp but at the town line. My club was in Rumple’s hands. “I believe you know what happens if someone tries to leave town, do you not?”

I looked behind me at the bright orange line marking the town border. “Rumplestiltskin, don’t you dare.”

“How horrible it was to find Henry’s trusted babysitter wandering lost and alone without her memories. She must have accidentally crossed the town line while hiking through the woods.”

“No one will believe that.”

“Why wouldn’t they? They know you live up here. It would be very easy to believe you walked across an unmarked border, dearie. Unfortunate, but very believable.”

“No…” I looked for a way to escape. “Don’t do this. I’m not going back to that life.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” he pointed my club at me, “Now let’s get this over with.”

“We can make a deal. You said that we could have been allies in a past life. Why not this one? New realm, new time, new rules.”

“Until you get what you want and stab me in the back. You really think I’m so stupid as to believe the word of a Lost One favored and trained by Pan? You’re a good liar, one of the best I’ve seen, but not good enough to convince me otherwise.”

“No!” I charged him but was blown back. I flew backwards through the air, that orange line coming closer and--

~~~

“Don’t fret precious I’m here”

What was going on? What’s that voice?

I opened my eyes and looked at where I was. I was on the side of the road. My body ached and I could tell instantly that my hands and knees were scraped into a bloody mess. What the heck happened?

“Lay your head down child. I won't let the boogeyman come. Counting bodies like sheep. To the rhythm of the war drums.”

My phone? I picked it up and saw that someone was trying to call me. I didn’t recognize the song playing. When did I change it?

“Hello?” I answered. My head is so fuzzy.

“Y/N, where are you? I need you to watch Henry.” I recognized it as David’s voice.

“What?” I tried to shake the buzzing from my head but it only succeeded in making it worse. “I’m by the town line. I don’t know how I ended up here.”

“The town line…” David got quiet. “Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

I sat up with a groan as I inspected my injuries closer. My hands were scraped really badly, my knees were too but my jeans seemed to help minimize the damage. I touched my face and winced. I tried to see my face in the reflection of my phone. It was cut too.

A few minutes later a car pulled up to where I was and David and and another woman stepped out. “Y/N! Are you alright?”

“I think so…” David helped me up. “I just really wanna go home now. Mom and dad must be worried about me.”

The two of them shared a look. “What?”

“What do you think your names is?” the woman asked.

“What is this a concussion test?”

“Answer the question.” she demanded.

“Marigold. My name is Marigold. I live in Storybrooke. My parents’ names are Kevin and Linda Barrie. Can I go home now? I need a hot shower and some disinfectant.”

~~~

“It’s an incredible likeness.” Peter paused his sketching and looked over his shoulder.

“What do you want, Wendy bird?” He sighed.

“I didn’t know you could draw.” She sat down next to him and looked closer to the drawing in his lap, “May I?”

He slid the paper to her. “I assume I don’t need to tell you that if you mention this to anyone--”

“I won’t.” Wendy smiled at the drawing. It was a mirror likeness of Y/N. “It’s not the same without her around, isn’t it?”

“Certainly less aggravating.” he snatched the drawing back and slipped it into his pocket. “Was there a point to this conversation?”

“You do know it’s alright to miss her.”

Peter didn’t answer.

“She’s safe.” Wendy squeezed his shoulder, “I know she is. She’ll be home soon.”

Peter got up and left but not before whispering one thing that barely reached Wendy’s ears. “I hope you’re right.”

(First) (Previous) (Next)

[strrne]

Give Me a Signal, Ch.6

Chapters: 6/?

Word count (so far): 16295

AO3  Ch.1 Ch.2  Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.7

Summary: When Padmé Amidala is unable to contact Coruscant while negotiating a loan on Scipio, the Senate suspects trouble, and sends Anakin Skywalker to go check on her. Of course, the resourceful senator isn’t really in any trouble – don’t flatter yourself, Rush Clovis – but there’s definitely some brewing.

(or; rewrite of the tcw S6 Clovis arc; anidala + gen)

Chapter 6

For once in his life, for the good of everything not yet tainted by the war… Rush Clovis had done the right thing. He had made the right call. And he was at last reaping the well-deserved rewards.

It had all happened in a heartbeat. He had been a hair trigger away from choosing wrong. Dooku had made him an enticing offer – take the file, play dumb about its origins, convict the Core Five, secure at least a significant position in shaping the future of the banks. He had made it sound so easy – and oh, so tempting. Padmé would have never known. No one would have ever found out.

But something – the faintest feeling of unease, of too-good-to-be-true – had stopped him. The impulse was there, ready to be indulged, but so was his ability to think twice, and think logically. Dooku was a Separatist – Clovis a traitor to their cause. No matter how convincing the Count's arguments, how silver his tongue, he had to have some kind of hidden agenda. And as far as hidden agendas went, this one was beginning to look more and more obvious. Dooku was planning to make him into some kind of puppet. Failing to mention the Separatist involvement in acquiring the correct file would make him a co-conspirator, if not effectively a reborn Separatist, and that would give Dooku leverage over him. And he had vowed to never again let himself be used this way.

But then – they needed that file. They needed it desperately, in order for any legal action or re-shaping of the banks to take place at all. And if Dooku himself had gone to the trouble of getting hold of it, he would have also made sure there would be no other copies, no other way of getting it except through his deceitful hand.

And as soon as Clovis had snapped back to reality – he had already thought about this too long – he had known exactly what to do. He would have the Jogan fruit cake and eat it too. He would take the file – and expose Dooku.

Instead of looking like a partner in crime, he'd be a hero. He would have successfully outsmarted the Count and the Separatists – he would have been honest. He would have been clever. He would have been worthy of the Republic's trust.

The moment he had held out his hand to accept the data file from Dooku, he had already seen his future play out before his eyes, as though in a vision. He would tell Padmé first. They would look at the file together and confirm its valuable contents. Padmé would not want to kiss him – not yet – not before sharing the good news with the Chancellor and granting Clovis a chance to explain himself. Besides exposing the crimes of the Core Five, he would expose the Separatist scheme to make him a co-conspirator, and he would gain the Chancellor's trust for his honesty. The Senate would be suspicious at first – but also impressed.

This is how the Clan ought to deal with the Separatists in the future, he would say – in the spirit of cooperation, without dancing to their fancies. With honesty and transparency. Rising above any and all attempts at deception. He was not afraid of them – neither should you be.

A task team would be dispatched to Scipio to apprehend and convict the Five. Meanwhile on Coruscant, there would be a vote. A vote to determine the next Head of the Clan. Someone already familiar with Scipio and the inner workings of the bank system. Someone wise, and impartial. Someone of strong backbone.

Someone like him, Rush Clovis.

So when all of this had transpired exactly like he had pictured it, it had felt like a playback of a favorite holonovela. One with – hopefully – a romantic ending.

-

It was a 'so glad you're here with me' kind of kiss. Anakin could feel it – sense it. And not anywhere else. So glad I'm not anywhere else. There's nothing else that matters – just you and me. Please believe me.

Her lips tasted as sweet and soft as always – she was as angelically beautiful as always. But there was a distance between them, even as their bodies writhed closer and closer. (Still fully clothed. They were at a party, and at any given time someone could mistake this maintenance closet for a fresher and empty the shaken contents of their stomach on them.)

The distance had nothing to do with their present whereabouts – they were used to hiding and fibbing, and even found a certain thrill in these adventures. It was an intangible distance – Anakin could sense it in her unspoken words. She was telling him not to go – no, she knew he had to. But she was telling him not to go anywhere he couldn't come back from. Nowhere where he would be out of options – where the only road to take was the wrong one. And she was urging him to trust her – but it felt as though she didn't trust him.

“You never did go to Scipio,” she whispered as she withdrew from another little taste of alternate reality. Anakin sighed, disappointed. Had she already had enough of this deceptive ecstasy? Why the hurry to return to the real world? Back to this puny, dingy closet? Why couldn't she have kept kissing him and let him sulk in secrecy?

“I finally figured out where I'd put my 87's," Anakin answered dutifully. "They were in the cockpit.”

“What?”

Anakin mentally rolled his eyes as he suddenly remembered one of Obi-Wan's wisecracks from a few weeks back.

“When I… when I crashed, about two months ago. I'd been fixing the ship's intercom system, and they were in the cockpit. Cockpit was destroyed… you know... just one of those days.”

His wife made an expression that seemed to indicate that no, she did not know those days, but she did dread them – if those days meant her husband in life-threatening danger that she was only now learning about.

She almost kissed him out of sheer belated relief, before remembering she needed to punish him for the very same reason.

“But you haven't purchased a replacement,” she pointed out.  

Anakin shook his head.

“I really prefer working with self-built tools these days. And no, I haven't finished constructing the replacement.” Padmé gaped at him. Two can play this punishment game, Anakin thought as he added, “Just haven't been able to get away from the field. Almost lost a leg last night.”

“Anakin, I've told you,” Padmé huffed, feigning indifference at Anakin's battlefront stories. “The signal has been much better since you… did something to it. The local professionals have been alerted. You don't need to go there again. Clovis starts in office in a few days' time, which will signal the start of yet another round of negotiations, then another, then another. Silly regulation or not, you could get arrested again, and you've already made a bad name for yourself over there. Last time the blame fell on Scipio. This time, it'll be on you. You're planning to break into their property and trample all over a law that's already caused us enough problems. You're interfering with my job, Anakin. Whatever you do will reflect on all of us. The Republic, the Order… and you!”

Anakin stared at her in silence. Truth was, he himself didn't quite understand why he was digging himself deeper and deeper into this hole. He had long since ceased to be able to quite distinguish between 'strong interest' and' unhealthy obsession', but he suspected his 'strong interest' in the tower was starting to fall under the latter category. Still, recognizing it as such did nothing to quench the obsession. He had already almost ruined something – so he needed to fix twice as good. Two negatives would make a positive. He had disrespected a law? He'd disrespect it again if it meant mending something far more consequential than hurt feelings.

“I don't understand why you're being so underhanded about this," Padmé went on. "Look at Clovis and his honesty. And he worked so hard to mend the Scipio-Republic relations, too!”

Anakin jerked back. There it was – that cursed name, that taboo word that he had already ignored once during the course of this conversation. Thrown right at his face – where it bounced off and curved over to hit him below the belt. He could no longer find words – but he was angry – at something. At someone. Clovis. Yes, obviously Clovis. That serpent had been leaving a trail of drool behind Padmé's every step for weeks now – he had been shaking her hand at inappropriate times, in an inappropriate manner. He had been casting Anakin knowing glances - “See, she has other interests than you. Yes, that's a banking pun.” Anakin had barely been holding himself together – drowning himself in dangerous, important and trivial missions – it didn't matter which kind – and in his pet project, a Skywalker Original that he could use to fix a stupid connectivity issue on Clovis's stupid planet – and never be thanked.

But to have to hear from his wife that Clovis – a traitor and a creep – was better than him, her husband – why did it sting this bad? Why did it immediately jumble his deck of sabacc, and spread it on the floor like it had been soaked in rhydonium and was waiting to be set on fire?

Anakin didn't respond, although his nostrils visibly flaring was probably enough of a response. He whirled around in the small space to peek out of the keyhole. The entire party crowd had their backs turned to their direction, presently listening to a speech given by – wouldn't you know it – the newly instated head of the Banking Clan. Anakin narrowed his eyes to catch a better view. Clovis's gaze was scanning through the audience – searching for Padmé, who else.

“You should probably go first,” Anakin suggested, knowing nobody would miss him whether he chose to wait five minutes or five hours before exiting their secret hideout.

-

“Padmé,” Clovis beamed as he darted off the stage to meet his colleague. The audience was still clapping. Padmé took two steps back, but gave a slight smile.

“Again, congratulations,” she said. “What are you planning to-”

Whatever Clovis was planning, it was not a conversation. And whatever he was planning, he was planning to do right then and there, in front of all these people. He was planning on marking his territory – that a certain overstepping Jedi was not here to protect.

But he was making a grave mistake – in supposing Padmé needed protection. She didn't even need a plan – she was going to embarrass him in public, without hesitation.

But Clovis had evidently been prepared – at the last justifiable moment, he managed to transform his attempted kiss into a friendly-looking whisper, like one used to tell an inside joke. The crowds stared – most of them probably still seeing a pair of chummy colleagues. Some of them maybe exchanged significant looks – suspected something between them.

But Padmé knew. She knew what Clovis had meant to do. And suddenly she felt quite uncomfortable.

But she also knew she had just lectured Anakin on the importance of diplomacy – told him not to do anything to risk good relations between the Republic and the banks – and she knew, she couldn't either. She couldn't tell Clovis to leave – not here, not like this.

Anakin might have been childish to storm off like he had – but suddenly she couldn't wait to quit this party. Suddenly she couldn't wait for all of this to be over.

-

”General Kenobi. Are you on your way to see Anakin as well?” Padmé gave a slight smile, to hide her frustration. ”Do I have to get in line?”

Obi-Wan stared at Padmé for quite a while before he answered, which would have probably made her nervous, had his expression not been so completely blank and unreadable.

”I shall grant your priority, Senator.”

Or perhaps it was perfectly readable. Padmé felt her cheeks warm up, pretending to fix her hair to hide the scarlet. The enigmatic Jedi Master would make comments like this every once in a while – comments that said everything, yet compelled no further discussion. Still – something in his manner seemed to have shifted. But that was as far as Padmé could judge, without the Force, or a more intimate acquaintance with the closed-off man.

Padme cleared her throat. ”Have you been in contact with him lately? I'm afraid Scipio has been weighing hard on him, and I, um... feel partially responsible.”

Ever since Scipio, Anakin had thrown himself on an unprecedented number of mandatory and voluntary missions, all but locked himself into his quarters in his spare time, and hardly spoken to anyone. She had shared the bed with him on a few nights, stolen a kiss or an embrace when she could, but even then – it had felt like he had been there, but hadn't been there. Like he had been but an apparition.

Now he was back from yet another mission, fixing up his starfighter - or possibly plotting his next arrest.

”Last time we spoke, he was looking for something called an '87'," Kenobi replied. "Some kind of… hammer, I think?”

Padmé sighed. Definitely still plotting his next arrest.

”It's a type of wrench," Padmé corrected. "And did you ask him what he needed that for?”

Obi-Wan stared at her in silence again, opening his mouth several times, as though trying to choose between three or four either equally good or equally bad responses.

”That… I did not ask him.”

Padmé nodded, not all that inclined to inquire what Obi-Wan had asked Anakin. The man could only blame himself - he was none too open nor talkative. She and Anakin were aware that Obi-Wan knew about them on some level, and was both too kind-hearted and too apathetic to say or do anything – to them, or about them.

And if he were to do so, one day, Padmé found herself hypothesizing - her first response would probably be that of fight or flight – a last desperate denial, perhaps. But in the end - she knew that it wouldn't last. Because she also knew that she and Anakin could have really used an ally – a friend. A friend who admitted to being their friend.

”Well, if you had – you would know that he's planning to do something ill-advised.”

Obi-Wan didn't seem surprised by this revelation – in fact, he seemed to have just learned that space was indeed vast – but he also didn't seem to take well to the criticism directed at him. He studied her a while, then said, “You know, Senator... the Chancellor only sent Anakin to Scipio. I tagged along on my day off. I know that I probably only managed to make things worse… but I thought I was stopping him from doing something 'ill-advised'. I sensed that he had a lot… personal feelings as to the… situation.”

Padmé couldn't help but smile. She remembered at first being irritated at Obi-Wan's presence there – couldn't a woman kiss her secret husband anymore, without having to put up a show of 'just friends' in front of his best friend/mentor who had 'tagged along', and who clearly already knew?

But now, hearing his words – she knew Obi-Wan had meant well.

“I'll take you up on your kind offer and go check on him first," she said, picking up the pace, hearing Obi-Wan halt in place behind her.

But Padmé was not there first. She had barely reached the hangar when she almost bumped into Clovis at the doorway. He was rubbing his cheek with both his hands, muttering something about maybe having dislocated a molar.

”Padmé." He took both her shoulders in his hands, pulling her closer. His eyes moved about wildly. "That man is insane. You know he's insane, don't you?”

Padmé stared at him. ”Clovis, what happened?”

”I was going to check up on the ship that is to take me to Scipio tomorrow," he explained with great urgency.

”Anakin… attacked you?” Not only was Padmé shocked at her own deduction, she was also shocked at the speed at which it came out of her mouth.

”Padmé,” Clovis said, lowering his voice while continuing to hold his cheek, ”I do not want to cause any more public uproar."

Padmé could hardly believe it. But the worst of it was – that she could.

-

”Anakin, what did you do?"

Anakin turned towards her slowly in the pilot's seat. The doors had been open – he had to have heard her arrival and chosen to keep them that way. And guilty he did look – of something. His expression was oddly calm, but his eyes were blazing. At first, he looked like he wanted to scream – or cry – or something. But he stayed silent, for a long while.

”I shouldn't have,” he finally said quietly. “I know that.”

”Anakin, what did you do?”

”I punched him.”

Padmé gave a small gasp – but then, she had known the molar had not dislocated itself. Anakin then added, turning his other cheek, which wore the faintest hue of red, ”And he returned the courtesy.”

Padmé glanced at the cheek, then stared at him in the eye.

”That's when I sensed you coming," Anakin went on. He seemed to be barely comprehending his own words, or the fact that he was speaking at all. "And I... I know there was a third punch – but I have no memory of who delivered it. But I know it did the most damage.”

Padmé suddenly took a good look at the ship's control table. By the looks of it, the table had been on the receiving end of the mystery punch – that, or someone had been pinned against it.

"What was he doing in your ship?" she forced herself to ask.

Anakin only shook his head.

”Both of you..." Padmé drew a deep breath, sat in the passenger's seat, and started again. "Both of you need to stop before you do something you'll regret. I don't... need this. Nobody needs this. There are much bigger things going on here than... whatever this is."

Anakin nodded. He could not seem to meet her eyes.

"I don't even remember what he said before... before..." he whispered, trailing off.

Padmé bit her lower lip. She had a natural inclination to rationalize, to somehow justify her husband's actions... and perhaps even judge Clovis' instead, or more harshly. But in the end, did it really matter what Clovis had said? Did it really make a difference whether he'd provoked Anakin?

”I saw you two at the party,” Anakin continued. ”I wanted to punch him then, too.”

Well, there it was.

”…What stopped you?” she asked, as though out of academic curiosity.

”Nothing did,” Anakin said quietly. “I… I only put off the inevitable.”

”The inevitable?”

“I was… I was always going to do it. I was always going to lose control. I was just so… angry. Too angry…”

Anakin’s voice sounded pained – as though he’d rather have been anything but angry – been anyone but himself: the Chosen One, powerful Jedi, competent military officer, great pilot, master engineer, loving husband – who was always, inevitably, going to lose control.

Padmé didn’t quite know what to say. To be angry was to be human – but to act on it was to be destructive. And today, fortunately, that destruction had only spread as far as the control table, and a molar.

[swaymarkhugs]

Bergy/marchy for the headcannon game please and thank you! 💕

Aaah thank you for this Alex!  Without further ado, please enjoy the following Bergy/Marchy headcanons.

Gives nose/forehead kisses

Nose kisses are definitely Marchy. Forehead kisses are Bergy’s thing, because Marchy is shorter, so it’s easy for Bergy to just lean down and kiss his forehead. Meanwhile, Marchy will stand on tiptoes if he needs to, to give Bergy a playful kiss on the nose.

Gets jealous the most

Oooh. These boys both get jealous when someone tries to flirt with one of them. Marchy is good at interrupting whatever situation he’s feeling jealous of in order to redirect and subtly cling to Bergy. Bergy, on the other hand, gets broody and jealous in a way that not many people (besides Marchy) can recognize. Bergy is also the one most likely to drag Marchy home as quickly as possible and remind him that no one gets to flirt with him besides [Bergy]. 

Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive

Marchy tends to go out more with the younger guys on the team, and tries to prove that he can outdrink them. As such, Bergy gets many a phone call along the lines of “Uhh, Marchy is totally hammered and we’re worried about him getting home”. Bergy could tell everyone to figure it out, and leave Marchy to stumble around drunkenly, but he loves his man too much for that. So, Bergy comes to the rescue. Of course, on the few occasions Bergy happens to get too drunk, Marchy is there to bring him home safely. 

Takes care of on sick days

If one gets sick, the other is there to fuss. Marchy tends to get sick more, typically from his on-ice antics, so Bergy does more of the care-giving in that regard. He fusses more over the small details, worrying about every little thing that goes right or wrong while Marchy recovers, but he’s a solid, reassuring presence. Bergy is not always sure what to do when it comes to having a cold, because having a cold seems too deceptively simple. But when it comes to major illnesses or injuries, no matter how much of an emotional toll they take, he knows what to do to make Marchy’s recovery easier, whether it’s administering medication, cooking meals in advance, driving him to appointments, or just snuggling with him under a blanket while Marchy naps. 

However, Bergy isn’t exempt from getting the common cold/flu, even though he appears to be superman on any given day. When he does get sick, Marchy fusses over him, cuddles him, and spends every waking moment nursing him back to health. Marchy has more experience with caring for common ailments, given that he’s grown up with siblings and was expected to help when a sibling got sick. So, he fusses less over small details and worries instead about major changes. Bergy doesn’t always know what to make of Marchy being so calm, but he’s glad to have Marchy close while he himself feels so miserable. 

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day

Contrary to what some people might think, Bergy is the one who gets playful at the beach. (Marchy’s whole motive is to see Bergy soaking wet, so it doesn’t matter to him how that happens). Bergy loves waiting ‘til Marchy is dozing on the sand, attempting to tan. Then, he picks him up and wades into the ocean, tossing Brad into the water. Marchy wakes up instantly, spluttering and splashing while Bergy chuckles to himself. Brad promptly grabs Patrice’s ankles and pulls him down into the water…and Bergy is definitely kidding himself if he doesn’t expect this to happen. 

Gives unprompted massages

Marchy is a handsy boy as is. But he can put his usual friskiness to good use when Bergy is stressed, cranky, or otherwise holding tension in his body. He likes to wrap himself around Bergy’s back and rub his shoulders and back until the tension melts away and he’s pliable and sleepy in Marchy’s arms. Marchy hates seeing Bergy stressed, so he does what he can to make sure Bergy stays relaxed when they’re alone together..and if that leads to sex…well, neither one of them is going to complain about that.  

Drives/rides shotgun

It depends on where they need to go. If they’re on vacation, or going somewhere for leisurely purposes, Bergy drives, and Marchy is content to ride shotgun, as long as he can hold Bergy’s hand and be in control of the radio. (The man fidgets too much otherwise). When they have to be somewhere, though, like practice, games, or dinner, Marchy drives and Bergy rides shotgun. Sometimes, Marchy’s driving causes quarrels…he tends to drive quickly and aggressively, much like the way he plays hockey. But Bergy realizes Marchy is the best hope they have to get where they’re going early in spite of Boston traffic, because he can navigate traffic effectively.

Brings the other lunch at work

Considering they both play hockey in the same place, for the same team, they make lunch together for their practice days, or they go out to lunch after practice. They eat dinner together before or after games. But, when Bergy gets injured, he likes to surprise Marchy by cooking or picking up his favorite meal and bringing it to him at practice or after games. Marchy is always so pleased that Bergy goes out of his way when he’s sick or hurt to take care of him, but neither of them would have it any other way. And because he wants Bergy to feel the same way, he reciprocates by making or picking up Bergy’s favorite desserts to bring to him. Both these instances result in hugging and making out in front of the team (which prompts teasing and groaning alike), but that deters neither of them.

Has the better parental relationship

Both Bergy and Marchy have good relationships with their parents. When they got together, Brad’s parents were instantly supportive and thrilled to welcome Patrice to the family. They know the way Marchy has been pining after him for years, so they’re excited. Patrice’s parents are a bit more hesitant. They had a feeling Bergy was in love with his linemate, but they were concerned about their son’s career. When it’s made clear that Bergy and Marchy won’t let their relationship affect the team dynamic (or the way they each play), Bergy’s parents relax, and are more than happy to have Marchy as part of the family, as well. 

Tries to start role-playing in bed

Ah, yes. The role-playing incident. While they’re both slightly drunk one night, Brad attempts to start role-playing with Patrice, but he fails epically, and they both end up laughing hysterically, effectively killing the mood. After that, they both agree to no more role-playing…dirty talk is fine for both of them, but role-playing is off limits. They just can’t take each other seriously with that. 

Embarrassingly drunk dancer

If this doesn’t scream Bradley Kevin Marchand, I don’t know what does. Drunkenness equates to Marchy dancing, and Marchy dancing is absolutely ridiculous. He tries to keep up with the rookies, but is too drunk to grasp what exactly they’re trying to teach him. Bergy has to wrap an arm around him and hold him still, otherwise he’ll get up onto a table or chair and sway awkwardly, singing along too loudly to the music.

Still cries watching Titanic

Bergy. It’s his greatest secret. He worries that Marchy is going to laugh at him when he finds out by putting on the movie as background noise. Instead, Marchy just uses the knowledge as a means of making Bergy cry for the sake of being able to hold him. Sometimes, when Bergy is feeling overly vulnerable, he’ll put on the movie so he has a catalyst to cry and release the pent-up emotion, all the while feeling safe in Marchy’s arms. 

Firmly believes in couples costumes

Brad LOVES halloween. He spends a lot of time planning and scheming, coming up with elaborate costume ideas that involve matching with Bergy. The first halloween they spend together, Bergy rolls his eyes at Marchy’s insistence at wearing matching costumes. When he realizes Brad is serious, though, Patrice goes along with it because he doesn’t want to upset Brad or feel like he somehow let him down. So, while it isn’t Bergy’s all-time-favorite thing to do, every halloween after that is spent in couples’ costumes…(and maybe he has some fun with it, eventually).

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas

They both do. Patrice tries to be sneaky, their first Christmas, in order to surprise Brad. He’s proud of his plan, and is excited at the opportunity to spoil his other half the way he deserves. While he ends up achieving this, he also ends up surprised on Christmas morning, when Brad reveals that he’s done the same thing. They both laugh, and kiss, and open the rest of their gifts. After that Christmas, they each limit each other to one expensive gift, since it’s obvious “no expensive gifts” is not going to be adhered to. 

Makes the other eat breakfast 

Marchy has so much energy a lot of the time, so he’s constantly moving and bouncing and talking. Sometimes, he gets caught up in the excitement of getting to live his dream playing hockey and being with Bergy, and he’ll leave the house without eating breakfast, which results in him crashing during practice, complete with muscle exhaustion and a splitting headache. So, Bergy is the one to remind him in the mornings to sit down and eat something, even if he feels like he’s not hungry. Sometimes Marchy pouts, or he whines about being treated like a kid, but he knows Bergy has his best interests at heart, and always listens to him. Besides, when he takes time in the morning to settle down and eat breakfast, Bergy rewards him with plenty of kisses, and that alone is enough to make Marchy adjust his morning meal habits. 

Remembers anniversaries

Both Bergy and Marchy remember their anniversaries, birthdays, and other important events. Neither one of them considered themselves the type of guy to get sappy and sentimental over upcoming anniversaries, but it turns out that both of them love to celebrate the important dates with one another. 

Brings up having kids

Given their career choice and given the fact that they both do the same thing at the same time, neither one considers the possibility of children while they play. They both enjoy playing with their teammates’ kids, and occasionally babysitting, but they don’t actively, constantly think about having children. Bergy brings up the possibility of adopting when they both retire, and Marchy is willing to consider it. But it isn’t something either one dwell on, and they agree to bring it up again if and when the time is right.