#trying to fight against a fucking system that doesn’t give a shit about its patients or staff

[nurse-buckley]

.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 3 - F#$k the Police

Bucky Barnes x (f)reader Series Rewrite (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS)

Summary: What’s happening in Romania? For awhile you’ve had the best time with Bucky all to yourself, but now, it appears the world is not done with you two just yet.

Warning: tinge of fluff, violence, fighting, reader being a bad bitch, Bucky going through it, Steve metaphorically herding cats (Bucky, reader, T’Challa), some google translate (I hope its right)

Masterlist

Leaning against a telephone poll, you adjust your darkly tinted sunglasses before stuffing your hands back into your jacket pockets. Hood up and stance as casual as ever while you patiently await your dark haired lover, who at this moment happens to be purchasing some plump and juicy looking plums.

Doing his best to appear relatively unrecognizable, Bucky walks over to you in his usual faded ball-cap, layered jacket, and black gloves while you give him a nod of acknowledgment as he quickly approaches. Soon he’s by your side and the two you begin walking towards the street where you’ll be crossing.

“Y/N, you think these ones will taste good?” Wonders Bucky as he shifts his gaze to you for a wise answer, like you magically are able to tell if these random plums are sour or not.

You shrug, “Probably.”

He stares uncertainly down at the plums, “They were kind of sour last time.”

Throwing him a humored glance, you keep walking, “Did you tell her that? Maybe she would have given these ones to you for free.”

“Well.....no.”

Retrieving your dark tinted sunglasses from the bridge of your nose before shoving them in a pocket, you throw a glance back over at the plum cart, nudging Bucky, “I’ll steal some again and then we’ll compare what days they taste good and what days they taste bad. Maybe that will help out your plum dilemma.”

“You’ve stolen plums before?” Whispers Bucky in bewilderment like you just stabbed a guy in broad daylight, “Y/N.” He whines, “We can’t be stealing things! We’re trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

Rolling your amused eyes at his fearful concern over something so tiny, you playfully tug against his grey jacket, “Stealing some plums is the least unlawful thing I have ever done moya lyubov' now come on.” You muse with a reassuring grin.

Wanting to protest, he chooses against it when he hears you call him my love in Russian; that’s new, he think warmly, you’ve never said anything that deeply intimate before. He could certainly get used to it.

Coming to a halt, the two of you patiently wait for the roadway to clear up, but while you’re standing there in the open, you skillfully take notice of some man in his mid thirties with a half eaten lollipop positioned in his right hand. He leans against the counter from behind a newspaper stand, where two curious greyish blue eyes give yourself and then Bucky a wary look as he begins to squint suspiciously. Soon his gaze trails over you both again like he’s trying to solve a 1000 piece puzzle, but can’t quite tell just yet which piece goes next. How odd, you think.

“Nothing is ever odd, there is reason for everyone’s intricate behavior, always be on guard.” Speaks a whisper from your past days training with Hydra.

Glancing over to Bucky, you notice as he starts to appear rather uncomfortable since he’s realized the stranger is staring. What a nosy little weasel, why would he give a shit about us? Tugging on his sleeve, you begin taking the lead across the four-way, the weaselly looking mans eyes go wide in genuine fear as he turns and books it out of the booth like a bat out of hell. Racing past annoyed civilians as they go about their normal business.

Brows furrowed in confusion you hastily reach the newspaper stand and flip a paper around only to be greeted with greatly troubling words printed aggressively in big black letters reading...

 -WINTER SOLDIER CÂUTAT PENTRU BOMBARDMENTUL DIN VIENNA- 

...with a blurred security footage picture of Bucky’s shadowed face walking suspiciously by a white van in presumably a parking garage.

On further inspection lower down the page, you take notice of the alarming words below, translating to...

 -On international watchlist; Possible accomplice suggested at place of crime, Y/N Valerious is being investigated into for feasible involvement with one credited for bombing. Investigators advise great caution if seen and require a report immediately upon recognition.-

Paired with a blurred fuzzy head shot taken from CCT footage in 1997 after you sliced your way through a notorious drug cartel in Colombia.

Shit. And how the fuck did they find that picture?

Bucky quickly rips it out of your hands and stares frustratingly at the parchment, eyes focused on the concerning news as he flickers his attention back down at you, “Y/N?” He mutters uncertainly, face appearing increasingly distraught as he looks to you for an answer.

Glancing warily around the crowded area, you swallow nervously before finding his uneasy gaze once again, “I really need to stop speaking ahead of myself....fuck.....we need to leave.” You urge, tugging on his arm to move, you let go as the two of you head back to your shared apartment.

Eyes glancing warily around you the whole way there.

——

Walking quickly up the steps, you suddenly catch the scent of an unknown man leading right into the cracked door of your apartment, Bucky halts as you remain still as stone, nose crinkling as you test the air.

“Y/N?” He whispers unsurely as you shush him.

Sensing this stranger isn’t here to fight due to the lack of aggressor pheromones extruding from out of his system, you both cautiously walk into the room, on guard as you move more silently then an owl in flight, he doesn’t hear a thing. Quickly you visually analyze a tall man in dark blue with a helmet tightly fitted against his head, standing relatively still with his back turned to you two. A familiar shield held strongly from his left forearm as his head looks down at the journal positioned in his right hand. 

Bucky’s journal.

Standing defensively side by side with Bucky, the uniformed man suddenly turns around; his eyes are a dark ocean, yet soft and set; a faded white A sits just above his eyes and a dull white star appears in the center chest area of his stealth suit. This is without a failing doubt Captain America, but what does he want with you two? 

Breathing steadily he gives the two of you a once over before focusing on Bucky, “Do you know me?” He asks, voice calm and collected. Not an ounce of aggression.

Your eyes flicker cautiously from Bucky then back to the stranger as he takes a slow breath, “You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

[They’ve set the perimeter] -speaks a disembodied voice from Steve’s earpiece, only yourself and Steve are able to pick it up.

What the fuck does that mean?

The American sets Bucky’s journal onto the kitchen table as he shifts in place, your fists instinctively clench in preparation for a possible clash as Steve’s perceptive gaze shifts warily from your hands up to your watchful glare; he must know about you, “I’m not here to fight.” Confirms Steve with a small nod before turning to Bucky, “I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

“I wasn’t in Vienna, we both weren’t. I don’t do that anymore.” Mumbles Bucky truthfully, you’ve been with him for months now and neither of you have even left the city so how the hell did his blurry photo get printed onto the daily newspaper?

[They’re entering the building.] -speaks the voice.

Steve takes an urgent yet cautious step forward, clearly something terrible is about to go down for the three of you, if the guy on the ear piece wasn’t telling enough, “Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. For both of you. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.” Warns Steve sincerely, voice steady and true.

Bucky’s lips nervously purse together as he mutters unenthusiastically, “That’s smart. Good strategy.”

[They’re on the roof. I’m compromised.]- says the voice, more urgently this time.

Suddenly your ears pick up the sounds of heavy boots as they pound against the large spiraled staircase, squeezing your eyes shut in irritated anticipation, you open them to face the soldier, “Well this is fucking fantastic.” You seethe through clenched teeth, accent dripping strong as you shake your head in frustration.

Steve gives the two of you a pleading look, “This doesn’t have to end in a fight.” He urges as you both stand like a nervous predator, unsure if their prey is going to put up a deadly brawl to the death or not.

Giving him a hooded grimace, your eyes shift from the front door then back to him as you begrudgingly mutter, “It always ends in a fight.”

Looking away, he nods towards Bucky, “You pulled me from the river.” Starts Steve as Bucky hastily removes the black glove covering his metal arm, “Why?”

Bucky huffs, reluctant eyes dancing over to Steve’s, “I don’t know.”

[Three seconds!]- says the voice.

“Yes, you do.”

[Breach! Breach! Breach!]

Yells the voice frantically just as the left window shatters as some can sized metal bomb crashes onto the floor, the three of you immediately turn towards the harmful object right as Bucky kicks it, Steve coming to the rescue as he covers the bomb with his shield. Boom! It goes off, leaving everyone to live another day, or at least for the next minute.

A second later you hear insistent shouting in German just as Bucky grabs the mattress, he shields himself with it as his other hand pulls you to his chest protectively just as a destructively lesser bomb ignites against it from the now broken window.

Pulling out of his grasp, Bucky tosses it aside before kicking the small kitchen table where it lodges itself tightly against the front door. Turning towards the two windows positioned on your right, you’re immediately greeted with the breaking of glass as two heavily equipped combat police burst rudely into the room, heavily armored in tactical gear and ready to kill.

Well, shit.

At an inhuman speed you swiftly grab the first mans gun and point the steel barrel upwards just as he shoots, avoiding killing Bucky if you were a second late; your eyes turn angry as you swing your fist, knocking him unconscious from your blow to his helmet.

The second man shoots a line of bullets that scream angrily into the ceiling when Steve thrusts his gun away from you two, knocking him out in the process. Immediately another soldier breaks into the room from the bathroom door by Steve, gun at the ready as Steve shoves his weapon to the side where Bucky then harshly kicks him in the chest. Sending the intruding soldier into the bathroom, presumably with a hefty concussion.

But before Bucky is able to continue onward, Steve quickly grabs his arm, “Buck, stop!” Instantly he twists out of Steve’s grasp, giving his old friend a deadly glare, “You’re gonna kill someone. Both of you!” He snaps, stormy eyes shifting from you to Bucky just as your Winter Soldier shoves him to the ground by his collar before lunching his metal arm violently into the floorboards right next to his head.

Glaring at Steve, he growls, “I’m not gonna kill anyone.” Before pulling his arm out of the broken wood, travel backpack in hand; he stands and immediately throws it out the broken window about ten stories onto another rooftop below.

Standing in the middle of the ruined apartment as you face them, another soldier crashes through the broken window to your left, Bucky and Steve brace for the worst as the man pauses for a moment, gun facing the floor. Moving swiftly, you quickly unsheathe your razor sharp Adamantium claws out of your right fist before cleanly slicing his weapon into three consecutive pieces.

Shouldn’t have hesitated fucker.

The broken gun clashes to the floor as the soldiers eyes flash with fear before you roughly push him against the wall, grimacing in anger, right hook cocked back as you suddenly thrust a clawed fist directly into his shoulder. He lets out a pained gravelly scream as you pull away to face Bucky and a wide eyed Steve, the injured soldier sliding down the wall to the floor as he applies pressure on his newly bleeding wound.

A second later two more men come racing into the room as your victim slumps to the side once you kick him in the head, unconscious but still breathing as small drops of blood seep out of his affected shoulder. He’s someone else’s problem now.

Steve raises his shield as bullets deflect off the metal, soon Bucky throws his metal arm up; deflecting multiple bullets as Steve takes out a guy on the balcony. Bucky in the meantime has managed to knock the gunman out with a cement brick as you retract your claws back into your fist.

Boom! Boom! Boom! 

Pounds loudly against the locked front door as bullets crash into the hinges, soon Bucky races for the thin wood and thrusts his metal fist into the door without a second thought. Seconds later he breaks down the door, knocking out two guys in the process as you slip past him and into the long staircase hallway that only goes in two consecutive directions, up or down.

Shit, more are coming up the stairs!

A soldier promptly breaks through the overhead glass window from the roof and ascends on a thick black rope, shooting at Bucky who easily deflects his bullets before you kick the man into the wall, knocking him out instantly. Body limp and peaceful as he hangs suspended mid-air in the center of the rounded stairwell, you quickly look down to witness the tiny army of combat police hellbent on ruining your perfectly fine day. 

Well, not much of a fine day anymore.

Without time to process much, you watch as more soldiers charge up the stairs, guns ready to fire; suddenly Bucky jumps on the knocked out man hanging from the ceiling and falls to the next landing below as he uses the unconscious soldier for a sort of pully system, knocking out more police as they try and fight him off once he lands.

Blinking, you jump down without assistance but your own fearsome willpower before shoving a guy down the stairs, who conveniently trips up others in the process. But at least eight more are racing to finish their job, right on cue another soldier meets on your landing as Bucky fights off one from behind you.

Before he’s even able to pull the trigger, you’ve sliced his weapon in half, kicking him harshly into the wall, doing the same to his friend as you fight your way along the staircase, skillfully avoiding bullets and fists alike. 

Turning around to the sounds of Bucky grunting, your eyes trail up and watch as he throws a man over the edge of the railing. But before anything bloody happens, Steve swiftly catches his dark collar much to your disappointment. He then heroically throws the man elsewhere as the fighting starts up again.

Soon Bucky nearly gets his lights knocked out as an armored gloved mitt comes flying for the back of his head; your fist however, breaks the guys jaw with a loud crack as you save your lover from an unfortunate injury. Bucky then gives you a quick nod of silent appreciation before you look up the staircase to see a disappointed Steve. oh, fuck off.

Huffing in irritation, you nudge Bucky to make a swift exit out of here; heeding to your urgent request he knocks another guy out before jumping down a multitude flight of stairs, grabbing onto the closest railing and tearing it back with a pained cry as he uses it to maneuver himself onto the landing.

Alright, time to go.

Breaking a soldiers arm, you proceed to do the same; arriving roughly on the cement landing as you skillfully tuck and roll before jumping up into a standing position and taking a moment to watch as Bucky races down the hallway before jumping off the corridor balcony.

Taking a deep breath in preparation for the jump to come, you book it down the same hallway and soon are free falling while quickly headed for the rooftop below. The damn roof ledge comes faster then you’d anticipated; landing hard against the protruding edge, you grunt in pain before rolling across the roof a couple feet while Bucky picks up his backpack mid run.

With no time to dwell on the burning ache in your shoulder, you push yourself from the ground as you race to catch up with Bucky who’s a good ten feet from you by now. He listens as you grumble a string of incomprehensible swears in displeasured Russian, but keeps running forward as he knows you’ll be right behind him in an instant.

Boots smacking hard against the rooftop cement, you’re almost caught up with Bucky when without so much as a warning does a dark silent shadow appear in your line of sight from directly above you, a second later you’re forcibly thrown into one of the metal conditioning system units, eyes wide and head in a daze. Only to be greeted with a man dressed in a black catlike stealth suit of some strange armor, where he soon begins hand to hand combat with Bucky.

Fuck that hurt. Asshole, you growl miserably.

Bucky dodges and throws skilled yet desperate punches at the mystery individual, although neither of them appear to take any real damage, fortunately for Bucky’s dwindling safety, but not for this other guy. Shaking the fuzziness out of your head, and ignoring the small trickle of blood leaving a red stain from the side of your temple, you hastily jump to your feet and charge the armored bastard as he throws Bucky into another conditioner unit.

Making a clean dent in the thin metal, Bucky’s eyes widen in genuine fear as the angry panther brings his shimmering silver clawed hand into the air, ready to strike. Cornered, Bucky braces for the worst with his metal arm blocking his face just as you seize the panthers forearm.

He abruptly turns his armored head towards you, and is thus kindly greeted with a swift punch to the face that sends him rolling across the rooftop a couple feet away from you and Bucky. Tumbling for a moment, he instantly regains his footing while silver colored claws slash thin sparking lines of gold across the cement as he stops dead in a predatory crouched position.

Well, now he really looks unhappy.

Bucky watches as the panther slowly rises to his feet, looking rather angered by your violent intrusion; breathing heavily, you stare down the fucker before a slow ‘shling’ sounds from out of your clenched fists. The panthers head tilts curiously, closely resembling that of an actual feline as he witnesses a total of six razor sharp claws protruding dangerously in the sunlight.

“Alright. Now we’re even.” You growl darkly as the panther charges for an attack, within seconds yours claws clash violently against his armor as he swipes for an opening to cause some real damage.

Bucky rises to his feet as he watches you and the panther fight like old enemies, sparks fly like confetti as your claws slash against his strange suit while the two of you dance in a rhythmic warriors tango, strangely on the rooftop of some Romanian hotel while Steve remains elsewhere for the time being. 

Anticipating another blow from you, the panther blocks it and finally gets a clean shot of your face, soon you’re on the ground in a blurry daze before shaking your head while you rise to your hands and knees. Okay fuck this guy.

Drops of ruby red blood patter onto the cement as your face turns into a pissed off scowl, both the panther and Bucky watch in anticipation as you dramatically turn around to face them. Three clean slashes mark deep from your right hairline, across your cheek, where finally it relents at the base of your jaw.

You sneer in vexation as your skin fuses ripped muscle and blood vessels back together in a matter of seconds, then without warning does a helicopter appear from above where it rudely begins raining bullets onto the three of you.

Fuck this.

Luckily the artillery is deflected away from Bucky as it hits the panther first, unluckily for you, a couple strays vigorously drag themselves in and out of your shoulder and torso. A sharp white hot paint rips through your vessel causing your legs to buckle, falling to the ground, you instantly scream out in agony when the unpleasant sensation fully registers in your brain, as Bucky’s face turns to worry then anger.

Soon the bullets stop as the helicopter gets pushed off course by some man in a bird suit. Well today really couldn’t be any weirder, what’s next Ironman? You sarcastically think before reluctantly forcing yourself onto your feet only to be welcomed by the worried face of Bucky as he grabs your bleary attention, “Let’s go, we could make it to the underpass.” Affirms Bucky as your strength comes to you once again, muscles fusing back together, the pain fading swiftly.

“Yeah, fuck this.” You retort as he turns and swiftly jumps off the roof and onto another ledge below a you do the same, claws slashing down the buildings side as you do so. But all too soon are you greeted by the metal on metal screeching of the panthers claws as he slides down the side of the same apartment building, closer then you’d like. “Fuck.” You mutter, deeply irritated by this dickhead who won’t give either of you a break.

Not wanting to face the wrath of his shiny sharp claws, you quickly retract yours before you and Bucky instantly turn and jump the rest of the way down, landing skillfully onto the grey sidewalk below before booking it out of there as the panther aggressively chases onward. Steve not far behind, though you don’t care nor have the time to look.

Racing across the city road, bullets fly by the two of you as the opening to the cities subterranean underpass greets you with open arms. Shuffling past some small bushes, Bucky jumps down first, you right behind him as your world turns into a hasty blur. Soon everything comes to an abrupt halt once your boots smack hard against the surface of the roads blacktop.

The sounds of angry car horns blare loudly in your ears as a couple vehicles swerve to the side, just narrowly missing yourself and Bucky, “Come on!” You shout urgently before twisting around and booking it down the underpass with Bucky close behind.

Running at an inhuman speed, you pass cars and trucks alike as they swerve to avoid the two of you, about fifteen seconds later you’re greeted to the all to familiar whirring sounds noisily emitting from the local police cruisers as they hastily follow yourself, Bucky, Steve, and the panther across the highway tunnel.

“Ugh, move!” You snap in irritation before deciding to jump up and run across a green convertible, Bucky almost smiling as he races on the blacktop next to you, continuing onward as you land and race for safety or cover or anywhere away from this mess.

“Left!” Shouts Bucky as you both reach the area where the two huge lanes split from right to left, noticing the sirens coming down from the right lane, you don’t think twice as he practically pulls you in the opposite direction. Left lane it is.

This time traffic races towards you which makes maneuvering in this fucking tunnel even that much more difficult. Your boots clash against the hard ground as Bucky suddenly eyes up an approaching motorcycle, he is not.

As the motorbike comes into about five feet of him, Bucky grabs onto the handles, pushing the guy off while he does an impressive one-eighty before throwing a leg over to straddle the bike as he now points it in the direction of the traffic flow. Not wasting a precious second longer, do you swiftly jump on, throwing your arms around his strong waist for some bit of safety.

The bike instantly growls and groans in protest as Bucky focuses on getting the two of you the fuck out of there; cars fly by in a blur as the wind aggressively whips back your hair, only causing you to hold on tighter as Bucky races down the underpass’s road. Sirens and police speeding not far behind. The constant sound of their sirens just about driving you insane.

Without so much as a warning, your peaceful ride is rudely interrupted when the panther jumps off a car and makes a beeline for your body. Bucky’s flesh hand is around the panthers throat in a second as you lower yourself out of the way. In reply, the panther suddenly twists his body and runs a couple feet on the side of the tunnels wall and low cut ceiling before Bucky tries to throw him down by his throat.

Unfortunately this causes the motorcycle to shift left; dangerously close to the racing ground, he lets go of the panther and switches hands on the handles so he can avoid losing control completely. Metal fingers scrape across the cement creating glowing sparks of angry fiery flickers as the panther holds onto your jacket and the back of the motorcycle for dear life.

Not appreciating this in the slightest, you instinctively begin unsheathing your right claws that are positioned across your lap; you bend low, face pressed against Bucky before twisting the best you can and swiping the panther off of you and onto the harsh ground below. You don’t care to look back as Bucky pushes his metal hand off the ground, finally at last stabilizing the motorbike. Hitting the gas harder, it flies down the road as you swiftly retract your claws back into your knuckles.

“Y/N are you okay!” Shouts Bucky as you tighten your hold from behind, face pressed against his back as you listen to the sirens hastily approaching in the distance.

Gifting him a squeeze of reassurance, you give him a light kiss though he doesn’t feel it, “I could honestly be better!”

Bucky shows the ghost of a smile as he whirs the bike into submission, soon more wind swirls past your face as he pulls something out of his pocket and throw it against the roof of the tunnel where it sticks, blinking red.

Boom! Crash! Down goes a multitude of cement ceiling and destructively onto the freeway, effectively creating a blocker against the panther, Steve, and the Romanian police.

Smiling into his back, you mentally praise him for keeping some of the Hydra weaponry at hand. Until you’re roughly pulled from the bike by the fucking panther himself. Who even is this guy?

And how did he....

Yelping in surprise, you grasp onto Bucky’s backpack for all it’s worth, successfully managing to drag him down with you. The grey tiled street of the tunnel hits against your body harder then you’d like, but nonetheless you take the beating like a champ as you tumble harshly against the ground.

You and the ground are really getting to know each other today.

The panther doing the same from behind you while Bucky rolls awkwardly across the floor like an angry stiff log of dark flowing hair and concealed muscle. While trying to stop yourself from clashing around any further, you quickly regain your bearings in time to block Bucky from getting his throat cut out by the panther who’s on him in an instant.

With your claws bared and shimmering in the light of the protruding sun from the tunnels giant observatory opening, you’re quickly stopped by Steve as he races past you and tackles the panther to the ground by his waist.

Your little violet adventure coming to a messy end, when the panther stands defiantly a couple feet away from the three of you who by now have risen to your feet. Police lights flash from behind him as more surround the four of you instantaneously from on all sides, well shit, this doesn’t look good.

Your frantic eyes shift all around you as your world comes to a crashing halt, a helicopter flies over head, and in this moment you want nothing more then to slash your way out of this one. But you’re trapped.

You stand to Bucky’s immediate right as Steve stands to his left, hands out protectively as you glare at the officers in front of you, neither you nor Bucky speaking a word as you take in heavy breaths from your hefty sprinting session. Suddenly the notorious War Machine lands with a dramatically heavy thud onto the road in front of you, shoulder gun and hand blasters raised as he looks between the three of you.

Well at least it’s not actually Ironman. Right?

“Stand down, now.” Commands War Machine as you throw him a resistant look of pure daggers, hatred and fury flashing across your face as you clench your fists.

Obeying the authoritative command, Steve puts his shield away, latching it to his back as you begrudgingly retract your silver tinted claws back into your forearms with the usual shling sounding as you do so.

“Congratulations, Cap.” Verbally applauds War Machine, voice clearly sarcastic, “You’re a criminal.”

Moments later the Romanian police fully surround you all, guns at the ready; you’re harshly pushed to the ground by angry gloved hands that take captive of your arms and wrists as they pin your stomach to the earth.

“ot"yebis', tupyye pizdy!” You mumble angrily in Russian as the Romanian special task officers hold you like a wounded beast, your actual words translating to “fuck off, you stupid cunts” though they’re none the wiser to your heated threats.

Your chin scrapes against the cement tiles as your hands are pressed against your back, tied instantly as you strain your head to look up. The panther retracts his catlike claws before unclasping his helmet to reveal the troubled face of a dark skinned man; brows furrowing in confusion you suddenly realize who he is when War Machine says, “Your Highness.”

Grimacing in agitation, you can’t help but let out a string of curses aimed crudely at the Wakandian prince and many of the officers in question, half of your verbal abuse a mix of both English and your mother tongue. Soon an officer lightly kicks your side as you send him a deadly glare that causes him to take a cautious step back.

Though to relieve himself of his high authority once more, he gathers some of his men's attention by pointing down at you, “Muzzle this one.” He commands diligently as you squirm in protest, your face a mask of pure rage while Bucky keeps a steady frustrated gaze with the ground. His heart breaking for how they’re treating the two of you, but most importantly how they’re dealing with you.

If not for the current situation, you could have actually laughed; well now, aren’t you quite royally fucked.

-

Tagged: @minigranger​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @diegos-butt

[primasveraas-writing]

“Kent v The Shitty Knee Itself”- Ted Lasso

A sort-of-sequel to "Kent v Linebacker," but this can still be read on its own. Part 2 of 3 of my fics about Roy Kent's shitty knee.

Part 1 // Accompanying AU

WORDS: 1649

XXX

Roy Kent is old as shit.

His daughter is a fucking toddler. His son is in preschool.

And he has fucking arthritis.

“What the fuck do you mean I’ve got fucking arthritis?” Roy Kent explodes at the doctor, who waits patiently for his outburst to finish. “I’m in my fucking forties! I’ve got two fucking babies at home! What the fuck am I supposed to do when my fucking daughter needs to piss and we’re all sprinting into the bathroom? I can’t fucking potty train on a shit leg.”

His wife rubs his shoulders comfortingly; the news is less surprising to Keeley, who gave a damn when the doctors mentioned arthritis could develop, and who is also extremely endeared by her husband’s priorities, which apparently lie very firmly with teaching their daughter to pee in the toilet.

Roy shouldn’t be shocked either; he’s had a limp for a long time now, and progressively worsening pain. He’s been elevating his leg whenever possible, to the point where Ted pulls chairs up for him or sits down first so Roy doesn’t feel awkward (on good days, Roy scowls at Ted and stays standing, but these occurrences are increasingly few and far between). It’s been a long time coming, and as much as the great Roy Kent hates to admit weakness, his shit knee is getting shittier.

Keeley had forced him to go to the doctor when Roy scooped up both their children, one in each arm, and proceeded to fall on the floor in a heap of small limbs and curses. He again made the case that he was fine, but there’s a limit on how much Tylenol one person can take in a day, and Roy’s exceeded that limit for weeks.

He walks like he’s on a hill, wobbling as he drags his right leg behind him. Keeley remarks on how uneven his gait is, and Lily, his precious fucking baby, demonstrates just how wonky Roy is by limping around too. It makes him laugh, but then his gaze meets Keeley’s, and he realizes there’s not much he can do aside from accept his fate and ask Dr. Patel why his knee is failing him (again, the fucking thing).

Arthritis. Fucking hell.

“The majority of your symptoms can be mitigated by limiting any strain on your leg. This includes walking, lifting, twisting, standing, stairs-”

“-breathing, blinking, fucking doing any shit worthwhile-”

“We can also prescribe medication, but given the amount of pain you reported, I think the best option to look at is a walking assistant.”

“What, like a cane?” Roy snorts. He feels Keeley still behind him, then he looks up at Dr. Patel, who’s gazing back at him, entirely serious.

“A fucking cane.”

“It’ll alleviate the weight on your leg. Ideally, you won’t need it every day, but it’ll make a difference when discomfort gets too high.”

“Fuck no.” Keeley squeezes his shoulder. “Fine. Fucking hell.”

-

It’s an adjustment. Roy walks back to their car, cane-less for the time being, limping, and imagines a cane in his hand. Imagines being able to straighten up, and not going to bed in fucking agony after a long day.

He also imagines showing up to the football club with a cane in his hand and Jaime fucking Tartt the fucking muppet smirking at him with his stupid fucking face, and he wants to turn around and tell Dr. Patel he’ll never use a fucking cane in his fucking life. Then he imagines having a stick to beat Jaime with when he’s being a prick, and Roy grins to himself at the thought.

That’s what he tells Keeley on the way home: he’s on the fence. That there’s a stigma he doesn’t want, that he remembers this the pitiful looks he received after his first injury and after surgery. It’s fucking bullshit, that he’d be looked at differently just because of a fucking rod in his hand, or because his stupid knee is fucked.

“Since when does Roy Kent care about what other people think of him? I mean really,” Keeley tells him, patting his thigh. “Everyone decent won’t bat an eye, and anyone who does is a prat.” She shrugs. “It’s a flawless system, really. Good way to sort people out.”

Roy grunts in agreement and drums his fingers on the door. He sighs, leaning his head back.

“What if I can’t keep up with Lily and Ollie? What the fuck am I supposed to do with little kids?”

“We’ll adapt,” Keeley promises, offering her hand. Roy takes it and presses it to his lips. “They already know they can’t run from you, or bowl into you at full speed-” Roy snorts at this. “-so now we tell ‘em that they gotta be patient.”

“They’re gonna be the most patient kids on the planet,” Roy muses, but his chest feels lighter. His wife is fucking amazing.

“They’re fucking perfect, they are. And besides- they don’t love you cause you can lift them or up throw them around or run around after them.” She squeezes his hand. “They love you ‘cause you’re you, Roy. You’re their dad.”

Roy nods silently. She’s right, as always. His heart is warm, much lighter against his ribs. “Thanks, babe,” he tells her, and Keeley beams at him.

-

They adapt. Roy remains in awe of the resilience of children- Lily and Oliver don’t give a damn that he uses a cane, except they quickly have to delineate that it’s not a toy, so Oliver doesn’t hit anyone with it, and so that Lily doesn’t hit Oliver with it. Because of this, Roy has to be careful not to threaten anyone at Richmond with his cane while his children are around. One day, his kids will learn to do as their dad says, not as he does, but for now, his babies swear and scowl, and pick up on every bad habit Roy shows them. It’s fucking adorable.

The first month is the hardest. Roy and Keeley decide to grant him some grace- he doesn’t have to do shit like garden or mow the lawn, or anything too strenuous. It’s uneven, in the beginning, and Roy goes to bed every night feeling like a shit husband for everything that’s unloaded on Keeley. They fight about it, eventually, and Roy apologizes to Keeley with tears in his eyes. They find a balance, which involves a chair in every room in their house and somebody hired to do the lawn. Their roles have shifted, but it’s a pattern he’s familiar with by now. He’s gone through so many major changes with Keeley: switching careers and marriage and injury and parenthood twice over. And using a cane isn’t any harder than having a newborn and a toddler, so they manage. After all, they’re unstoppable together.

Nobody on the team makes a comment on the cane, except Ted leaves sticky notes on it whenever Roy isn’t paying attention, and Roy wouldn’t mind so much if they weren’t positive fucking affirmations, the corny twat. Then the rest of the team follows suit, and they sign it and put stickers on it and all sorts of supportive shit, and Roy tells only one person this, but he kind of fucking likes it (against his better judgment, of course).

Commentators and the press are not nearly as kind. There’s any number of articles written about him and how old it makes the football world seem. Roy wants to fucking kill all of them, but Keeley reminds him that all the pricks have shown their true colors, and one day he finds a picture of a particularly insensitive reporter that has been utterly defiled and left out in the locker room. Roy tucks this away in a drawer in his office, and he’s almost nicer at practice that day.

Beard and Ted match his slower pace as they walk out to every match, which isn’t subtle even from the offset, but they don’t say anything about it and neither does Roy. He also realizes that he’s never the only one sitting in a group of his friends, even if it’s just him and Ted, or Keeley, or Rebecca, or Nate.

Yoga gets much harder, then he and the yoga moms spend a night researching yoga for people with shit legs, and yoga gets easier again. If they want to do a challenge night, Roy shifts into the role of yoga instructor, which he’s fucking great at, thank you, and so what if he gets to drink more wine because of it.

And his fucking knee feels better. His medication works, but the cane helps the most. Ted and Keeley had told him ever since his initial injury to be kind to himself, to rest when needed, and to not be a stupid stubborn prick about his health. This mindset turns out to have a few merits, and maybe it’s even a good habit he can teach his kids.

It says a lot about him, this cane that accompanies a man in his forties. He needs it because he was a professional footballer who injured himself preventing a goal in one last game. Who needed surgery cause his energetic maniac of a son ran into him. Whose wife told him to use it with pride, because he’s Roy fucking Kent and his family and friends love him so screw everyone else. Whose coach used it as a tool to force positivity onto Roy, whose team and kids decorated it with messages of love and smiley faces and the two worst signatures he’s ever seen (though he credits Oliver and Lily for trying). It’s a symbol of persistence, of the pain he’s endured, of those who rallied behind him.

Roy Kent. Married to Keeley Jones. Father of Oliver and Lily. Coach at Richmond AFC.

And he happens to use a cane.

[lorddistancebarry]

Forest In Chains - Chapter 1

"500, 600, 700, 800, 900.." Garcello counts the cash in his hands after he was given the bag of money. After Tabi fell and didn’t get back up from the half-giant cutting loose and throwing him through the cage into the left most stands of the audience. After the red haze cleared. After basically running with fire and panicking the entire way. He still feels the burns and cuts on his arms, chest and face from Tabi's strikes. The bruising deciding to make itself known by the numbness hidden via his bangs on the left side of his face. The wounds just adding on in a pile especially when the reaper decided to stop fucking around and went all in... his body shivers as the pain compounds and the wind from the September season hits him while he sits on the bench waiting for the bus.

"You barely von that, child." a deep, voice spoke.

Garcello looks up and looks intrigued and surprised at who it belonged to.

"Ruv.." He noted looking up from his money and putting it away, quickly.

"You did not expect me?" He noted with a smirk,"Illegal fight, legal fight. I come to all, vatch them. Sarvente spoke of it being good move. I believe her."

The large Russian man walks over and sits down like a neighbor to Garcello on the bus stop. "But, I can go on many years speaking about her." Ruv noted,"Vhat about you, Young Smoke? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Garcello admits,"Just.. didn't expect to get cut and burned alive like I'm a fuckin piece of meat."

"Equalizers are not to be trifled vith. As gang or as fighters in vrestling circuit." Ruv chuckles,"Go to be undefeated, An equalizer gets sent, test you. It is cycle to see if you are actually good or you are veak bitch."

"Well, was i actually good?" Garcello laughs wryly,"Cause i feel like shit."

"No, you vere lucky, you use your strength. You are shit, but vorkable shit. Trainable." Ruv critiques as he takes out his vodka flask from his jacket. "So.. you're going to train me?" Garcello asked looking up as Ruv drinks. "Vin against Agoti or Vhitty." He directs looking to Garcello stoically,"Then I teach you. I vant to see if your are vorth time."Ruv takes another drink from his flask. Garcello takes out one of his cigarettes and lights it. A green light illuminates at the end as he inhales, steam and smoke coalesces and flares outward into a glowing green, mist smoke hybrid. "I see." He nods once,"And if I am worth your time?" "I train you.break you, see vhat you.. really are. Then ve progress from there."  Ruv stated looking to Garcello with his lone, glossy eye. Almost seeming to look through Garcello and into him.Garcello shivers looking back. Friend? Enemy? "I see." He gets up as the bus is rolling up."Well for now.. I'm gonna get dinner and go home. Thanks for checking up on me." "Anytime. I do not like promising student, be jumped by Equalizer scum." Ruv chuckles with a grin. Garcello pales a bit, "Uh... what?" Ruv looks to the fellow titan with an incredulous stare,"You scraped out vin, but you also humiliated Tabi. Young Reaper vill vant revenge..." The Russian raises an eyebrow,"You did not expect that?" "But you beat some of the Equalizer's asses and you didn't get  jumped!" Garcello points out as the whir of steam leaving the bus' brakes occurs and the door's open. "That is because of grace of God and grace of throwing truck across street." Ruv laughs wryly,"Now go, child. Before you are stuck here." Garcello waves Ruv off before getting on the bus and using his bus card. A satisfied beep of payment as he moves. Knowing the timer, he sits down quickly before the bus moves with a hiss of the breaks lifting from the ground and the bus hovers, flying down the roads and over ground locked travel.He looks out the window at the night sky and at the many lights below of Funk City. Advertisements, cars, city signs, street lights. Garcello lets his mind wander at the light pollution and the sound of hover cars flying by. Its mesmerizing. Watching everything just fly, zip, and zop by. Time could pass as the colors of the city and the energy takes him in. The concept when he was young had never gotten old or changed. The colors of the world, the lifeblood of the people moving, growing and just living. This is why he and his mother had migrated here. Such a decision had to be lived through not just decided on a whim. But this.. This wholesome peace and tranquility at this time. Away from the violence, the darkness and the weight of it all... Was a very big deciding factor. "One day... they will be able to feel this way.." Garcello resolves quietly as he looks down through the window to the city below. "Feel so.. free..." He coos starting to let the pain and tiredness get to him. Starting to fall asleep on the bus and get complacent in his space... until a growling, gurgling reminder makes itself painfully known in his core. The tender flesh of wounds on his abdomen only make it worse. His body went through hell.

It wants food, it needs it. He needs it. NOW. "First.... step... free myself." he grumbles softly as pain burns in his core and it forces him out of falling asleep and dragging on. Sitting up properly and starting to search for a close enough bus stop so he doesn't just add more suffering with a long as fuck walk that only lengthens the burning. Finding one, he pulls on the wire that signals the automated system to stop. The bus stops after a bit before landing with the soft 'woosh' of steam. Getting off the bus, he walks down the streets. Looking up to keep track of his own placement on the road, looking down to light a cigarette to ease some of the pain, looking back up now to search for those heavenly golden arches. After a minute, 6 cigarettes later.. the yellow and red light beams down upon his form. At this point, a soft, barely noticeable film of red covers everything and everyone that walks by and every sensation, smell and taste is heightened. Painfully so. "Finally..." he exhales, dry air hitting a watering, near drooling maw. He walks into the restaurant with a dragging motion of his feet. Garcello looms over to the counter with barely any real patience. People move away and those that don't, go quickly about their order then move. "Hi." he stated, "I would like.. the whole left menu. Twice. Add 6 McChicken meals. Super size it..." "I-is that-that all sir?" A timid female voice asked quietly. "Yes.." he confirms. Not really looking up. "It's going to be disc-discounted. Y-you don't mind right?" She asked.As she asks that, the red film sight as it was dies down a bit. Garcello looks up from the counter. There is only one person that ever asks about discounts in his mind. He looks at the attendant at the counter and sees the fuchsia and sky blue eyes looking up and right back at him from her gaunt, modest face and shivering, small frame. "Rebecca? What are you doin' here?!" He asked actually in shock. "Um.. well.." she shrugs,"I work here. Y/N got me the job, t-they're the manager." Garcello looks on in shock. He tilts his head back with an incredulous stare. Looking for you and seeing you wave a short, polite wave as you're working with the drive through attendants to ensure chaos is handled. Garcello looks back to Rebecca. "Don’t give me a discount girl just charge me normally. I'll treat ya." He says softly. "A-are you su-sure?" "Entirely." He nods handing over 80 dollars. "You were c-close but a bit over. Your price is 72 dollars and 12 cents." "I know." He nods,"Tips. Put the change in your pocket." Rebecca looks sheepish, looking down and shivering."B-but.." "Do it." He commands sternly. Rebecca takes the money, makes exact change and keeps it immediately. Every motion is fast and shaky like an unstable roller-coaster. "T-thanks..." she murmurs shyly poking her fingers together. "When are you two off?" He asked. "In.. 30 mins.." Rebecca looks up at Garcello. Her eyes narrow and she grimaces.."I'll get an ice baggy.. and. I'm going to be frank... I have questions. And if i have questions.. Y/N is going to want answers..." Garcello grinds his teeth,"Alright. I'll wait and we'll talk." Rebecca purses her lips then exhales,"Thank you." Garcello leaves from the counter and to one of the large benches at the furthest back of the restaurant and waits. Waiting, letting time pass as he patiently sits. His core burning with hunger and primal thoughts when the mental shock subsides. The herd is curious.. tell them. "I.. don’t want them in danger..." Lies are over... tell them something... they worry. They fear. "Garcello? Are you good?" You asked concerned, "Rebecca told me about.-" "The bruise on my face. I know." Garcello says as Rebecca comes over with the food trays. "Ice bag, 3 o clock?" Rebecca offers the baggie of ice. Garcello looks to it then takes the bag, wiggles up his cap and bangs, revealing the recently closed gashes, burns and cuts on his chin and face. Your eyes widen from the sight, brow furrowing in concern. "What h-happened?" Rebecca says before you do. You see Garcello is staring at the food, half listening. Mostly tired, dragging on fumes really. "No." You say then look to Garcello,"We talk. After you finish eating. Got it?" "Yes'm"  Garcello nods once then  finally let's his brain drop being alert.Rebecca looks to you with concern, she shakes more from anxiety. "Oh.. don't worry I know." Your reassure,"But overwhelming him is the last thing on my mind. I don't think this is a simple little 'fall' like last time anyway." "You want to h-hear it fro-from his mouth." You nod once and sit down before looking to Rebecca, she nods once with a small smile. "Both of us are signed out, we wont get in trouble with higher ups for over time."She confirms just before- CRUNCH! TEAAAR! SHHRRIIP! Garcello eats like they aren't there, there is no smacking noise. Just an absence of control from tiredness and physically going through hell. Hes going through hoops with food like a functioning sponge with water, trying to replenish what was forcefully squeezed out of him. Rebecca looks to you. "I.. haven't seen him like this.. or well this bad.. Do you think hes..." "I think so." you confirm," Maybe on drugs. But regardless of whatever it is... This cant be swept under the rug. Did you call Annie?" "I-I did." Rebecca nods,"She's coming as fast as possible. I warned her to not run red lights. I was promptly cursed out in German. I responded. She hung up knowing I was right." Garcello stops eating into his 6th McChicken. The man didn't unwrap the wrapper off, the whole ass sandwich is just getting murdered with his teeth. The devouring however stops short at the mention of Annie. With bloodshot eyes, he looks to Rebecca and you. "You.. are all going to be here?" he asked and you shake your head no. "No." You respond,"But. I'm happy you have a brain in there again. Because like it or not.. you're going to tell us what we need to know." Garcello pales in the face for a moment like he saw a ghost, his heart races in terror. His pupils contract as he knows hes cornered now. There is no wiggling out like before.

"We aren't g-going to hurt you, big guy." Rebecca coos softly. "I.. i know its jus'..." Garcello starts but its hard to put words together. "You know you can't bullshit us anymore." You finish looking at the man directly in his face. Garcello looks away looking down at the scraps of paper, unwrapped or just ripped apart making a mess on the table. "Yeah.. I cant." he confirms as Annie rampages in like a crashing tsunami and yells just as loud, scaring customers out of the restaurant. "NOW WHOMST THE FUCK JUMPED GARCELLO?! I'M ABOUT TO FUCKING BEAT THEIR SHIT IN!" Annie yells, her flesh is tinting blue from the glowing blue of her veins spidering from her skin. A sign of her stress before she drinks ‘the liquid’. "You bout to calm so i can explain." Garcello says strictly, unafraid as he’s been used to seeing the entity pour our from her veins and skin. He’s more than used to being attacked as he knows it doesn't like him. But for now it has no power here. Just like his other half. "Then talk." You egg on, as Annie takes a few breathes, grabs a chair and sits in it, the back of the chair acing the table."We're all listening." Garcello bites his lips. His S/O and his best friends, the core of the herd, his herd... now are looking at him like hes wounded. Doesn't help that he is on the outside and inside... ‘Now you gone and done it, Garcy.. but now.. what do you do now?’ He asks himself in his thoughts as he takes a deep breath in. Act as you are, You are alpha. Time to be a man.

[pandoraborn]

Cruelty of the Beast - Part 6

( previous. )

Characters: c!Tommy, c!Wilbur Word count: 1896 words Content: wilbur soot & tommyinnit are siblings, reference to abuse, reference to torture, reference to death, healing, wilbur makes amends,

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

Wilbur’s walking too fast for Tommy to keep up, he has to actually jog just to remain a step or two behind the man. It’s not hard to figure out where they’re going; they’re easily headed for some beach.

Tommy doesn’t want to be here. He wants to at least stay in the cabin if he’s to stay put anywhere, but Wilbur had given him a shovel and an axe and told Tommy to follow. There’s never much of a choice with an order like that.

Wilbur also hasn’t spoken to Tommy in close to an hour now. The trek is long, but it’s also a torture all on its own. Tommy doesn’t do well with silence, fearing that Wilbur is silently judging him or sizing him up. He feels very much like he’s marching toward his own demise.

He very well may be.

Keeping his gaze down, Tommy tightens his grip on the handle of the shovel, trying to keep focused on staying right behind Wilbur, ignoring how much his legs are hurting.They’re passing by abandoned portals, portals they could easily light. The idea that there would be paths waiting for them on the other side is a far-fetched idea though; they’re too far out from any sort of civilization.

After what feels like forever, Wilbur finally stops. Tommy stops next to him, peering out at the water. It’d be so easy to craft a boat and sail out toward escape, but that would just be more isolation and loneliness. The potential escape isn’t worth that.

“Grab as much sand as you can carry in your inventory,” Wilbur explains. “We’re going to have to make another trip, possibly to a desert, but this is good enough.” He offers Tommy a smile. It’s reminiscent of the old Wilbur, the one that ran L’Manburg with all the pride and charisma he used to possess. There are shades of it again, but not enough to induce an illusion that this is good. Nothing about this situation is good. Ranboo and Dream had also disappeared some time ago, and there’s no telling when they’ll be back.

“What are we grabbing sand for?” Tommy asks to fill the silence. He’s already at work, grabbing sand and filing it away into his backpack. It’s messy and coarse, already getting into his shoes. “This already sucks.”

"Explosives,” comes the casual reply. Too casual for Tommy’s liking. He’d already had an idea, but the fact that Wilbur wants them both to fill their inventories, and then make a second trip scares Tommy. Narrowing his eyes, he pauses in his digging to lean against the shovel.

“Why are you doing this Wilbur? Why do you and Dream want to hurt everyone so bad? Why am I even here?”

“Instead of me answering those questions, can I ask you a few questions instead?” Wilbur too pauses, pressing his hands together as he studies Tommy with a pensive expression. “Please, be as honest with me as possible, alright?”

“No promises.” A nod signals for Wilbur to go ahead, however.

“Are you happy with your life right now?”

It’s a very pointed question that has Tommy flinching back. Instinct would have him deflecting or changing the subject entirely, but Wilbur looks like he’s waiting patiently for an answer. This isn’t the revived Wilbur, this is the one that had been Tommy’s closest friend for the longest time... brothers, even.

Part of him is tempted to lie, but that would be pointless. They’d talked endlessly in the void, with Tommy bitching every moment he could about how unfair his life had become. Wilbur knows him far too well.

“No,” Tommy finally mutters, turning away. “I’m not happy, but you knew that.”

“Is there anyone, any single person you trust and want to go back to?”

Tommy thinks of Tubbo, then of Puffy. He and Tubbo are still too awkward around each other, not having had a proper conversation since the final showdown with Dream. Sure they’d spoken a few times, but nothing deeper than arguments over where to live.

Puffy had made some promises, but he doesn’t know her from Sam, and Sam had broken his promise completely. With his shoulders slumping, Tommy shakes his head. Everything about this conversation is fucked up, and they both know it.

“Are you afraid of me?” Wilbur’s not ending his line of questioning anytime soon. This is the one question Tommy doesn’t really want to answer.

“Yes.”

“I see.” Wilbur falls silent as he turns away, going back to the task of gathering sand into his own backpack. The silence stretches between them, and Tommy feels it like a cold sweat on his back. It’s just as piercing as Wilbur’s questions, just as numbing as the afterlife. Silent, too, if the ringing in his ears is anything to go by. Even the lapping of the waves isn’t enough to snap him back to reality.

“Do you remember when we were younger?” Wilbur finally asks. The silence doesn’t snap Tommy back, but Wilbur’s voice does. Always a source of calm, always there to keep him grounded. It’s aggravating, this effect Wilbur has over him. Annoying and comforting at the same time.

“I don’t remember much anymore, Wilbur,” Tommy responds. “I remember wars and death and everything I worked for going up in smoke.”

“You don’t remember you and me?” Wilbur’s facing him again, wearing that ugly serene smile on his face. “You don’t remember how I used to read to you?”

“Vaguely.” It’s a dismissive answer, because Tommy wants to squash anything friendly out of his mind. The less he associates with Wilbur, the sooner they can end this game and he can go back home to his dirt house. “That was a long time ago, Wil.”

“It was our favorite activity.” Wilbur actually sounds sad. Tommy can’t tell if it’s acting or genuine, but he’s being drawn in anyway. Part of him wants to throw his arms around Wilbur and comfort him. A strong, loud part of him is already moving closer.

“I remember our favorite book was ‘The Hobbit’,” Wilbur continues. “I also read the Lord of the Rings trilogy to you a couple of times. You were so cute, hanging on every word. Simple times, Tommy. The best times.”

“I don’t have any best times,” Tommy snaps. “Like I said, I remember lots of wars. Lots of fighting and people dying. You died. I died, and now you kidnapped me. Why are you trying to butter me up? Wilbur this is so fucked.”

“I know. I messed up Toms. I messed up so many times, especially with you. Even now, I know what I did was cruel and stupid. I promise, if you give me one more chance, I’ll make it all up to you. No more pain, no more agony. You’ll have a support system-”

“Do I have to remind you of Dream?” Tommy snarls. His voice cracks as he speaks. “He’s the one who fucking killed me, remember? He had me exiled, he tortured me. And you come in like you know exactly what all took place!”

“Tommy I was dead. Had I been able to stop him, I would have. You know I would never condone anyone hurting you. I don’t like that you’ve been hurt the way you have been. I hate it more than anyone, trust me!”

“You still died and left me alone. If you weren’t so selfish, neither of us would be in this position! My life went to shit ever since you died, you don’t get to stand there and tell me you hate it.”

“I wasn’t good for the server. I wasn’t good for you. I thought that if I was gone, things for you would improve. I thought you would’ve won, that Dream wouldn’t have hurt you, or that your friendships would be strained.”

“Stop, stop!” This is embarrassing. Tommy’s crying, standing there in front of Wilbur and sounding like a petulant child. “Stop talking! Stop making me relive everything, okay? You weren’t there, you don’t get to act like you know what happened. It was shit. Everything was shit, everything is still fucking garbage, and now I’m stuck living with the one person who hurt me, thanks to you.”

“Toms. My Tommy...” Wilbur has tears of his own in his eyes. With his shovel falling into the sand, he gathers Tommy in his arms. Tommy doesn’t resist, because everything about this hug means something. It’s an actual, loving hug, and not a ploy at manipulation. He can feel it in the way Wilbur is holding him, rocking bath and forth with tiny hiccups. “Tommy I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry you were hurt and cast aside by everyone. I’m here now, alright? It’ll be me and you, just like it’s always been.”

Tommy sniffles as he leans into Wilbur. He’s not returning the embrace, but Wilbur feels so warm. It’s been so long since anyone had hugged him like this, or just loved him. He wants to savor this feeling.

“All your long years we’ve been friends,” Wilbur whispers. “Trust me as you once did.”

“You want me to let it all go?” Tommy finally wraps his arms around Wilbur. “I don’t even know what to let go of.”

“All the pain, Tommy. “All the pain, trauma, abuse. All your attachments. Even the memories. With us, you won’t hurt anymore. Dream won’t touch you, and Ranboo is your friend. I’ll be your brother, okay?”

“...let it all go...” Tommy relaxes more into Wilbur’s embrace. Slowly, his arms come up to rest against Wilbur’s back. “Let everything I had go, right?”

“I’m here again. I won’t leave you. I promise you Toms. Tommyinnit, gremlin child. Vice President, and my best friend, brother...”

“Don’t overdo it now,” Tommy jokes under his breath. It earns a chuckle from both of them. The laughter helps him feel normal, like maybe everything really will be okay. This doesn’t feel like an indoctrination, really. Wilbur isn’t evil. Maybe he’s got some misguided beliefs, but Tommy missed him. There’s no one that can fill the void in his heart like Wilbur can.

“Point is, it’s you and me against the world,” Wilbur continues. “We won’t count the other two yet, so we’ll stick with just us, alright? When all this is over, I’ll read to you again. Any book of your choosing.”

“Will you read me The Hobbit again?“ Tommy pulls back enough to blink slowly at Wilbur. His vision is still wet with tears, but he’s cheering up. “And maybe we can watch the movies together?”

“Absolutely. Anything for you, alright?”

“Then I trust you.”

“And?”

“And...I’ll stay by your side.” Tommy nods.

There are matching sighs from the pair, with them looking awkwardly at each other for a moment. Then, with a blush, Tommy picks up his shovel again and preparing to dig up more sand.

“I still don’t get why we have to do this,” Tommy grumbles.”

“Tell you what, after we get back to the cabin, I’ll let you blow up the surrounding area. You’ve earned yourself a few explosions to vent your anger.”

His excitement is barely contained, with him moving faster and shoveling even more dirt. Okay, the situation as a whole might still be fucked, but Tommy can’t resist playing with fire. As a treat.

[thebargainingchip]

Blood Colors - Chapter 18

Masterlist

Pairing: Roan x Reader

Warnings: Angsty, Fluff

Previous Chapter

Chapter 1

A feeling of dread sits in the pool of your stomach when you're back in Polis. There’s no escaping the feeling or distracting yourself, you are soon caught up in wedding plans which you barely have a say in. “Deyon, osir ste won. Moron, osir gondaun ogeda(Today, we are one. Tomorrow, we fight together)”

“Gonplei.” Echo corrects, you avoid Roan’s pointed gaze, you feel like you can’t breath with him so close, you didn’t want to think about what this means.

“Gondaun, gonplei. It all means the same thing.” You shoot-back.

“It does, though they are different but you need to say it exactly.” Roan says, and for a moment your eyes connect and you look away. How are you supposed to look him in the eye and say all of this.  Let alone do anything else the ceremony might want.

“Again.” Echo leans against Roan’s desk.

“I got it.” You snap.

“Again.” Echo insists with a strong glare.

“Echo, that’s enough help for one day.” Roan warns and Echo rolls her eyes and leaves but you ignore her with a silent angry exhale. “We then exchange the object which we poses that has the most meaning to us.” Your mind immediately flickered to the dog tags.

“This object it could be anything?” Roan nods, you ponder for a moment giving something else. There’s a little silence as you think deeply then look up and wonder what he’s think and what he has in mind.

“Then I will take the knife and poor my blood into the chalice.” Roan continues after a moment.

“I don’t like where this is going, sounds ill-advised.” You comment trying to sound light-hearted as you moved on from the thoughts, Roan sighs a little in frustration but amusement glimmers in his eyes.

“Then you take the knife and do the same.”

“Do they wipe it first? I mean like no offence but I don’t know what sort of grounder viruses your carrying that my space immune system can’t handle.” Roan sets you with a look and that nervous, impending-doom feelings forgotten as the nervousness turns into something entirely different.

“The same knife and then you and I share a drink.” You pull a face of course but Roan ignores you like he has been doing this whole day.

“Is there any kissing in this? If so we really might need to practice, I mean the last time I kissed you it was pretty much one sided and we need to at least convince the crowd.” Despite your joke, your cheeks burn.

Roan makes a thoughtful sound like he’s considering it, he takes a step forward like he made his decision and your smile falls as you step back bumping against the desk. Roan leans in and your thoughts scramble to decide whether you should stop him. He’s face is so close to yours now, you hold your breath. “Roan-“ you start but something twists in your gut, but it’s pleasant and keeps you from shivering at the tingle that runs up your spine, you swallow thickly. Roan hums again, this time a shorter observant sound.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that lesson yet.” He leans back, and you can breath again.

“Well I clearly didn’t mean now.” You say once you’ve recollected yourself, your whole face feeling like its on fire.

“We’ll continue later, you have an appointment with our yonhaka.” Roan was already on his way out.

“Yonhaka?” You ask confused.

                                            ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You’re late.” The Woman says the moment the guards open the door for you. “It’s hardly my fault, it took me an hour to find this place, I don’t even know what a yonhakais.” You survey the room, it is full of rolls of patched together fabric rolled onto large rollers packed against the walls, there is a big work table to your right, and large old mirrors to the left side of the room, of you study the old or nations in the room, it’s clear this was some studio of a kind, may be for dancing? Behind the woman with exotic ethnic features that you can’t quite place is two women and a man. By the way she carries herself , it's clear who in charge.

“The.” She says simply.

“What?”

“Jus Gona, you have the privilege of meeting the royal dresser, it is an honour to be adorned in the art that she makes with her own hands.” The male introduces.

“Do I bow?” You question sarcastically from the dramatic words.

“Fiery.” She notes. “I have some ideas but I will need to take your measurements first and have you try on old dresses.”

“Lady, I don’t do dresses, I need something I can move in. Shit can go south very quickly with Azgeda.”

“Authoritative, demanding.” She states.

“Annoying.” You state back at her, as you try and discourage the outright judgement.

“I am building a profile of you, I need to know what you are like so that your sofkova (dress) can represent you.” She explains patiently, “As for the other matter, there is no negotiation on the sofkova, a dress it will be even if I have to sew it to your skin, but it will be functional.”

“You just got a whole creepier.” You point out.

“My goal is to make you feel your power when you stand in your dress, and if you don’t- but you will- then I haven’t done my job correctly.” You cocked an eyebrow.

“Try me.” You challenge.

“Ban we yun bakkova (Remove your clothing).” She orders and with a wave of her hand you do.

“And one last thing, if you ruin my work, I will ruin you.” You didn’t say anything against her blatant threat instead deciding that you would be very careful.

                                           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You were retired to your own quarters for the afternoon, trying to go over the words of the ceremony. You sighed in frustration, barely being able to focus, you were tired after the early start to your long day.

“It’s fine, just relax.” You say out loud, instead deciding to lay out the clothes you were going to wear for bed. There was a knock at the door and you gave you permission for the person to enter.

“Jus Gona, the Ambassador of Skaikru has requested to see you, King Roan has granted him access.” You sigh knowing whatever you say to the guard won’t help the situation. “Ai na gocha yu op got raunkova(I’ll escort you to the throne room).” He declared. You weren’t much surprised that Roan would want the meeting to be somewhere in public, given Skaikru’s recent record. Of course, you knew you would be given some privacy at least but one or two guards might be present. It was Marcus though. Would he really do something like that to you? You decided that some people did stupid things when they were desperate, you wouldn’t be over powered again.

The moment the doors opened, you were surprised, Cedree stood against the far wall behind Marcus, arms folded as he watched carefully. You hadn’t seen him since-

“Y/n.” Marcus says when the door has closes behind you. You feel a little trapped for the moment as you look over your shoulder to indeed atest that the noise was truly the door closing and the guard leaving, no doubt right outside the door. You steel yourself and turn to him, a little funny thought crossed your mind. ‘Marcus was standing next to the guy you tried to have sex with’ It was supplied by some foolish irrational thought of you and of course you were an adult who could make her own decisions, it was not like Marcus was in anyway related to you. After this you couldn’t for a moment take your eyes off Cedree, feeling totally embarrassed by multiple things.

You needed something to focus on whatever Marcus was here to tell you. You strode towards the table.

“Do you want anything?” You toss the question over your shoulder at Marcus. There’s silence so you pour one glass.

He always knew what to do when talking to people and he was checking all the boxes when he said:

“You remember when I caught you drinking, you had met up with a boy and one of the guards reported to me that you had been out past curfew while I was working late night.” You turn around during the story, taking a sip of the wine and watching him, knowing instantly where this story was going, feeling even more embarrassed that Cedree was here, but you ignored his presence for the moment

Marcus smiles at the memory and it makes you think back about how he put the boy in detention for a week and made you assist Abby’s patients for the next month, it was how you and Clarke got close. Despite the not so uncomfortable memories you shut him down quickly.

“You told me that I will always make mistakes and that if I didn’t see it you would space me like my parents.” It’s an old scab and you know how Marcus feels about it, you’re long past it but he doesn’t need to know about it. You had to admit, Marcus was a relation, no matter how hard you tried to deny it. Your reality was that he had betrayed you even if it wasn’t him who took the initiative, you were angry because he wasn’t there to stop Clarke. You put the glass back on the table, behind you.

“Maybe I wasn’t the best... parental figure in your life at the time but you turned out well and you know how much I’ve tried to make it right.” You couldn’t deny it he had, countless times made up for it, Marcus had always been there for you, even when you fucked up he was there to correct your mistakes and he hadn’t judged you for them. And he wasn’t all bad, as much as he liked to believe, you were taught valuable things, how to survive, how to lead people and how to get them to follow, what power means to people and how they tend to use it if it falls into their lap.

“Marcus, I’ve killed people, a murderer is not exactly the picture of a good child.” Marcus reaches to steady you by the shoulders and out fo the corner of your eye, you both notice Cedree move, hand on his sword. Marcus steps back hesitantly, ever since he changed, he’s been affectionate and at first it made you uncomfortable and then you discovered it was because it was something you hated to admit you needed sometimes- in small doses.

“Me too. I’m not perfect, none of us are. I killed your parents, you know I’m still paying for it. This life does things to us, but it doesn’t mean we’re bad people, not if we make the right decisions, even when it's hard.” You shake your head pulling away from him, how hypocritical, you hated how it hurts but you sat it anyway:

“Marcus, I can’t help Skaikru, at least not in the way you want to but if you support this decision we made, then Roan might-“

“What decision, (y/n)?!” He raises his voice at that, interrupting you then pauses to collect himself but continues in the same serious tone but softer. “Don’t tell me that you made this decision because I damn well know you didn’t. And it’s not okay, you’re barely twenty two and Roan could almost be-“

“Don’t you dare say it.” You glare at him. He stops, recognising something in your expression. “You know, I can’t read you. I don’t know what to think anymore. I can’t tell if you actually care about me or if you are trying to save your people.”

“They’re your people too.” Marcus says, you simply glare at him, he knows how fondyou are of your former fellow ship mates. “Why can’t it ever be both?” He questions.

“I am not trying to force you to decide. Marcus, my happiness, my safety will never be in your hands again. There’s no decision here. Either Skaikru doesn’t support this marriage, rejects Roan as the rightful King or they survive.” You emphasise, ignoring the clear insult he gave you a moment before. For once you just wanted to feel like someone put you first but you pushed it aside.

You stepped back schooling yourself back into place. “Please go, my wedding day is tomorrow, I will need plenty of rest to prepare for the long festivities.” The doors open. You’ve said everything you possibly could, now it was up to him. “The Guards will escort you back to your rooms, and I will know your final decision. You’re fate, tomorrow.” Marcus doesn’t protest. As Cedree knocks on the door singling to the guards outside who opened the doors.

“Ced.” You say softly as Marcus is escorted out.

“Ai na goch Faya Gada gon baggeda(I’ll escort the fire girl to her bedroom).” Cedree says to the guard waiting on you, who nods and joins the guard escorting Marcus away.

“When did you arrive?” You enquire casually.

“This morning.” He explains simply, “I heard you were caught up in a little skirmish with your people.” You nod, then change the subject drastically:

“I feel terrible.”

“No need,” He says in that’s strange accent with a boyish smile, “I’m just wondering what was your intention that night.”

“I was trying to see if I could feel anything, since I might have had to spend the rest of my life with you.” You explain.

“And?” He asked.

“Ced-“ You start in a soft tone, not quite sure how to put the words.

“I know this path has long since past, And don’t get me wrong to think that anything might have developed past friendship in the time that I’ve known you, I’m sure you know these things take time, but I’m curios.” He interrupted quickly explaining, you almost sighed in relief.

“No, Ced, I’m not set up to work like that.” He nods, accepting your answer.

“Shall we?” He gestured to the open hall way.

“I need to see Roan.” You add, he nods and walks you the way.

You pause outside the room, next to the guards and smile at Cedree as he nods to you and leaves. When you hear Echo’s voice you stop the guard from opening the door for a moment as something captures your attention.

“Jus Gona?” The guard questions, you push him.

“Wait a moment.” You tell him as you listen.

“-stop being so soft with her.” You instantly knew who they were talking about.

“What I do is none of your concern.” Roan states. He doesn’t deny it and something flutters with in you and then is quickly snuffed out, the last thing you wanted was to be treated like something fragile due to a pity party. There’s silence that follow, your wonder if Roan is contemplating Echo’s word. Despite Echo being his advisor, he seems to usually shut her down when she speaks up, which is surprising that this time he doesn’t chase her out.

“Jus Gona?” The guard questions, reminding you as the silence continues inside.

“I changed my mind.” You say. “Please tell the King that I spoke to Marcus Kane and that he shouldn’t be expecting any support from Skaikru.”

                                           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The sun has long since set when the doors to your rooms open once more to an unannounced visitor, your fingers are entangled in the dog tags of your brother, the old rusted chain and faded letters are so familiar but you put it aside as Roan steps further into the room, the doors close behind him.

“You allowed Marcus to speak to me.” It sounds colder when it echoes around the room.

“I knew, as Jus Gona, the future queen and leader of my people, you would be able to win us a new ally and I was expecting you to perform your duties.” Roan doesn’t answer, the King does.

“Don’t be so sure, I have achieved nothing but to cut the only person that ever believed in me out of my life.”

“It’s him who made that decision not you.” Roan adds, it hurst worse.

“Can you please take that stupid thing of your head?!” You cry out frustrated. When the moment fades and Roan keeps quiet, idle by the desk where rests hand on the backrest of the chair, you feel ashamed at your childish outburst. You clench and unclench your jaw, thinking of the apology almost stings.

You hear the soft thump of the crown on the table and you look up, watching Roan peel back his regal outer layers until he can more comfortable move in his untucked shirt and simple pants. He lays them out over the chair, taking his time and then he strides to your side of the bed.

“Roan I am really-“ He sits down on the bed by your legs.

“How did it go when you spoke to Marcus?” He asks, it's so genuine, his words soft.

“Awful.” You say simply.

“I’m sorry.” Roan says, holding your gaze with a sincere look. “If you want to talk about it..?” Roan trails off but you look away, you weren’t in the mood to open old wounds, if you could just keep it together for one more day.

“Wasn’t this what Echo said you shouldn’t do.” You mumble almost under your breath, keeping your gaze trained on the dog tags at the side of your table. There’s enough silence that you think, he’s confused.

“That’s when you asked the guard to inform me. Is that why you didn’t come inside?” He questions.

“I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t hear it.” You say simply. “I don’t want you to go easy on me because of what happened.”

“Is that what you think my reasoning is?” He questions, when you don’t answer Roan tries with another question: “If you don’t want me to go easy on you and you don’t want me to treat you like one of your subjects, what do you want?” He asks, when you glance at him he’s genuinely curios, he has a patient expression on his face as he waits.

“I don’t know, definitely not like one of your subjects.” You say, that tells him everything he needs to know as he hums thoughtfully

“You should be asleep, tomorrow is a long day.” Roan says when he realised you weren’t ready.

“I doubt I’ll be getting any sleep.” You retort.

“Try?”

“Only if you stay to toss and turn with me the whole night.” You say before you could want to begin to stop yourself. Roan nods, and you’re a little surprised by it.

                                           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The next morning you wake up as Roan gets ready to leave, he greets you and tells you he had some business to attend to. You are ordered to stay confined in your room until someone comes to get you, Echo is with you from after breakfast which at least provides some entertainment for the day ahead and almost anything you require is at your fingers tips. There’s not much to do than to sit and overthink the day away which only seems to fuel the nervous nightmare ahead. The guards have been increased tenfold for the day, to ward off any potential threats and provide at least some form of protection in the event of some brave soul favouring a very a bad idea. The wedding was announced early morning by the King himself to the people of Polis, his people and other clans and currently he was negotiating with other leaders for the support in your union.

“Don’t they have professionals for this type of stuff? Ow!” You exclaim as Echo pulls the braid tightly. “Could you please leave some hair in my scalp after you're finished!” You snap, glaring at Echo in the mirror.

“Stop your whining, fyucha (infant).” Echo snaps right back, pausing as she glares back in the mirror. “I could leave it for you to do yourself, you ungrateful little-“

“Fine! Sorry!” You snap. Echo continues after a small pause, she continues to tug at your hair but you ignore it as much as possible, gritting your teeth.

“There.” You sight in relief as she gives confirmation that she is finished, you stand. You looked fine, the intricate braids might have been too much for your taste but it was the last thing on your mind. Your makeup consisted of key pieces that highlighted your features. A strange sight compared to the only other make up you ever wore- war paint.

There’s a loud bang as the doors hit the wall, you jump, your body tense as you reach for a dagger at your hip that is not there. Roan stands in your doorway, covered in blood. The fact that it was him, should have put you at ease but the site of the deep red doesn’t. “You’re okay.” Roan says as if it's a revelation to himself.

“Echo, guard the door.” Roan orders, she immediately steps outside.

“Yeah I’m okay, why am I would I not be okay? Are you even supposed to be here? Why is there blood all over you?” You question, your hair is braided and you are only standing in your underwear and despite the countless times you have seen blood, despite the countless times you have faced death, it horrifies you. You cross your arms, feeling a little uncomfortable as Roan tries real hard not to look down.

“No, I’m not supposed to be here but we need to do this now, some Natrona (traitors) have infiltrated the Polis. If we can finish the ceremony, I believe they will stand down, if I have the power of Jus Gona.” The door closes behind him hiding the hoard of guards.

You're stunned, you swallow not sure what exactly to think.

“What?” Is all you can manage.

“Wait before you-“ Roan starts but you cut him off.

“You’re going to kill me.” You throat burns, your first thought was ‘what were you expecting’ and then you rationality suddenly steps in, why would he tell you this if it was his plan? It makes you pause for a moment and listen to what Roan is trying to say.

“I mean,” he suddenly decides to step closer. “I’m not sure it's better.” He almost laughs but he’s expression is humourless. “Have you ever done itbefore?” Out of all the things you thought he would say, that question was not on your list.

First of all King Roan of Azgeda, one of the most accomplished warriors you know can’t say the word ‘sex’.

“Of course I’ve slept with people, are you sure you have?” You question almost accusingly.

“Yes, yes-“ he defends almost immediately, you swear he’s a deeper colour as he pauses, “that’s not the point. I’m talking about consummating the marriage tonight.” Roan is serious, you’re a little dizzy but you keep standing anyway, taking a deep breath to think.

“So we say we did the do, no one will be the wiser.” You suggest.

“It has to be witnessed.” You swallow, feeling like you needed a breath of fresh air.

“I was afraid you would say that. This fucked up shit is getting really predictable, first I have to drink your blood and now? Now this.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I keep asking-“

“I’ll do it,” your throat burns, “but I swear to God Roan, I don’t know if I can but I can try.” You hate that your eyes flood with tears but you can’t stop it as the trickle down your cheeks. Roan steps up again and simply pull you into his chest despite his bloody clothes. He smells like Iron and salt and you try to block out your own sobs. “You’re not supposed to make the bride cry on her wedding day you know.” Roan can’t help but chuckle. You half heartedly attempt a laugh but you don’t feel like it.

Next Chapter

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[mvssmallow]

Bloodline, Part VIII

Previous Chapters Soundtrack: The Hills 

He probably should’ve known by the way his skin itched. There’s a looming chaos in the distance. 

He’s escorting Mrs Lee, his 87 year old osteoporotic patient, out his clinic room when his neck itches. Just as his fingers reached up to scratch it, he notices the blurry blob of gray through the window panel of the clinic’s back door and well, shit, his stomach just drops. 

He pauses to mentally thank every God out there that his consult room is right out the back and the closest one to the exits. Hardly any of the staff bother to venture this far, which means it’s easier to smuggle Alleged Criminals in and out without being seen. 

Not that he’s thinking of doing that again but still, he’s grateful for the location. 

None of that gratefulness does anything to stop that rush of adrenaline, tinged with both hopeful anticipation and panicked dread. He’s not prepared for this. 

But when is he ever?

There’s a haze of smoke and where there’s smoke, there’s fire. In the back of his mind, that old clichéd saying floats around, mocking him with its cloying melodrama. 

Smoke. Fire. Jiwon. 

Yeah, that’s sounds about right. 

“You can’t smoke here”. 

So many things to say and that’s what comes out. It’s what his arrogance, ego and pride lets him say. Self Preservation wraps around him like a suit of armour because maybe he’s not prepared for this whole conversation but he will damm well make sure that he’s not gonna walk away with another wound this time. 

He sees Jiwon’s smile, downright feels it hitting his gut, before he sees the rest of his face, which remains shrouded in the gray fabric of one of those oversized hoodies that’s somehow too familiar by now.

“Gonna call the cops?”

Don’t take the bait, Hanbin. Don’t play with this. You’re a goddam professional remember? He knows he’s glaring pointedly while his head screams loudly at him but still, it can’t drown out the involuntary stuttering of his logic or the way he just wants to shake Jiwon’s shoulders and ask him where the hell he’s been for the last 3 weeks or how he still finds Jiwon’s presence so intoxicating in the all the best and worst ways...

“What?” Jiwon asks with a smirk, taking a slow drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke towards the sky. “Smoking a crime now?”

Gathering whatever frayed nerves he has left, he feels his arms crossing over his body in a move he knows is defensive. “Not if you put that out.”

Another smile; wide, knowing, amused. Like this was playing out just as expected. 

There’s no protest though, just the stupidly arrogant roll of broad shoulders and crack of a neck as Jiwon snuffs the almost new cigarette against the wall of the clinic. It leaves behind ashy specks of grey that float to the ground like dead snowflakes and his eyes follow them for a moment before looking back up and locking straight into the fire of Jiwon’s eyes. 

He really wants to punch that smirk off his face. Stitches and scars be dammed.

“What are you doing here?” 

And just like that, the arrogance slides right off the face in front of him. He really should’ve known. The pit of ‘badness’ in his gut is rarely wrong.

“Just wanted to ask you a question.” Jiwon looks somewhere off into the distance and shrugs, the action could’ve been interpreted as casual or uncaring but Hanbin dares to let himself think otherwise, as stupid as that is. 

“Okay?” He says warily.

“The antibiotics you gave me didn’t really work. They did shit all actually.” 

Oh. This is about medicine. Of course it is. Why else would Jiwon be here?

“Are you still sick? I could-”

“It’s not me.” Jiwon interrupts harshly. “They weren’t for me.” 

There’s a frustrated grumble that he really doesn’t expect and a grimace that he does. The words are ground out of Jiwon’s mouth so emphatically and miserably, as though they’re taking a whole lot of effort and sacrificed pride. 

He immediately thinks of the worst things because negativity is his preferred mode these days. Maybe it’s Jiun. Maybe it’s a friend. Maybe it’s that girl-

“It’s my mum.”

Shit. 

That’s even worse. 

It’s probably comical really, how stupid and dumbfounded he looks with his mouth open, poised to say something that he can’t quite decide on. But just then, the clinic’s back door clicks open behind him and every muscle in his body tenses into hot panic. Jiwon takes a step backwards, hand suddenly reaching for something in his hoodie pocket, posture locked and loaded, ready to either fight or leave. 

Shit. 

“Er, Dr. Kim? Could I have a word?”

Jin. 

Relief floods through him in an exhilarating rush. Okay. It’s just Jin. He can deal with Jin. Maybe.

“Sure. Of course.” He replies, keeping his voice as civil and neutral as possible. 

Jin shoots him an equally neutral expression, nodding once before ducking back inside and closing the door. 

Letting out a loud sigh, he turns to Jiwon with an apologetic look. “Give me a minute? I’ll be back.” 

Jiwon’s gone back into Evasive-Mode again; his eyes dark and dead, his face an unreadable blank slate, his posture staying tense, even the hand in his hoodie stays there, seemingly unable to relax or let down its guard. 

“Jiwon?” 

Shutters boarded up, head already shaking, body already moving away. This is all too familiar. No no no, not again. 

“Jiwon? Can you wait a few minutes?.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll come back later. I gotta go pick up Jiun anyway.”

His watch tells him it’s 1230pm. School doesn’t finish until 3pm. So now they’re back to lying to each other again. It’s just so stupid and futile. Every conversation just goes round and round, like a dog chasing its tail or water circling down a drain. He wonders why it’s only him that’s getting frustrated by this. 

“I’ll only be a few minutes. Please....just wait.” He huffs out, tone accidentally more irritated than he intended it to be. Jiwon opens his mouth, probably to protest, but no, he’s not going to wait to hear it today. 

“For God’s sake, not everything is about you okay? Think of your mum and just wait for me! You came all his way, you can wait for 5 minutes!” 

Shit. Too far, Hanbin. Too far. There goes his professionalism. 

There’s a brief glaring-contest. Fire meets Fire again. But then, the last thing he expects to happen actually happens; Jiwon shakes his head, shrugs like he doesn’t give a shit and sits back down on the steps in silence. 

“Thank you.” He sighs in annoyance.

“Whatever.” Jiwon mutters, quietly but equally annoyed. 

He turns quickly, making his way inside before anything else happens.

“Are you seriously right now?!” The corridors are empty but Jin appears out of nowhere to hiss at him as soon as the back door clicks shut. “What the hell is he even doing here in the middle of the day?! Donghyuk is in his office! He could’ve seen you!”

A painful grip closes over his elbow as Jin drags him into his consult room and shuts the door. 

“Before you say anything-”

“Oh no! Don’t start with me! I’m talking first!” Jin interrupts, face livid with disapproval. “Deal with whatever he wants fast. He can’t be seen here and you’ve got three people waiting for consults. You are not fucking up your career and job for him. You’re not. Okay? I’ve seen this shit before and it never ends well. They’re all the same, Hanbin. You know this. Stop thinking with your dick on this one.”

He flushes with both embarrassment and indignation. “That is not what I’m doing!”

Jin just rolls his eyes and fixes him with a terrifying parental glare. “I’ll stall the clinic for 5 more minutes but after that, you’re on your own. Fix whatever he wants then tell him to fuck off or come back at 6 when everyone else has gone. I swear to god Hanbin, he’s doing this shit on purpose to piss us off. Since when has he ever come here early anyway? I swear to GOD!”

Jin yanks the door open, still ranting under his breath as he makes his way back out towards the front of the clinic. 

He rubs his eyes tired, willing his heart to slow down and his nervous system to chill the hell out. None of that actually happens. 

He half expects Jiwon be gone by no, there he is, still sitting on the back steps of the clinic and staring into the parking lot with a hypervigilant look on his face. 

“He yell at you?” It comes out gruff but oddly sympathetic. 

“Something like that.” He replies in resignation. “Listen. I need to get back to work but what do you need me to do for your mum? If she’s not well, I can see her here for an appointment? After hours if you want.”

Jiwon shakes his head. “She can’t leave the house. She’ll freak out.”

He doesn’t do house visits, especially not in this part of town but....

“Do you want me to see her at home?” It’s blurted out before he can stop it.

“No.”

“Then what?” He pushes, tired and anxious about the minutes ticking by. 

“I don’t know! Isn’t there anything you can give her? She’s coughing every fucking night and Jiun can’t sleep so he turns the TV on full blast, which means nobody is sleeping either so he’s missed three days of school and I can’t keep babysitting him instead of working.” 

For a moment, Jiwon sounds like a normal guy just trying to do his best for his family in the face of a bad situation. It’s so raw and honest and endearing that something thaws inside him. The coiled ball of irritation in his gut unravels in one fell swoop. Jiwon is just a guy. Like any other guy. 

Just a guy. 

But stupid, stupid, stubborn guy who might be good at killing and crime or whatever else they accuse him of but he’s useless with everything else. Hanbin doesn’t fully trust him, he’s still on edge and doesn’t feel completely safe yet but the dark shadows of worry that flashes across Jiwon’s face, for barely a second, is just enough to help him make his decision. 

He takes a pen and piece of crumpled paper out of his coat pocket and holds them out in front of Jiwon’s shocked expression. 

“What?”

“Write down where she is.”

“What? No. You’re not-”

“I’m not asking. Just do it. I have to get back to work.” He drops the items into Jiwons hands and wills his legs not to shake too much. This is so unprofessional. You’re an idiot Hanbin. 

Jiwon looks down at the pen and paper before standing up and making to give them back. “Look, I get you wanna help or whatever but I think she just needs some different tablets-”

“And you’re not a doctor.” He interrupts bluntly, folding his arms across his chest to stop them from trembling. “If you didn’t want help then you shouldn’t have come. So what’s it gonna be? Write it down or just leave Jiwon. I’m not standing here arguing with you all day.”

Part of him thinks he might’ve pushed this way way way too far today, his words coming out harsher and more aggressive than what he actually feels like on the inside. If Jiwon wants to stab him in the gut just for pissing him off then yeah, he probably deserves it. 

After a long pause, it comes as a shock to him that Jiwon just grunts out a quiet ‘fuck!’ under his breath and scrawls hastily on the piece of paper before turning so they’re looking at each other again.

Fire meeting Fire. 

“Here!” The crumpled scrap of paper is pushed against his chest. 

Jiwon’s gaze doesn’t shift from his. The once dark and dead eyes are now shiny and so sharp in a way that he didn’t know was possible to see in a human. 

“You heard about me?”

"What do you mean?”

“You heard about me.” Jiwon repeats. It’s not a question. More of a statement. “You know about me.”

“I don’t....” He shakes his head, his argument suddenly weak and not convincing anybody. “It’s just rumours...”

Jiwon laughs but the mirth doesn’t each his eyes at all. They’re still hard and piercing right into him. “You heard about me. So I don’t have to tell you what that piece of paper means do I?”

He swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head, letting go of the charade. Yeah he knows. Yeah he’s heard all about Jiwon at this point but whether there’s any truth in the stories and myths remains to be seen.

“Alright then.” Jiwon nods, stepping back. “Come alone. If you think you’re being followed, just go straight home. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

The order terrifies him for some reason and a sick dragging feeling of unease settles into the pit of his stomach again. 

“Don’t fuck me over.” 

A violent shiver tears down his spine. There’s no politeness in the statement. No consideration spared. Whatever niceties they’ve exchanged before is forgotten. There’s nothing here now but menace and intimidation. 

It works. 

And in that moment, the cold, sobering, fucking terrifying realisation finally hits him: the rumours are true. This is Jiwon at ‘work’. This is what he does. 

He can’t even speak after that. Jiwon is still staring sharply at him in expectation and it’s not until he forces his head to nod that Jiwon regards him one last time before turning to walk away without saying anything at all. 

He doesn’t stop shaking for the next five consults and is so nauseated that he skips lunch altogether. Jin is still pissed so he’s left to have his mental breakdown alone in his room. 

The crumpled piece of paper burns a hole in his pocket and by the time 6pm ticks by, he feels the heavy, draining exhaustion right in his bones. He doesn’t even bother to stop his hands from shaking as he pulls the paper out to read the messy scrawl. 

Fuck. 

Here goes nothing. 

[tellywoodtrash]

khkt 07 - 09.08.19 lbs

on popular demand................

———————————————————————

07.08.19

i hate the title track of the show with lyrics. it's the singer's neha kakkar-esque voice i think. i only like the piano theme.

sona is too pure. no one in this show deserves her, honestly.

but whew, the way he's looking at her.

ravi bhaiyya is this show's khanna. instantly on bhaabi's side.

cuteass fucks.

the only valid sippys. protecc them.

lmao sona's house is soooooooooooooo extra.

"baarish baahar ho rahi hai, mor ghar mein naach rahein hain!"

lmaoooooooooooooooo. sach mein, yeh ghar hai, ya goliyon ki raasleela - ram leela ki set?????

hahahaha omg the lil headshake. i can't.

hohohohoho, symbolic removal of ghadi.

unfffffffffffff.

aaaaaaaah that little reassuring blink he gives her!!!!!!!!!

so soft.

ouff, he's soooooo moofat, no cushioning words, no sugarcoating.

thank god he had the grace to apologize seeing her face change.

"dost toh aaj bhi nahi hai." oh. my heart. this is whyyyyy i want their relationship to have a solid foundation of friendship firsttttttttttt.

sniff. sob. my heart.

WHAT DID KARAN DOOOOOOOOO? DID HE TAKE HER CAR AND CHADAOFY IT OVER WHOEVER? DID HE MAKE HER DO IT SOMEHOW? WHAT HAPPENEDDDDDDDDDD??!?!? TELL US ALREADYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!???

"karan tumhare life mein abhi toh hai nahi; toh itna kyun affect karta hai tumhe?" says the guy who hasn't stopped dialing his ex's number for the last 4 years, and had a full-on weeping breakdown about her like, 3 hours ago.

aaaaaaaand he's sliding into the next one.

oh boo. oh baby. oh child.

raimaaaaaaaaa. iss show ki madaraati hui zinda (??) bhoot, jiske saamne aane tak koi sukoon nahi.

ugh my heartttttttttttttt. he's so saddddddd. someone hugggg himmmm.

“kabhi wapas aane waali nahi” coz .......... she's dead? in a vegetative state? or just coz she got PR in amreeeka/canayda/austwayyylia and is never coming back to the motherland again coz "eeeeee, yeh kahan aaye hummmmm, how tackyyyyyyyyy"????

aise kaunse heere-jawharaat jade hue the raima mein, hein? ke iske baad hooooooo hi nahi sakta?

sighhhhhhh.

lmao mummy ko bas bahaana chahiye to push her ship together.

hahahahahahahahahahahha she’s worried kpk (sounds more like the plot of diya aur baati hum + roja?) waala scene na ho jaaye rohit ke saath.

vimmi is as usual, my absolute favt. person on this show.

this team-up is the most iconic and amazing ever. i love them both soooooooooo much.

"samajhdaar toh main zyaada hoon nahi." self aware. good.

sfdslksfjdslkfjlsdlfjdslffdj fanfic tropeeeeeee.

hahahahahaha his petty ass. rohit, you very well know you didn't deserve her graciousness then.

spoiltasssssssss malabar hill bratttttt.

bowwwww chicka bow wowwwwwwwww

the way he’s still looking at her even after she’s broken the moment!!!!!!!

tacky ke bacche, teri toh main.....

lol i can't get over it that she has her show's theme as her ringtone.

mummy is calling to ensure her child doesn't ruin the fanfic she's already 3 chapters deep into, in her head...

lololololol malabar hill mein bhi light gayi.

asdlkjdlaskjdlasjk too cuteeeeeeee.

ugh this twit. isko dekhte hi mera saara mood kharaab ho jaata hai.

———————————————————————

08.08.19

lmao wtf rohittttttttt, why are you such an extraaaaaaaaaa freak????

asalkdjsalkdjalkdjals itni jaldi baandh bhi diyaaaaa.

pffffffffffffffffffft.

like, there *is* a grownass dude living in this house, why not give his clothes?????

aslkfjsdlkfjldskfjlsdkjf the jhadoo. lmaoooooo, i can’t with this idiot anymore.

LOL THIS GRUMPYASS FUCK.

pls sona, i'm sure SOMETHING of pulkit's could have fit him!!!!

lmao @ pari bitching about her unicorn slippers, and rohit explaining his weird immune system issues to her.

[doorbell rings]

"main toilet mein nahi chupunga, main keh raha hoon!!!!!!!" hahahahahahahaha

aslkjdsalkdjlaskjdlaskjdlaskj

suman should play desi narcissa malfoy. permanent expression of dung under her nose.

and this dheent fucker tohhhh....

oufffffff no fighting early morning, pls!

i don't get this dad's character.... like he's all happy jolly nice and sweet with everyone, except rohit. it’s plausible of course, but like the polarity is just a little too much.

just seeing this woman's face makes me wanna..........

haaaye their silent communication.

if you come for the Sass King™, you best not miss.

oh ho apology.

when you gonna apologize to sona for shaking her like a ragdoll tho????

suman i need you to pls die at pehli fursat, you're really really really annoying.

sippy breakfast excitement. honestly, waaaay too much enthu in the morning.

lol gaye vimmi ke chances of seeing mahaepisode on large screen.

pari is being a little snitch bitch. ugh i really cannot with these two Asshole Rastogis.

lmao idhar toh ghanghorrrrrrrrrr blackmailing.

ouff ok i do not care about this painting nonsense. fwding.

i do not care about this dude and his wife either. i don't even know the wife's name, that's how less i care.

OMG ANIKA AUR REDUX GAURI KA KURTA GHOOM PHIR KE IDHAR SONAKSHI KE PAAS AA GAYA.

jesus h christ, is shirali styling this show?!?!?!?!?!??!? OH GOD WHY DIDN'T ANYONE WARNNNNN ME????? HOW COULD YOU PPL LET ME FIND OUT LIKE THIS??????

oh shit, now that i think of it, Irrelevant Sippy Brother™’s wardrobe is almost the same as shivaay’s..... all those atrangi suits. shit, i should have known!

oh shiiiiiiiiit girl, you in LOVE love.

ugh don't care about pari and ISB. they give me michmichi.

aye chup bait bey, literally no one is interested in your dumb character or what you have to say. ever.

lol sumit ko KPK mein netflix style prestige tv material chahiye.

dr. sippy has wormed his way into sona's head, and she's questioning the drama of it all.

oh shit that shady neta is calling.

ugh it's an infestation of vile men around this poor girl. i feel like arming her with a can of bug spray to blast them all in their rotten faces.

your wish is granted, sona!

MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE SIPPY BOYS!

———————————————————————

09.08.19

lmao the voiceover during the vamp's scene. i'm really loving the behind the scenes look at how these shows are made.

hahaha chachu got distracted by the cooking scene. saare ke saare sippys ek hi khet ki mooli.

rohit is like chachu pls, it's not worth it, these ppl realllllly DO NOT care about accuracy, but akash just can't take it.

"is baar MUJHE koi problem nahi hai." snort. medical scene hota toh abhi idhar bakheda khada kiya hota.

rohit, pls know this is the exact emotion others experience when YOU start going on about medicine.

lmao nethra is 1000% done with the sippys.

ajit helpfully listing everyone's professions, in case KPK needs any consultants.

ohhhhhhhhhhh mama, i cannot wait till the sippys get to sumit.

also look at the telepathy going on here.

chachu still ranting about how phitkari will not make cooker explode as he's dragged away by sippy bros ("arre gal gayi aapki dal, yaar....")

the only time i'll support ISB is when he's up against this asshole.

"yeh ranveer singh kaun hai???" lol kuch zyaada nahi hua?

so far chachu has been most impressive with the intimidation.

BUT!!!!!!!!! A NEW PLAYER HAS ENTERED GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"bula; security bula. police bula. aur agar himmat hai, toh army bula."

sumit gets points for trying to be intimidating, but oh man i can feel the tension building. aaj toh phitkari se bhi vispot ho hi jaaye.

i just cannot fathom what its like to have THIS much arrogance and entitlement. must be soooooooo nice to be an upper caste cishet man with money.

....................... sumit. serial mein kaam karte ho aur yeh baaaaaaaaasic sa serial wale plot mein hi phas gaye?????????? laakh lanat.

sona has same question.

ok i have had enough of this sasta rahul roy. koi dafa karo yaar.

"khamakhaa inke mamaji ko kyun disturb karein? iske liye toh hum hi kaafi hain."

asjdlaksjdlaksjdlsk sippy strength.

nethra is THE MOST unrealistic character of this show; coz no tellywood producer would be thisssssssss obliging to these shenanigans. like, can you even imaaaaaagine?

oh pooja's here! i was wondering how come YK didn't come with sippy boys.

waise YK ki jagaah nishi ko aana chahiye tha. i would have loved to see her whoop sumit's ass from here to whatever backward bumfuck hellscape he’s from.

lol adjusted her ring for maximum impact.

TASTE THE SIPPY STRENGTH BITCHHHHHHHHHHH *dhoom theme music*

oh i'm glad this relationship has been repaired!

oh pls rohit yeh ainvayi ki naari shakti speech mat do. i hate when they make men do such performative bullshit. if they just HAD to have this, at least it would have been more believable coming from ajit or akash chachu, who haven't been shown to act like assholes to women around them.............

and this idiot girl is falling for it. oh sona, aim higher pls. the bar is literally on the ground with you.

omg this speech is not ending onlyyyyyy. samajh gaye na bhai, bandh kar. tere ko hospital nahi jaana kya aaj?

ajit is the tiniest sippy, but forever (ง'̀-'́)ง (ง'̀-'́)ง (ง'̀-'́)ง

he needs to meet gauri kumari sharma. they'd make the cutest pint-sized fighting team.

*mais voice* aye challlllllllllllll naaaaaaa.

i meannnnnn...... you coulda fired him at first offence, nethra. you're making this decision now, after his shit got to a whole other level? didn’t sonakshi deserve any of this when he misbehaved with her????? you're kinda responsible for enabling the godawful bastard till this point.

........... were the sippys in a collective coma for the last two decades? like even if they don't watch it, who doesn't know that this is how tellywood handles actor replacements????

rohit is on his high horse again. nethra is like chill tf out bro.

ughhhhhh the fondness with which he's looking at her.

"main dil ka doctor hoon, dil ka patient nahi. mere patients ko yeh sab khaana mana hai, mujhe nahi!"

*takes biggest chomp of a samosa ever*

sona’s reactions are most adorable.

ohhhhhh my heart.

ek thank you pe hi flat. ouffff, kya karoon main is ladki ka.

———————————————————————

ohhhhhhhhhh sheeeeeeeeeeeet, he saw the hoodie!!!

"favourite toh hai, par itni bhi nahi. tum rakh lo." ughhhhhhhhhh cute; but again, girl have SOMEEEEEEE standards. you need to have some criteria other than "Y chromosome, age 30 - 40, occasionally polite to me."

[thenixkat]

Animorphs notes: 20

Book 20

A Marco book

Marco strikes out with a probably Black girl at the school, who has probably been insulted about her name before

And frankly she’s got good instincts to not trust a class clown

Marco is still a fuckboy, ‘females’ really

Marco’s just shit at pickup lines

The general refusal to make a distinction b/w enslaved peoples and the yeerks controlling them.

So either the Animorphs never checked the spot where Elfangor died to see if there was anything left they could use, that the yeerks didn’t go through shit for anything they could use (I’m just going to assume there was no attempt to make a grave marker) or Toomin put the block there for David to find

Yeah Toomin put shit in places (won’t stop me from using it in a fic if I feel like it)

Have I mentioned that the whole litteral deity who does whatever he fucking feels like means that there are absolutely no stakes in this series? I don’t like that.

Yeah, weirdo stranger that ignores “I don’t want to interact with you” signals would get on the nerves

Ya know. It doesn’t feel like the Animorphs are all that hard up on getting the box if they wait that long to start to do anything about it

I still feel sorry for Ax. He is but a jock forced into the role of the one who knows shit.

Wait. Why can’t the chee just steal the box. Just ghost David, see where he puts it. Take it. And ghost out?

STill not  fan of aliens having any sort of roll in building the pyramids in particular and non-White historical structures as a whole

There’s some yeerk plans involving the President and the UN afoot

The chee piss me off for so many reasons. SO many

Again, it really doesn’t feel like the box is all that important 

Jake attempts to pass of a half bird morphed Marco as his deformed little brother

Very lucky those weren’t Controllers

Why exactly did they not decide to have Tobias the most experienced flyier there do it? Right these characters are dumb as fuck and don’t really care about retreiving the mnorphing cube

I mean its perfictly reasonable to shoot a big fuckoff bird trying to attack you

I am reminded of all the shit Cassie talks about Marco being perfictly willing to end innocent bystandars. Of course Cassie is not a trustworthy source of information.

They were not able to retraive the box through a fuck lot of incompenence and some bad luck

David is def one of those spoiled edgy kids

But the trained birds is not an out there theory given the behavior of the animorphs

Well he’s not that reckless, but Marco would be shit help in a dangerous situation as far as David knows. Dude’s tiny. 

David is also very paranoid

Again, why can’t they ask the Chee to help?

Ax: Have you considered unplugging the computer?

Listen, Ax, do these kids look like they have that much common sense? 

Oh, I see alarm systems exist again

A cobra living under teh bed in a cardboard box would be so unhealthy

The writers really hate nonavian reptiles

Ok. The writers have no idea what a cobra actually is.

According to these writers cobras have heat sensing pits like pit vipers and like to eat spiders

Ah yes, cobras do a threat display towards food they plan to eat b/c the writers know jack shit about anything that isn’t a thermal Those are hork-bajir controller not hork-bajir warriors

Slithering pretty well for a snake with 2 bullet wounds

Aww, David tried to get his pet snake out of danger

You’d think David’s dad would be taking his kid and fucking fleeing

Got damn how does Marco still have venom? Snakes don’t regen that shit instantly and he’s used a fuckload already

David’s dad and snake were captured by the yeerks. I’m going to assume that the cat is either dead or also captured

David was knocked out of a second story window, and def landed hard enough to lose consciousness so very lucky he’s still alive

David’s mom is also captured

So yeah lets recruit this kid who’s just lost everything partially due to our incompetence instead of trying to send him out of town or seeing if he has any other family he could go to.

I will give points to Ax for ya know thinking about recruiting help, this just isn’t necessarily the best time

You could go places and prove shit right now, you just don’t want to risk yer own necks

I feel like you should really be asking David before decding this shit or seeing if he has any intrests in fighting this war the way you do

Ax… proposes adding people to the group and then votes against the idea. There are multiple ways in which this doesn’t work.

SO why exactly does Marco hate David? B/c he’s edgy, a bit paranoid, and doesn’t like his humor?

Like you should ease someone into the yer parents are being tortured and enslaved thing after receiving a huge blow like you are now homeless and have to be on the run

Apparently visser rhymes with kisser

So yall really didn't ask him whether he wanted to join yer team and fight along side you. You decided that he was going to. That can’t end well. And given these writers it won’t end well in the way that it should

of course i know that later David does things like murder animals and try to kill the animorphs but like, how much is that just the writers going... oh, shit um quick how to we make it more clear that the Animorphs are better than this kid?

David whent home with Marco, sure why not

Marco catches him trying to call his parents and leads him to a payphone to use

Ah yes, the Animorphs unnecessarily causing hosts harm once again

Nice way to win him over to yer side guys

So they waste a perfictly good chance to rescue David’s dad

??? They move David… to jake’s house. Who’s brother is a controller…

Oh yer trying to get the kid captured. I see

Tobias get the fuck over yerself, Cassie can release her patients whereever the hell she wants. If you have a problem stop living in the fucking wilderness when you don’t fucking have to

David has very good points. Also you can aquire fucking both of the birds. You are not limited to one of each kind of morph.

Cassie, Marco clearly doesn’t like him and Jake’s trying to boss him around and you all forced him to join you

Like David makes very valid points. You’ve done nothing to show you’re trustworthy individuals not trying to use him to your own benifit

Isn’t there a big yeerk thing happening soon? SHouldn’t yall also be working on that too?

Ya know the controller at the meeting is probably a local, given i assume they have a portable kadrona machine and if that shit breaks or need maintenance they’d probably want to be close enough. And i know there’s no global pool network just from the stuff in like book 7?

And they’re taking the new recruit, in his first morph on his first flight on a damn recon mission. Nothing can go wrong there.

Oh look the other shoe i was waiting to fall. Ya know this would be a lot more interesting if the writers didn’t decide to make David an asshole and he still decided to leave/betray the team

So the yeerk forces on the blade ship are wearing their uniforms. But the ones on the ground? Nudists

ya know goading people into doing shit for the first time in a litteral life and death scenario ()b/c who needs things like practice() by calling them a pussy is not going to build any kind ill will

I don’t think this is a well thought out plan from the yeerk side if what’s happening is what the Animorphs think is happening

I wonder if the Animorphs will remember that roaches can fly

Ends on a too be continued

[onebatch2batch]

1/2 post punisher s1 prompt: frank is at a bar after a long day of work and when a pretty woman starts flirting with him, he just respectfully answers all of her questions and then she asks him something like: "are you taken or not into me at all? " and he surprises himself with how fast he replies with a "taken" and with how fast he had a gorgeous blue eyed blonde in his mind,

2/2 and just like that he realizes he’s so fucked up because he’s in love with freaking karen page and how he just realized it on a bar when a woman was flirting with him instead of all the times he risked his life for her.

@frank-castle-loves-karen-page I hope I did this justice!!! Thank you for such an awesome prompt!! As always, thank you Bree ( @frankcastlestanktop for being my amazing and patient beta reader xo)

Frank knows, deep down, that women find him attractive. He doesn’t particularly know why they do, with his big ears and crooked nose, but they do. He’s no stranger to flirting waitresses and furtive glances in the grocery store. Even with his practiced beanie-hoodie combo, women seem to gravitate towards him. It’s something he may have appreciated years ago–before he became a father, and then a soldier, and then a widower. Before the world turned its back on him. These days, he keeps to himself and tries his hardest to look off-putting.

So when he realizes the woman across the bar has been giving him bedroom eyes for the last several minutes, he keeps his gaze on his beer.

It’s been a hellish week to cap off a hellish month. Not that his life hasn’t been hellish for a good amount of time, but this is a new kind of hell. This is reintegrating into society. His bruises have faded, his stitches have nearly healed, and he’s stepped into the role of Pete Castiglione once again. He goes to work, stows his guns away, and practices being normal again. Boring, miserable, too much time to think normal. There was a time where he would have killed for normal; now it fits like a cheap suit.  

Frank runs a hand through his hair and makes a face at the length. Karen’s words echo in his mind–I know you hate it, but I think the curls are charming.

Charming, he scoffs inwardly, but a smile pulls  at his lips. It was  one word he would have never used to describe himself. When she used it he’d been too blindsided by the compliment to respond. Charming describes white knights in fairy tales, or slick-suited men trying to get their way. But Frank Castle: charming? Not so much. Although when Karen says it, it doesn’t sound as wrong. Most things she says to him sound right.

“Hey there,” comes a voice to his right, breaking his thought.

Frank glances over, and is face to face with the woman from across the bar. Up close, he sees the slight sparkle on her cheekbones and the smokey color on her eyelids. She’s holding a near-empty martini glass. Frank keeps his eyes level, despite the suggestively low neckline in his peripheral vision. She’s pretty, even beautiful by some standards. By the way she’s smiling, he can tell she hopes he’d think so, too.

“Hey,” he says, expression betraying nothing.

“Mind if I sit?” She asks, casually flipping her long dark hair falling over one shoulder.

Frank nods to the seat beside him and returns to his beer. He’s not afraid she’ll realize who he is; it’s been three months since Frank Castle died and Pete Castiglione’s beard is an exceptionally good disguise. Despite that, tension crawls up his spine and his senses sharpen; searching for danger, for the trap. It’s not very often he makes conversation with strangers beyond exchanges at checkout counters and coffee shops. In Josie’s bar, his usual hangout, folks mind their business. This bar, down the street from his place, is a little more upscale. The clientele are a little more refined, and the beer a little less watered down. He should have prepared for a more determined class of women, too.

“Name’s Jane,” she presses when he remains silent. “Want to buy me a drink?”

He thinks about telling her no, just for a moment. He almost does. There’s no point in leading on a woman like her, who is sure to strike up a long conversation that would dead-end, because it would all be based on half-truths and secrets. When he looks over to dismiss her, there’s a sharpness in her eyes – a little bit of fire that reminds him, painfully, of Karen. He finds himself nodding before he can help it.

When a fresh martini is deposited before her, Jane crosses her legs and leans closer. “So what’s your name, handsome?”

Frank takes a sip of his beer, looks forward. “Pete.”

“You here alone, Pete?” She asks, amused.

Tryin’ to be, he thinks, sliding his eyes back to her. “Yep.”

Her delicate nails, sharpened and polished deep scarlet, tap against the bar. She surveys him, head tilted. “So what’s the deal? You’ve been turning women away all night–you not interested? Taken?”

Unbidden, his mind defines what taken means: blue eyes. Blond hair. A beauty mark lifting over a wide, happy smile.

“Taken.”

The word escapes his mouth faster than he can catch it. There’s a brief pause as his chest gets a little tighter, his head feels a little lighter. The word ricochetes in his skull– taken– as he tries to regain control over his expression. He can feel the surprise on his face. Jane looks at him with open curiosity.

“Looks like you just figured that out,” she huffs. “Want to talk about it with a stranger?”

“I gotta go,” he mutters, throwing some cash on the bar. He shrugs on his jacket and finishes off his beer, trying to ignore the panic settling like a stone in his gut.

“Yikes,” she says. Her tone is pitying. “Good luck. Sounds like you need to have a conversation with someone.”

Frank grunts as an answer and  strides to the door. Outside, he takes three deep breaths. The air is freezing. It’s not quite snowing yet, but he can smell the clean, fresh scent of it on the horizon. He starts down the sidewalk and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

Taken.

Frank frowns, turning the lapels of his coat against the chill. He’s known, almost since the moment he met her, that Karen Page was important. First, she was important in remembering his family. Then, she was important to his trial. But somewhere along the line, she became important to him. She became his ally, his fiery support system, his accomplice. She became family. Frank never thought he would have anyone to call family again; not after losing Maria and the kids.  

He thinks back to the first time he risked himself for her. Was it with the Blacksmith? He remembers realizing she was trapped with the very same person who orchestrated his family’s deaths. He remembers the surge of fury–and protectiveness–that followed. The plan to rescue her and get rid of Schoonover once and for all nearly made him ill; when his truck crashed into her car and he saw the blood dripping down her temple, he was shocked by the regret that followed. It had almost been enough for him to abandon the plan altogether.

No, he realizes, it was in her apartment. When he had walked through the door and found himself staring in admiration down the barrel of her .305. When he heard the gunfire and covered her body with his own. The instincts to protect and save were strong. Her trembling body under his own was a reminder that there was still good in him–still something worth fighting for.

Frank turns a corner, hardly registers where his feet are taking him. He pictures another achingly cold night, months ago. Standing high above the sidewalk, rifle in hand, coat billowing in the wind. He remembers turning to leave and catching sight of the crowd gathering below as Red bowed over a woman not far away. Frank looked down and saw Karen Page, eyes wide and trained directly on him. Her lips had formed his name–angry and terrified and amazed all at once.

He thinks about the day he re-entered into her life, despite his reluctance to get her involved. His desperation for answers. He remembers the look on her face when she accepted his flowers. The excitement, the pure joy… the embarrassment as she pushed her hair back behind her ears. He also remembers the moment her expression had fallen, just enough for him to catch it, when she realized it hadn’t been a gift but a half-assed method of communication. What he couldn’t tell her then (because he was too chicken shit, he admits) that giving her his burner phone number put her in more danger than he could stomach.

Frank recognizes that there’s never been a moment where they could just be. He’s been on the move or in hiding for so long. He’s been cataloging each one of her smiles; stowing them away to analyze later. There’s no time for love, or family, or friendship, on the battlefield that had become his life. He remembers, for the hundredth time, lying beside her as Lewis’ remains coated the walls of the hotel refrigerator. The hot smell of blood and smoke in the air. The sound of her soft gasp over the buzzing in his ears. Her hand coming to rest on his chest, searching for him even as she fought for consciousness.

Frank thinks of her in that fucking elevator, her hands grasping his arms. Her forehead pressed to his, her lips a breath and a nod away. That moment of frozen time where he had thought things he had no right to think. He’d been so, so tired. And then her hand, pushing him away. Telling him, go. Go on.

Then, the terror of leaving her to clean up his mess. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? Why had it taken a stranger in a bar for him to realize he was taken by Karen? He’d taken bullets for her, he’d put his life and his anonymity on the line for her.

Frank feels something cold touch his nose. He looks up. It’s snowing and he’s standing in front of Karen’s apartment building.

He sighs and turns to leave; even with these feelings he has for her (because that’s what this is, right?) he’s got no business putting his shit on her. She should have a normal life. She should meet someone that’s not living under a fake name. Someone with a lot less blood on their hands. He glances up towards her window and stops short when he sees it.

Fresh white roses in the window. The light is on.

He rings the buzzer.

*TAGGED:

@kastleandcoffee @emanationman @frank-castle-loves-karen-page @babsiechap @darknesseyez @frankcastiglione @tuntematonkorppi @ohmypreciousgirl @killorbekillcd @nina2406 @iamacolor @princesshaleyeve @orangesickle @jonberntal

[trickyclasspect]

The Extended Zodiac Sign Quiz and the Aspects

I eventually want to make a longer post on this but I just wanted to quickly celebrate the canon definitions of the aspects released on the hiveswap website, and talk about how they affect interpretations and change how we think of the aspects. <this ended up being a lot longer than I intended, putting a cut here just in case>

TIME “They value action over passive acceptance, even if that may not be the wisest or safest choice. Don’t try to tell a Time-bound to sit still and look pretty.”  This is an interesting part of the description, contradicting a popular analysis of Time leaning towards the passive end, the lead up to eventual destruction.  In general the paragraph on Time addresses the physical effect of Time on spacetime, and the universe itself much less than most descriptions out on tumblr.

SPACE “To this effect, they tend to be innovators, concerned with creation and redemption. Catch them recycling the old to make the new, the fresh, and the beautiful.“ “Those bound to the aspect of Space are, as the name suggests, concerned with the big picture. They are patient, masters of the art of wait-and-see” These two also fill in holes that some, including my, analyses miss, the recycling and reusing quality of Space along with the passive awaiting. They don’t have all the Time in the world so to speak

HEART “Forging an identity is extremely important to the Heart-bound, and every decision and action goes toward building a coherent narrative of their own story.” “They are excellent at putting on and taking off masks as the situation calls for them.“ Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. In any other place this would look like a description of our perception of a Mind player, the masks, the narrative, decision making… Time to reevaluate.

MIND “They are very concerned with remaining rational, and they have such a firm hold on the constant conjunction of their thinking that it’s easy for them to see the multitudes of the choices laid out” This small chunk of Mind’s longer paragraph is the closest to fanon. However, it doesn’t show Mind and Heart as diametric opposites, overlapping the two and containing them within the field of decision making and self’s effects on others.

HOPE “Those bound to the aspect of Hope are driven first and foremost by their convictions. They do right for right’s sake, and are quick to come to the aid of anyone they deem to be experiencing injustice.“ “They put great value in the power of the imagination, the ability to dream up a better and more beautiful future. If anyone could dream a better world into existence, it would be one of the Hope-bound.“ Again, super close to the fanon description, adding more on the topic of Hope’s determination factor, the raw willing that comes with that level of imagination.

RAGE “Those bound to the aspect of Rage are bringers of chaos. They posses great contempt for lies or false ideas, including the stability that false ideas can impart. To them, the true is far more important than the good” Also similar, the Rage description highlights other key features of Rage including their equally-as-convicted-as-Hope among others, although it focuses more on the destruction and extremely negative portions of Rage’s analyzed definition, leaving out the harnessing of these strong emotions, even their part in the aspect itself.

LIGHT “They are, above all, driven to learn and understand. They are great alchemists, able to take multiple sources of information and synthesize them into something useful.” “The Light-bound will go after knowledge with a fierce intensity that others may find distasteful. They aren’t overly concerned with laws or norms, either. They often take rules as simple suggestions“ This definition serves the purpose of breaking Light from its box of knowledge through simply knowledge, painting the Light players as more of an active partaker in the search for everything, regardless of any systems in place.

VOID “The unknown doesn’t scare them-where others might see emptiness, they see potential. A blank page, an empty canvas, that’s what the Void-bound live for. They value mystery and the unexplained, and are not particularly bothered by not having all the answers.“ Highlights parts of Void people have missed. Void isn’t nothing. It is the raw potential for something, anything to be there, without negative connotations or biases.

BREATH “Flexible and driven, they leave an impact wherever they go. Like the breeze itself, they are able to sweep others up to carry along in their wake, but also like the breeze, they can be difficult to catch hold of or tie down.” Nothing particularly worth mentioning in the Breath definition, except that its role in heroism is interesting.

BLOOD “Blood-bound are absolutely leaders, but they inhabit more of an inspirational role than a commanding one. They are prophets, rather than generals, giving others the strength and motivation to keep fighting.” Again nothing particular here. Highlights leadership and role in groups more than the actual bonds between people themselves.

LIFE “Deeply empathetic, they have an intuitive understanding of other’s suffering and the best way of righting those wrongs. If you’re poisoned, chances are the Life-bound have something for what ails ya. This applies to both physical and mental suffering, though it might not be a cure you’ll like.“ Mm. Ok. This Life definition defines Life as healing potential, whether volunatry or not. Does not even mention the definition of Life as a force against systematic anything, instead attributing that to Rage.

DOOM “The Doom-bound understand that misery loves company, and they are ready and willing to provide said company. The Doom-bound won’t fix you; they aren’t healers. They are commiserators, aware that sometimes the only thing you can do for a person is let them know that they are not alone in their suffering.” In general it appears that Doom and Life are presiding over the domain of reactions to events that might not be favorable, instead of their roles in systems and the breaking of those- most likely influenced by Sollux and Meenah’s presence respectively. In conclusion, while many of these definitions are different from the ones people have grown to see as fact, these canon descriptions provide a supposedly accurate and interesting approach to parts of an Aspect that have been neglected.

[pumpkins-s]

Spilling Like An Overflowing Sink

Read on AO3 Here

Read the Other Chapters on Tumblr Here

Lance Alexander Rafael McClain is born in the middle of a summer storm, thunder cracking and rain slamming onto the roof of an old ramshackle house that had seen more than its fair share of children.

The miracle baby, that’s what the family had called Lance. The unexpected son to a mother of five daughters.

(In which family is always complicated, Lance’s life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, and he and Keith are really emotionally constipated for each other.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Keith/Lance, significant platonic Lance & Hunk

Characters: Lance, Lance’s family, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Coran

Chapter 11: Limitations

((Author’s Notes: 

Last update of 2017, rolling out. Late November and early December were sucked up with an original writing project for college -my first novella, which killed me - but I'm pleased to be back now to my Regularly Scheduled Bullshit. This chapter and the one following it were originally intended as one update, but for logistical and timing issues I opted to divide the two.

This chapter has discussions of divorce, (mentions of) the foster system, and what can be interpreted as child abandonment & poor parenting, depending on a person's feelings on the subject matter. While these aren't exactly new topics for SLAOS (see: Hunk's living situation), I still felt it was suitable to give a fair warning if those are topics any of you are sensitive to.

Also! Because I'm a hoe for my own bad music choices, there's another SLAOS playlist up called Lions - The tumblr post (complete with coverart!) can be found here, or you can jump to the playlist directly on Spotify or Youtube.))

After everything—that exhausting, all-encompassing summer that had ended following Lance’s return home with a sparse few weeks of scorching, claiming sun, the crisp freshness of coastal air, and continuing reconciliation with Hunk—returning to Greenwood feels severely underwhelming.

Perhaps it’s simply that many of the fears Lance held approaching the place the first time around are now largely void. He knows this place, lent a kind of familiarity to it in one year living there that he never experienced with his multiple years at his former schools. Knows who to avoid, who can be trusted, what to do and what to say. His position there is secure enough that he doesn’t have to experience a daily fear of being one step away from losing it all—so long as he keeps his shit together, at least—and that’s all Lance ever wanted, really.

And so, when his family departs with considerable noise, but still substantially less fanfare than last year, he feels fairly at ease as he helps Hunk unpack the remainder of their stuff.

About twenty minutes in, as Lance is balanced precariously on the head of his bed and attempting to restring last year’s not-strictly-legal Christmas lights, Ritzie bursts in without warning. The door rattles as she kicks it open, and Lance, startled, yelps and falls backward onto his bed, casting a despairing look at the ceiling as the Christmas lights follow him down and land heavily on his stomach.

“I hate men!” Ritzie announces sullenly, and then collapses in a pouting heap on the ground, limbs splayed to the ceiling dispassionately. After a moment, Yuu follows in, casting her a tiredly concerned look as he steps over her legs and takes a seat on the end of Hunk’s bed, crossing his legs beneath him.

“All your friends are men,” Yuu points out, staring down at her, and she sticks out her tongue.

“Fine, I hate white men.”

“Ritzie…” Hunk puts down the clothes he was sorting, and turning to her as if with the solemn bringing of shocking news. “You’re white.”

“Jewish,” she corrects with a hiss, pointing a finger in the air imperiously, and Hunk squints.

Lance snorts, rolling over and pushing the Christmas lights to the side. Planting his chin in his hands and his elbows on the bed, he opts to take pity on her and ask, “What happened?”

Ritzie moans in defeat, and waves the hand still in the air. “We shan’t speak of it. It was too horrible.”

“Ritzie—“

“Shan’t.”

Lance sighs.

“She got snapped at,” Yuu says, ignoring Ritzie’s squawk of protest. “That guy who was on our floor last year, Travis?”

“The one who called me—what was it—‘a Mexican’?” Lance rolls his eyes. A year of continued observation—not exactly desired but inevitable due to shared classes—had assured him that Travis’s specialty in cultural insensitivity and general assholishness extended in basically all directions, various genders and ethnicities included. “Among other things. What’d he say to her?” He can’t exactly imagine Ritzie taking shit from Travis of all people, so whatever words had been exchanged must have been pretty bad to affect her like this.

“He didn’t,” Yuu admits, scrunching up his nose in distaste. “Well, he was the cause of the whole thing, so I’m blaming him for this one, but—“ Ritzie whines, and Yuu pokes a foot gently into her side, prompting another displeased noise. “Anyways, he was picking on this year’s newest target, one of the new scholarship kids, because he’s uncreative. Ritzie stepped in, and the kid she was defending basically told her he didn’t need a uh—a society princess causing a scene by trying to speak for him.”

Lance hisses in a breath. “Yikes.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t…great.”

“You doing okay?” Lance asks Ritzie, casting her a sympathetic look, and she shifts enough on the floor to sit up, glaring at him.

“I’m fine.” Ritzie stands up, scowling as she casts them all a wary look. “I’m going to go unpack. Half my clothes are still in a box.” She trudges out of the room, and they all wince when the door slams pointedly behind her.

“…Is she actually okay?” Hunk asks after a long moment of awkward silence. “I know she likes to make dramatics of things but she seems like…genuinely upset. For Ritzie levels of upset, at least.”

Yuu groans in exhaustion, which seems to be the ongoing mood for all of them, Lance thinks. Falling backwards onto Hunk’s bed, Yuu shrugs, staring up at the ceiling miserably. “Who knows? Ritz’ likes to make out she’s all nails, but God knows she’s pretty sensitive at times. Especially about this sort of thing.”

“This happen a lot?” Lance asks, peering inquisitively at Yuu. If it does, it’s certainly not a trend he has really noticed. Most people seem fairly acclimatized to Ritzie’s meddling streak—begrudgingly accommodating if not grateful, at least.

“Occasionally?” Yuu makes an indecisive noise. “You know what she’s like. Can’t help but get involved in everything, regardless of whether she’s wanted or not. It’s a compulsion to be overly helpful, if anything, but to some people it’s annoying, or her personality just makes it come off as self-righteous despite being genuinely well meaning.” His head leans up enough to cast Lance a tired look. “Some people just want to fight their own battles, and she can’t get that when it applies to anyone but herself. And it doesn’t help the people she’s usually quickest to jump in and defend are scholarship kids, can’t exactly blame some for reacting badly. Pretty much everyone in that program isn’t exactly coming from the heights of financial luxury—though I suppose you guys would know that better than me,” he amends, an embarrassed flush scrawling across his cheeks.

Hunk offers him a wry look. “Yeah, probably.”

“But anyways,” Yuu continues, flopping back down and waving a hand in a move that’s so reminiscent of Ritzie herself not yet ten minutes ago that Lance has to stifle a probably situationally-inappropriate giggle. “Some kids in that situation, the last thing they want is someone else stepping in and causing a fuss, they just want to keep their heads down. Or worse, they don’t want Ritzie specifically getting in the middle of things. Insult to injury, or something, I guess.”

There’s a pause, and Yuu sighs. “It’s not like I don’t get it, y’know? To them it’s like…how could a kid living in privilege—the literal granddaughter of the headmaster, at that—possibly relate to someone who’s clawed their way to get here? It just looks like a martyr complex gone bad.” Hunk makes a reluctant sound, and Yuu points a finger at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought it.”

“Okay, yeah,” Hunk says, holding his hands up in surrender. “A couple times, when we didn’t know each other as well. But she’s just trying to help, I figured that one out a long time ago. Ritzie’s one of the most bullheadedly self-sacrificial people I know.” He casts Lance a significant look, and he doesn’t have to say anything for Lance to know the other bullheaded moron he’s referring to is probably Lance himself.

“Yeah, but not everyone’s going to get that, and they can’t really be expected to.” Yuu sits up, fiddling with the hem of his shirt uncomfortably. “And she gets that, too. When she gets like this, she’s upset at herself, not mad at whoever told her to fuck off. She just needs some space to cool off and mope by herself for a while and then she’ll be fine.”

“Mmmm, if you say so,” Hunk murmurs, leaning up and stretching, and then grabbing the nearest box yet to be unpacked. “You’re the Ritzie expert.”

“Well,” Yuu stands up, going to join Hunk. “I’m probably banned from the room for a bit, so I’ll help.”

They both turn to Lance, giving him a pointed look, and he sighs, getting up to join them reluctantly.

After about fifteen moments of Lance awkwardly shuffling in place in-between helping unpack, and casting longing looks towards the door, Yuu knocks his shoulder against his own, offering him one of the patiently exhausted yet amused expressions he gets when dealing with Ritzie trying to do something particularly unadvisable. “You can go and check on her, you know.”

Lance squints at him suspiciously. “You’re the one who told us to leave her alone.”

“Yeah, but,” Yuu makes a face, shrugging a shoulder, “I did mostly mean me. Besides, if she’s going to talk to anyone right now, it’s you.”

“…Really?” Lance asks skeptically.

“You two have got that like—wonder twins junk going on. Ritzie and I have known each other so long, we practically treat each other like siblings, with all the annoyance and pushing at boundaries that comes with it. You treat her like a friend and that means a lot to her.”

Lance glances away from Yuu and to Hunk carefully, who gives him one of those looks that means he’s being an idiot again, like about Greenwood, like over the summer.

Well. Hunk’s never wrong.

“…Ok,” he relents, and bows out of the room as Yuu and Hunk resume their work, breaking into easy conversation about the robotics team’s possible plans for the year as he slips out the door and pulls it shut quietly behind him.

Lance slinks across the hall to Ritzie and Yuu’s room, knocking gently, and the door creaks open of its own accord when he touches it, apparently not shut properly to begin with. He casts a wary look into the suspiciously empty room as the door opens more and more of it to view, and after a moment steps in, glancing amongst the largely unpacked boxes and haphazardly shoved around furniture. “…Ritzie?”

There’s a crash of noise, and then Ritzie’s voice, sounding rather frazzled, rings out from the adjoining bathroom door. “In here!” Lance considers asking if she wants him to leave, but then she calls out “One second!” and he figures she can tell him to shove off to his face if she desires.

Instead, he opts for more awkward skulking around her room, carefully stepping over boxes and bags and random shoes, likely chucked in the car at the last minute, knowing both Ritzie and how Lance’s own packing tends to go. Picking up on the distinct lack of pet tanks, even amongst the clutter, he yells out back to the door. “What happened to those leopard geckos you stole from Jake Calhoun last year?”

“Oh them?” Ritzie calls back, voice markedly less shaky than before—a safe topic, then. “They’re at home. Somehow for the one day Dad was actually home and not on a video conference or something, he still managed to find them after not noticing the tank in the spare room for the whole damn summer. Wouldn’t let me take them back to school.” She pauses. “I’ll give it a week and then sneak them back in somehow. The housekeeper won’t stop me, she hates them.”

“You’re terrible. A terrible, terrible rulebreaker,” Lance says, just loud enough for Ritzie to hear, and her muffled laughter rings through the door.

It’s all a diversion tactic, really, for both of them, but it’s nice. Hearing her laugh and not be upset like before is nice. Lance always feels like he has so little control in his life, an inability to do as much as he should and help as much as he would like—unable to help his family, incapable of healing Mavis, of fixing himself.

Always, always, unable to bring Loraine back to them—unable to save her, unable to be her.

Comparatively, helping Ritzie should be easy.

It is. It isn’t. It’s neither. It’s both. Somehow. Like Loraine, and the being and saving of her.

Can’t save the dead, his heart whispers, and he hears Hunk on the beach again, for the millionth time over.

You need to save everyone, to protect them, because you love them. You let them in, because you need them, but you also push them away when they get too close.

Can’t even save the living.

He walks echoing steps along Ritzie’s wall, tracing a hand along whitewashed, concrete-foundation walls, the kind you can’t push poster tacks or hooks into, the kind that can’t be marked or damaged. Instead, they tape up pictures and string lights along windowsills to make homes out of a place that will bear no marking or memory of them once they’re gone.

His fingers still along the edge of the school-installed shelf, the one every room gets on each opposite wall. Ritzie has already started unpacking here, in the most backwards of functions given most of her clothes are still in boxes, knick-knacks and debate trophies and small ornaments he’s seen her pick up at touristy junk shops crowding the surface. On the edge, there’s a photo of a younger Ritzie and two men he assumes are her dads, all crowded together outside a building somewhere in a traditionally cheesy family photo. Ritzie’s hair is a puff around her head, not even long enough to pull into the smallest of pigtails or braids yet, and her dads have their arms around each other, a hand each on her shoulders.

They look nothing like her in the slightest. They look like a family.

“Oh look,” Ritzie says with a snort behind him, and Lance starts as her arms loop around his waist and her chin drops onto his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard her come out of the bathroom, too wrapped up in both their pasts. “They were married once. Who’d have thought?”

Lance puts his own hands on her forearms, and says nothing. He doesn’t know this territory.

“That was the day they took me home properly, y’know,” Ritzie says conversationally, voice dull. Her hair tickles his chin and the edge of her glasses digs into his neck. He leans his head more firmly against her own, regardless. “Day they adopted me. I was…” She scrunches up her nose. “Eight? Eight. They were my foster parents first, got me just after I turned seven, so it wasn’t like we didn’t already have pictures, but…” A chuckle. “They wanted it to be special, I guess? First photo after it was all official. Once we were a definite family. No maybes, no take backs. Maybe they just knew I needed that.”

“You look happy,” Lance offers, and Ritzie huffs.

“Yeah.” She frowns, just slightly, and Lance can feel the corner of it against his skin. “They got divorced not long after that, it felt like. I mean it was—it was three whole years—but God it didn’t feel like it. And then it was just…over. Looking back, I was probably the only thing holding them together, at that point. They’d always been separating, but they just didn’t realize it for a long time. Neither did I.”

Lance looks down and studies their hands, just next to each other. Ritzie is taller, but her hands are just slightly smaller than his, fine-boned and calloused and skin paper-thin pale next to his own. She is an ice sculpture, immovable, impenetrable. She is glass, easily broken. “Does it still hurt?”

Ritzie’s head turns, and her laugh tickles the back of his neck. “Most things don’t stop hurting, Lance.”

“I know,” Lance says, and he does. God, he does.

“…I don’t know,” she answers after a moment, soft but still firm in her decision, still Ritzie. “I guess? Sometimes. They’re happier now, and my step-dad—my papa’s husband—he’s nice, and they still…they still love me. Even if they don’t love each other, they still love me. I know that. And hey, two birthday parties, right? What could be better?”

Her voice is flat, and Lance closes his eyes. “You’re allowed to be upset. It’s ok to be upset about things that won’t change.” God knows he is.

She sighs out against his shoulder. “But I’m not sure if I am, at least as much as I used to be. It doesn’t not hurt, but it’s number, now.”

He tries to imagine the pain of Loraine going numb, of it fading. He can’t. He’s not sure he wants to. It has settled, but it has never, never become lesser.

He thinks he’d rather die, than face that day when it is lesser, despite how much easier it would be.

“I guess I just wish they were around more,” Ritzie murmurs, and Lance thinks of Mavis. “They’re always—“ She makes a frustrated noise. “Never mind.”

There’s a pause, and then she says, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier.”

“I know.”

“I was just—upset. Before my dads, there were mostly just group homes, everyone always clashing or sticking together. I guess I kind of stayed used to that, even after. When it was just me, in this new school on my own, and then just me and Yuu, the one other kid who didn’t have anyone, on our own together.”

Ritzie: the princess, the protector. Ritzie: the faceless, the friendless.

Ritzie: the child hanging off the tree, reaching out, seeking. Yuu: the child on the ground, looking, searching.

A park in Maryland, a private school in Virginia—what’s the difference, really, Lance wonders, when it comes to lonely children.

Except—he hadn’t been lonely, really. Not when he had his sisters, not when he had Loraine.

But then Loraine had been gone, and Mavis had been the next best anchor, but was away, always, even when she was there. Just like Ritzie and her dads.

“What that kid said to you…” Lance says, and Ritzie tenses slightly against his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Ok,” he says, and Ritzie presses a smile against the back of his neck. Lance finds her hands with his own, squeezes. “Ok.”

“Thank you.”

“…I think I saw Calhoun bringing a turtle in earlier,” Lance mumbles after a long moment, a peace offering. “Do you want to go and rescue it before he inevitably kills it?”

Her smile curves into a grin, upturned lips warm against his skin.

“Please.”

At the end of a weekend in early November, with rain pounding outside amongst air so humid it feels heavy, Lance sits on the train back to D.C. from Veradera, watching the brewing storm from the window, wondering idly if it will turn into one of the thunderstorms that more usually characterize summers.

He likes thunderstorms, remembers August afternoons spent running out into the tempest with Loraine and his other sisters, dancing through forming puddles and letting the rain and wind ruin their hair as their mother screamed at them to come inside before they tempted fate and ended up being the unlucky idiots who got hit by lightning. Evie would recount statistics of lightning strikes, shark attacks, car crashes, every you’re more likely to as she would carefully place a palm out into the rain by their mother’s side, the only one who knew the unlikely odds, yet feared the chances more than the rest of them, Lance and the others contented to the risk in exchange for the joy.

Beside Lance, Hunk is silent, and that steals more of his attention than even the storm.

He had thought they had reached a new stability, after the summer. It’s not perfect, and Lance fucks it up more than he gets it right—like anything—but he tries, he tries to be more open, to not shut Hunk out when he feels himself slipping, and he knows that’s all Hunk was looking for, really—a token of effort, a bit more consistency in Lance’s treatment of him.

It is better. It feels better, than before. Not perfection, but honesty, human and flawed, there to be seen and heard.

And in turn he has felt Hunk try to be more understanding of Lance’s other forms of support, quieter on the afternoons Mavis calls, giving him the space he needs.

Which is why this past weekend—which took a turn from a friendly goodbye on Friday night when Hunk opted to go home with his grandmother to two days of Hunk straight up vanishing, rounded out by an awkwardly silent car ride and wait to board the train—is somewhat of an aberration.

Ok no, very much of an aberration.

And the thing is, Lance can’t figure out why. As far as he can tell, he’s done nothing to promote the return of Hunk’s silent treatment—and while Lance will fully acknowledge he has vast capabilities to be a dick, he’d like to think he’s at least self-aware enough to realize when he’s being a dick.

In truth, the longer Hunk remains silent, and the longer Lance racks his brain while tracing raindrops on the window, the more he begins to wonder if it does have anything to do with him at all. While Hunk hasn’t really been looking at him, it hasn’t seemed pointed, and the few times their eyes have met, Lance hasn’t detected the quiet fury he usually feels radiating off of Hunk when he’s truly angry at him, but just…distraction, lack of focus.

Hunk’s mind is somewhere else, as out of tune with his surroundings as Lance had been in Ritzie’s bedroom when he’d stood thinking of things that once were, and Lance frankly has no idea as to what holds his attention so drastically, except that it may not in fact be concerned with Lance himself.

Shocking, he knows, but he’d also like to think he took the portion of Hunk’s lecture about how his life doesn’t revolve around Lance to heart along with the rest of it.

Which really only leaves the question of what non-Lance-related puzzle has Hunk so wrapped up.

Next to him, Hunk shifts, pulling an envelope with a clumsily shredded top and loopy handwriting on the front out of his bag and turning it over again and again in his hands. It’s a repetitive motion he’s already done a couple times during the train ride, before tucking the envelope back into his bag until the next time he draws it out and does it all over again. Lance is drawn to it, watching Hunk’s large hands handle the envelope with the kind of dedicated fragility given to something revered, or something feared.

Stealing one quick glance at Evie in the aisle seat, who is still conveniently focused on her laptop, thick eyebrows lowered and glaring at the screen, Lance leans out and carefully taps the edge of the envelope. Startled, Hunk retracts it instantly, clutching it to his chest as if he instinctively expects it to be stolen away, and blinks, turning to Lance.

“You alright?” Lance asks quietly, and Hunk quirks a false smile far too easily, leaving Lance wondering when he learned to do so well what Lance does all the time.

“Fine.”

“…Uhuh.” Lance glances down at the envelope pointedly, and Hunk’s hands around it twitch nervously. “Look, you know I’m not going to make you talk about whatever’s going on, but…”

Hunk winces, eyes lowering to the envelope. “That obvious, huh?” He looks back up to Lance’s deadpan stare, and snorts. “Ok, yeah, fair.” Eyes flickering to Evie’s profile next to him, Hunk shakes his head and mutters under his breath, “I’ll tell you about it later, not here.”

Lance casts a questioning glance around the half-empty train car, and then looks pointedly to Evie’s headphones fit snugly over her ears. “Hey Evie, Karen was the one who broke your DS when you were eighteen.” Evie doesn’t even glance up, completely unawares of anything he’s saying, and Lance turns back to Hunk, who rolls his eyes.

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Hey I’m just saying in terms of privacy, this isn’t actually that bad.”

“Yeah, but—“ Hunk leans forward. “It’s about—it’s about my mom, ok?” he hisses under his breath, and Lance jerks in surprise.

“Your mom?” he asks, and Hunk just nods jerkily.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Lance mumbles, and nods in turn, sitting back. “Ok.”

Hunk says nothing, falling back to his pattern with the envelope, turning it over and over again, fingers shaky as they skate around thin pencil lines to avoid smudging the writing, and Lance is left to wonder at exactly what secrets it contains. Is it a letter from her, a letter about her?

Lance has never met Awhina Garrett, the highflying woman who could never ground herself enough to be a caretaker. He’s seen pictures, old things depicting times long before, shoved up onto the fireplace mantle in Hunk’s home. She is mythic in that house, and in Lance’s own for that matter, unspoken of beyond the occasional whisper of a story from Hunk’s grandmother. It is not that she is a disgraced topic, or something uncouth to breathe mention of, but more that she is simply…not present. She has not been a part of Hunk’s life for a very long time, and never part of their lives, part of Veradera.

What could she even have to say, to the son who barely knows her?

Obviously, whatever it was, it was enough to rattle Hunk.

The silence between them lingers the rest of the train ride back to school, eyes largely not meeting save for conspicuously shared glances of waiting tension as Evie tiredly drags them out of their train and onto the local Metrorail one with the stop that puts them closest to Greenwood’s front gates. She waves them off distractedly, already answering a call from their grandfather about a sudden and immediate problem with the television he wants her to resolve right now, please.

They walk up the front steps of their dorm to the tune of Evie loudly explaining that no, Abuelito, she can’t fix the T.V. with the remote power of her mind because shockingly even she isn’t that good, and Lance has to stifle a grin even with Hunk shifting anxiously next to him.

He calls out his goodbye cheerfully, and Evie makes a face at him as she holds the phone out away from her ear enough that their grandfather’s confused bellowing won’t blow her eardrum.

Once they get up to their room, Hunk makes a beeline for his bed, flopping onto it gratefully, and Lance leans heavily against the door after he shuts it, eyeing Hunk speculatively as his friend makes exhausted sounds and rolls around onto his back, already fishing the letter out of his hoodie pocket. “So. Your mom, huh?”

Hunk heaves a heavy sigh. “Yep.”

Lance thinks back to the weekend’s lack of Hunk’s presence, and almost without thought slides to the ground, back resting against the door. “Was she here this weekend?”

Hunk blinks, and shakes his head, face furrowing into contemplation. “No, but uh—“ He stops, considering. “She’s been…around.”

“Around?”

“Earlier this week,” Hunk says, pushing himself up enough to sit back against the headboard. “Just a couple of days. Don’t know if she did that on purpose. She and Nana write, sometimes. When Nana has an address, at least. I guess she’d probably know I’m at boarding school by now, when I’d be home and when I wouldn’t be. Maybe.” He grimaces. “Maybe they don’t talk about me at all.”

Lance just crosses his arms over his knees, leans forward and rests his chin onto them, eyes trained to the floor. There is no easy answer here. Either Hunk’s mother knew his life’s schedule, and chose to come on days when he wouldn’t be present. Or she didn’t, which leaves the implication that she never asks about him at all. He honestly can’t say which would be more disappointing, or more comforting to Hunk—that his mother may have avoided him, or that she does not think of him.

Despite the close intimacy they share compared to their other friends, even they have things they do not speak of, unless in desperation. Lance’s hair—the incident that put him down this road to begin with. Loraine, sometimes, and what she meant to both of them.

Hunk’s mother—she, too, is one of the things they do not ask each other unprompted.

Lance was shared the story—or lack of it—for her…her un-presence in Hunk’s life in confidence when they were younger. Of how Hunk has that parental gap he doesn’t quite know if he even misses, when he never had something to begin to miss in the first place. Beyond that, it was something rarely mentioned between the two of them, it just was. Is.

Some things, for better or worse, are immovable.

Lance’s life will not resolve itself with waiting. Ritzie’s parents will not suddenly reconcile. Hunk’s mother will not come home to him.

“What happened?” he asks, rather than offer comfort. Hunk’s shoulders slump in subtle relief, and Lance decides he made the right call.

“She’s apparently on one of her ‘clean up the act and all loose ends’ kicks,” Hunk says softly, looking down to the envelope sitting in his lap. “Nana says they work, sometimes. For a little while.”

“…What happened, Hunk?”

“I don’t—“ Hunk makes a frustrated sound, curling up on himself. “It’s not like I’m angry, really. Though maybe I’m supposed to be. She just…was never the sort of person meant to be a mother. Anyone’s mother, not just mine. That’s not—I know that’s not my fault, it might not even be hers, but—“

“It hurts?” Lance guesses, thinking of Ritzie, and Hunk looks up, smile tenuous and grateful, even with watery eyes.

“Yeah.”

And then the tears spill over.

Lance moves on instinct, crossing the room to Hunk’s bed and sitting across from him. He looks around for a tissue for all of half a second, before promptly giving up and opting to pull his jacket sleeve over his hand and use it to dab ineffectively at Hunk’s face. Hunk makes an embarrassed noise, hands reaching up to try and push Lance’s hand away and wipe at his face himself, and Lance gently slaps them away with his spare hand until Hunk huffs in resignation and gives up. He looks mostly tiredly amused by the time Lance is done.

“Crybaby,” Lance mutters halfheartedly as he withdraws his hand, not meaning it in the slightest, and Hunk’s patient look indicates he knows Lance doesn’t mean it either. “Your skin always gets so blotchy.”

“Yes, because I’m really worried about that, Lance,” Hunk says dryly, even as he sniffles one last time and wipes his nose with the back of his hand, making a face. “Where’s the tissue box?”

“No idea.” Rummaging around in his jacket pockets, Lance finally turns up an old napkin he thinks he stole from the school cafeteria last week, and offers it to Hunk. Despite the suspicious look he gives it, Hunk accepts, wiping his hand and then wiping again at his face. Glancing down at the envelope still sitting between them, Lance draws in a deep breath. “Look, whatever your mom wrote—“

“My mom didn’t write that,” Hunk mumbles, scrubbing the napkin over his nose and eyes one last time and then balling it up in his hands, placing them back in his lap and reaching out one finger to tap the edge of the letter apprehensively. “It was—my—“ He sighs. “My dad did.”

Lance blinks. And then blinks again. Confusion wells up, and he stares at Hunk blankly.

One of the things Lance has always known with complete certainty in life is that Hunk doesn’t have a dad, at least not one he can put name and face to. There had only been Hunk’s mother, the unavailable, the unobtainable, and his grandmother, the homemaker, the caretaker. The technical family tree made up of the woman who birthed him, and the woman who raised him, none other.

“Your dad?”

Hunk sucks in a breath. “Yep.”

“But I thought—“ Lance wavers. “How?”

“Apparently part of the whole tying up loose ends thing meant visiting some old haunts,” Hunk says, with a kind of self-deprecating laugh, and Lance isn’t quite sure why. “She ran into an old flame, they caught up, and I guess somewhere along the way she decided it might be worth mentioning she had a kid that was half his.”

“Jesus,” Lance says faintly, and somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear his own mother—or Marcie, maybe—making a scandalized noise at his language choice. “And she’s uh…sure?”

“As sure as it’d ever be without a test.” Hunk shrugs. “She never stayed with anyone for long, but she never saw more than one person at once. Even I know that much, from her and Nana’s old letters and stuff.” He hums halfheartedly, a low, conflicted sound, eyes dropping again to the letter. “…She never told him, before. Just left when it was time for her to float off somewhere new. I have no idea why she brought it up now of all times, or if she even expressly did and he just did the math with my age o-or something and asked her but—“ Hunk glances up, staring at Lance with solemnity, and more than a hint of panic. “He is. He’s my dad.”

“He’s your dad,” Lance repeats with as much breathless awe as Hunk, and now his friend looks even more terrified, as if Lance’s speaking it somehow made it that much more real. He looks down to the letter once more in time with Hunk, and suddenly the way Hunk so reverently handled it, and the weight of it, metaphorically speaking, makes sense. “…Where? Where is he, I mean?”

New Zealand. Australia, maybe. The U.S.? Where else had Hunk’s mother been?

“You won’t believe it,” Hunk says, and when Lance looks to him, raising an eyebrow, Hunk giggles, suddenly seeming giddily overwhelmed. “Samoa.”

“…Samoa.”

Hunk nods frantically, eyes wide and excited. “Samoa. The uh—the independent state, not the American territory portion.”

“Why the hell was your mom in Samoa?” Lance asks, and suddenly he’s laughing too, stifling helpless snorts into his hands because this conversation was so entirely not what he had expected, and God—Hunk has a father, a father in Samoa. A father with a name and an address and—and—all the proof of a living and being of a person.

“I don’t know!” Hunk answers, throwing his hands up before he has to quickly pull them down again to muffle his own laughter. “She just—she just was!”

“I guess, geographically, it’s sort of logical.” Lance says, as the last of his giggles die down. “Especially if she was island-hopping around that part of the Pacific.”

“Who knows with my mother, honestly,” Hunk says, sounding mystified but not particularly upset, and Lance feels glad Hunk seems to be more at ease, at least until he looks back to the letter, and his shoulders slump slightly. A more serious expression sets on Hunk’s face, and he doesn’t look upset, really, so much as just very…contemplative. “He wrote this, for my mom to give to me. He wants—he wants to meet me. At Christmas, or the summer, whenever I’m comfortable. He—“

Hunk hesitates, and Lance leans forward, offering his hand to Hunk as an anchor. He takes it, smile grateful, and Lance intertwines their fingers as he taps Hunk’s name on the envelope carefully with his other hand. “Do you want to meet him?”

“I—“ Hunk’s face cracks, uncertain and frightened. “I don’t know? For so long when I was younger, littler but old enough to understand, all I wanted was to—to know. And then I accepted I never would, and now…” Hunk’s voice cracks, and his spare hand grabs at the forgotten napkin to scrunch and twist between his fingers anxiously. “What if it goes wrong? What if—what if he doesn’t like me?” he finishes, voice small.

“Hunk,” Lance says firmly. “Of course he’ll like you.”

“My mom doesn’t like me,” Hunk whispers.

“No,” Lance says, reaching up to touch Hunk’s chin and gently raise his face upward so that they can look eye to eye. He knows enough about running away from things, about the times Hunk has had to confront him and force him to see his own hypocrisy. It’s time he did the same. “Your mom doesn’t want to be a parent. You said it yourself. It’s not about what you can and can’t be for her, it’s about what she can and can’t be, and therefore not your fault.” He smiles as gently as he can manage. “You’re always there to tell me when I’m being an idiot, so now I’m returning the favor. You have no duty to your dad, blood doesn’t create a relationship, and if you don’t want to meet him you don’t have to. But don’t run away because you think he might not want to know you when he’s already indicated he does, otherwise you’re being just as dumb as I am whenever I panic and push people away.”

Hunk sniffs, and is back to wiping ineffectually at his eyes with the napkin. “Don’t compare my biggest moment of crisis in my life to your—your repetitive cycles of ‘I must solve everything myself’ self-sacrificing nonsense.”

“You’re welcome,” Lance says, grinning, and Hunk throws the napkin at him, the crumpled paper batting softly off his nose.

“…I just don’t know what I want,” Hunk admits softly after a long moment. “I never even thought this would be an option, you know?”

Lance thinks of all the unfixable things that haunt him, that drive him. What he would do, if he had an option to suddenly change it all. At first instinct, it seems easy. Bring Loraine back, repair his family, make himself…himself again. But it’s not that easy, really. If he could reverse the last year and a half…he’d lose Mavis all over again, would have never met Ritzie.

They’re not equivalent to Loraine in any way, shape, or form, but in the same sense she isn’t—she isn’t equivalent to them. You can’t trade away one person for another, balance out the equation and decide who’s worth more. Loraine was—is—everything, but Mavis, his friends…they’re important too. He wants Loraine back more than anything in the world, but he wants so many things. Wants his family to be ok again, wants his mother to have never been sick, wants Mavis to have never left, but sometimes bad things just…happen.               And would he even know how to be her Lance again, if the world reset and he could have everything back?

“Yeah,” he says to Hunk eventually, shrugging tiredly. “I know.”

“…What would you do?” Hunk asks, and Lance snorts.

“I don’t know if I’m the right person to ask, my dad was dead long before I was around.” Hunk makes a face at him, and Lance sighs. “I don’t know either, ok? Sometimes family isn’t what you expect it to be…for better or for worse.” He hesitates, and then grabs the envelope, picking it up and turning it to face Hunk. “It’s your decision to make, and it’s not like you have to do it now. But you have a chance, and if you want this, then don’t give it up and regret it down the line.”

So many unchangeable things happen, to all of them, but one of the few things Lance feels like he’s learned—with every fuckup and face slap and New York city street—is that you can’t run away from change, either. To hold onto his past, to Loraine, and to survive, he must change. Otherwise he’ll never reach the Garrison. Never reach her stars, his stars, their stars.

The unfixable is immovable, but change is also inevitable.

“If you want to know your dad, Hunk,” Lance says quietly, “Don’t let fear keep you from family.”

“You’re one to talk,” Hunk snorts unthinkingly, and Lance winces, glad Hunk doesn’t notice when he does. His family issues aren’t the ones on the table, right now. “I— yeah. Ok,” Hunk says, and when he squeezes Lance’s hand, Lance squeezes back.

“Ok,” he breathes. “Good.”

[aceofwands]

Ria hateblogs Discovery: Episode 9 (I can’t even be bothered looking up the title), liveblogged to @kendradaynes

we cut back to Discovery in orbit of Pahvo waiting for the Klingons to arrive. apparently the Vulcan Admiral has ordered all Federation ships to go back behind Federation lines, and is ordering them to retreat????

how ... does that make sense? like yes, they blew you up last time. but what has Starfleet been doing the past 6 months? twiddling it's thumbs?? is Discovery's dumb spore drive their only innovation?? they haven't come up with any other new weapons or tactics or anything?

Lorca is arguing to save the Pahvans - like why is Starfleet not pro saving these aliens lives? they're trying to save the Discovery instead. shouldn't they send every ship they've got?

apparently, he's just explained (I keep pausing it again lol) they're NOW trying to regroup to crack the secret of the invisibility screens. this is just so bad. and as usual, defies all belief! they haven't been working on this the entire time??? they need all these warships to retreat to help out with this????? 

like what. it doesn't even make sense

"You want me to run from a fight, and leave a peaceful species to face annihilation" - Lorca, for once arguing for the right thing, solely because the plot needs him to, but also because vengeance lol

he's going along with the order ... at Warp 5 ... because he has no intention of reaching their destination (starbase 46) because if you're planning on defying a direct order, best not to advertise the fact ... ummmmmmmm what? huh? what exactly are they gonna do about it if you do??? this show is so dumb Shin I swear to god

they now have 3 hours to figure out how to get through the invisibility screen apparently. even though we all know Klingons can't fire while oh that's right it's not cloaking technology -eye roll-

he's now talking to Stamets about faking a reason they can't jump (and i'll probably stop pausing it to explain every little plot nuance cause then I'll be here all night and like, I have better things to get back to after this lol)

LOL Stamets is now being ordered to get a full physical at medical. and run every test possible. for their fake alibi. except he's freaking out because LOL he's been having really obvious issues that no one has reported cause Tilly is dumb and I guess everyone else has been brushing it off??? 

idk I can't even come up with reasonable excuses any more. it just makes zero fucking sense and I am so glad it's going to be done for the next 2 months

also my friend shared a rumour that they're going to be stranded Voyager style so we'll see

I haaaaate the warp effect, stupid JJ abrams BS

Michael just called it a cloak. WHICH THE KLINGONS DO NOT HAVE FFS. they're science-ing it up ......................................................... their solution ... is to beam aboard the Klingon ship ... and put sensors on board........... I can't even Shin. that is the dumbest fucking plan I've EVER HEARD

Tyler is now explaining how they'll use the Discovery as bait ....... they're talking about how the Klingon ship has to lower its cloak to fight them, and that's the window they'll use ... but then like ..... if they're fighting them .... they won't be cloaked .... .... so what's the issue? why are they even doing this?

HUH now Michael's saying it'll take days for them to collect this sensor data. and Lorca is all "we don't have days, but we do have a spore drive"

fuck off with this dumb show already omfg

cut to Doc Culber being all 'lol you wanted evidence there was an issue HOLY SHIT IS THERE AN ISSUE' apparently it's reshaping his brain. Lorca isn't phased. because Stamets is claiming he isn't experiencing side effects. why is everyone on this crew so stupid???

now Lorca wants him to make 133 jumps to get the sensor scans super quick. Lorca is making a sorrowful speech. Stamets is like 'the system isn't prepared for this' now Lorca's telling him that won't stop him cause he's an explorer, didn't stay in a lab, blah blah blah.

Lorca has been accumulating data on the jumps the whole time. oooooooooh and they've been seeing pockets of parallel alternative universes. Lorca does not seem surprised by this ... Mirror Lorca theory is seeming more legit

"We have to win this war, but then" "then the journey continues" yeah like this dumb show cares about exploring diddly

Tyler is requesting Michael accompany him to the Klingon vessel ... that did NOT go well last time ... but she's the only one who knows where some thing is on the ship. Michael's now telling Lorca off for not wanting her to go. blah blah blah impassioned speech. she's the most qualified to do this, blah blah, or else she has no purpose here blah blah

uuuuugh it's so tedious Shin. I wish you were watching at the same time solely so I didn't have to explain all the dumb shit because there is just ... so much 

LOL so Doc just came to say he's gonna make sure they take precautions with Stamets and Tilly is all 'oh I'm so glad he finally told you about the side effects'. Doc: "SIDE EFFECTS?". Doc is PISSED. understandably. Stamets looks so betrayed - yeah like it's Tilly's fault you're an idiot. he looks so sad going in

ugh Lorca is giving a speech "when I took command of this vessel, you were a crew of polite scientists, now I look at you, you are fierce warriors all. No other Federation vessel is capable of pulling this off, just us."

the Klingons arrived, Disco jumped back. uuuuuugh Klingon scenes. "the humans are fools" well you're not wrong Kol

what exactly are these dumb Pahvans doing now these two enemies are here anyway? exactly nothing because their purpose is served

apparently they have pattern simulators that will mask Tyler and Michael's human lifesigns. because THAT'S a thing that exists ffs!

the battles are seriously like video games. they look SO fake, and the pew pew phasers are the worst!

but we're already with Tyler and Michael on board the ship, their bloody sensor things TALK TO THEM! they're on a STEALTH MISSION! it literally said out loud "uplink to Discovery established" WHY WOULDN'T YOU PUT IT IN MUTE?guarantee someone's gonna hear it when they put another one

Michael is now detecting a human lifesign. and is insisting they have to go after it. why wouldn't you plant the sensors first ............ he just told her she had 60 seconds to crack the door and then when she didn't do it first go, immediately said 'let me try' like ummmm worst dialogue ever. he's pulled off the panel with a knife and cut the cords lol. 

and what a surprise, it's the admiral they all forgot about! L'Rell is in here too. Tyler has his phaser pointed at her, and she's getting up. flashback to her torturing him. Tyler's freaking out, Michael stunned L'Rell

he's the only character I care about atm, some actual decent acting

LOL the Admiral just explained that she's treated patients like him with PTSD and he's in shock NO SHIT

Michael is leaving Tyler and the Admiral to go and plant the sensor on the bridge or whatever

cut back to the battle .... this is one of the worst space battles I've ever seen! they only showed the briefest bit - it doesn't even feel like the ship is at battle!

that is the quietest, most chill Klingon bridge in battle I've ever seen

the Discovery is jumping around shooting it ... why do they even need sensors to find the cloak frequency from on board the ship???????

THIS PLAN MAKES NO SENSE

IF THEY HAVE A SENSOR ON BOARD THE SHIP THEN THEY HAVE THE LOCATION OF THE SHIP

THEY CAN JUST SHOOT AT THEM????????????????????????????????

*OUTRAGED NOISES*

Disco is jumping around getting its wild scans. but no surprise Stamets is being massively effected. if only he'd told anyone other than Tilly about the side effects he was experiencing!

the Admiral is counselling Tyler .... explaining that he's experiencing past trauma ... usually I'd be all about Star Trek tackling trauma, and it's not entirely terrible, but ugh

the music is all tragic strings while Stamets is starting to go crazy. Doc is begging them to stop. but Lorca is ordering them to continue ....... how is this EVEN MORE ethically dubious than the Equinox?!

the Klingons have picked up sabotage on board. Michael is now shooting them - I think they were gonna warp away? idk

OMFG SHIN so Michael just said she wanted to talk to Kol (she was literally hiding right on the bridge, but because it's a giant stupid cathedral it wasn't hard to hide) and - get this - is explaining that she didn't speak Klingon, she's using a universal translator "an example of human ingenuity"

KLINGONS HAVE FUCKING TRANSLATORS

THEY KNOW WHAT THEY ARE

HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN FUCKING ENTERPRISE? they have an entire fucking Klingon court scene where Archer speaks into a translator if my memory serves. just like Kirk in Undiscovered Country

they're not even pretending they're in the prime universe any more 

ffs I just unpaused it and Kol goes "all I see is another attempt to rob us of our Klingon identity"

what

Michael: "it's proof of our desire to communicate"

IT'S A TRANSLATOR! IT'S A NECESSARY PART OF ANY SPACEFARING RACE! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!!! 

he's now speaking English btw so doesn’t that make his whole argument moot?

Kol has Georgiou's badge. blah blah she's telling him off for having no honour, explains she was here when T'Kuvma fell and Kol stole his ship, I don't even fucking care any more it's just so bad

back to Tyler and the Admiral (who can't move her legs btw) she's trying to shoot them, and telling off Tyler for not getting up to help???? 

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh looooooord a flashback to him kissing Michael from last ep broke him out of his shock! FUCK OFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

back to Michael facing off against Kol. she's now demanding he fight her

.................

where is the Discovery during this??????

are they still jumping around?

WHY DOES NO ONE CARE

THEY ARE LITERALLY STANDING AROUND WATCHING THEM FIGHT NOW

THE CREW IS JUST STANDING THERE

WATCHING

YOU'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BATTLE

I CAN'T EVEN SHINy

eah, she got knocked down, gets back up ... and we cut back to Disco jumping and a montage of them jumping, about to do the last one

which you wouldn't know was happening based on the KLINGON BRIDGE

5 mins to analyse data. LOL Lorca just asked 'why aren't they firing?' when they were sitting around after the last jump

BECAUSE THEY'RE WATCHING A FIGHT ON THEIR BRIDGE

BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT KLINGONS DO IN THIS RIDICULOUS ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

OH LORD the camera is swirling around during the fight. 

stop

moving

ugh making me sick so I'm gonna look at the chat window

looks like she stabbed him

LOL they're beaming them out of there. L'Rell just jumped onto Tyler when they transported them off. Michael stole the badge from Kol, did a dramatic jump off the balcony that's on this stupid bridge, and was beamed off

Saru just told Lorca that they also beamed on the Admiral, and his face is like OH SHIT BUT I LEFT HER FOR DEAD

this has been .... the most un-tense. un-dramatic battle

they just blew up the Klingon ship

why they couldn't have beamed something over there and done this IDK

there's lotsa dramatic stares between Michael and Lorca, Tyler, Saru, as the ship explodes .... slow mo of the dramatic looks .... and epic choir music .... and it was the most un-dramatic thing I've ever seen

they had to do all these dramatic effects and music to make it seem exciting

apparently the Vulcan Admiral is totally cool with Lorca disobeying a direct order?

they want Disco to return to Starbase to award Lorca the Legion of Honour

.................

I'm not even surprised at this point

Michael has come to visit Tyler in his quarters. they're having an emotional talk about how he puts on a facade that he's fine

WAIT WHAT

Michael: "but when you saw that Klingon .... who is she to you?"

WHAT, HE LITERALLY WENT INTO SHOCK. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK SHE IS MICHAEL

Tyler: "I think you already know" NO SHIT

omg they're talking about this and it's so awkward

this is the ONLY genuine part of the whole fucking show

how have they actually managed to write something REAL? within the rest of this garbage?

I still think he's Voq and his memories were just erased

oh lord they ruined it now: "you deserve to live in peace", him: "I've found peace, right here," and then they kiss

like god way to ruin it

now we're back to Stamets who is looking out of it. Lorca is saying they wanted to give him a medal, but he told them to give it to Stamets, GOOD! finally he's being decent! 

huh Lorca then just said there are more Klingons on the way, hell bent on revenge, and he wishes they could stay and fight ... are they actually gonna send any other ships to deal with that???? 

LOL

Stamets is saying they'll do one more jump to get the crew back to safety

HERE WE GO

GUARANTEE THEY'RE ABOUT TO GO VOYAGER ON US

Stamets is saying one more jump and he's done with it "because I need Starfleet's best doctors to examine my condition and figure out what's been happening to me" and Lorca is all ' ..... okay I guess' 

he looks SO reluctant

ugh, flashbacks of Tyler and L'Rell

do we really need to see this

WERE THOSE KLINGON BOOBS

ffs I miss PG Star Trek

he woke up from his nightmare and has gone to see L'Rell in the brig

"what did you do to me?" "do not worry, I will never let them hurt you"??? huh

"soon"

yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah guarantee he's Voq

awww Stamets and Doc finally got to kiss

it's so predictable

even if I hadn't heard they were gonna get stranded

watching this makes it so obvious

oooooooooooh

LORCA ENTERED THE COORDINATES "let's go home"

yeah he's from the Mirror U

Stamets just screamed when it activated. they jumped. they are totes going to the Mirror U

Stamets collapsed, his eyes are going funny

yep, they're unable to confirm their position

LOL

predictions for the next half: they're in the mirror universe, Tyler will be revealed to be Voq 

Boy am I glad that’s over until January!

[feministangertranslator]

The Daily Deluge

Image from Femstella

Bombshells big and small are being dropped daily as the result of the #metoo movement. I feel disappointed I don't have more hours in the day to read every tidbit of news about what is shaping up to be another major chapter in feminism, let alone sit down, process, and write about my perspective on it. I really wanted to have written more here by now. I am so busy loving the smell the Napalm in the morning, it’s hard to get much of anything else done.  Sometimes I want to call in sick to everything and everybody, make a bowl of popcorn and watch the patriarchy burn down from the comfort of my cozy home.  Honestly, I could eat this shit up all day and don’t want to miss a minute of it.

This, unfortunately, leads me to often find myself in ravenous consumption mode as opposed to thoughtful and deliberate output mode: I am devouring all of the news of the men who have been accused of sexual misconduct and their (mostly ridiculous) statements - I’m not even going to call those PR and attorney crafted liability avoiders apologies. Equally, I enjoy all of the beautiful heart-filled articles, posts, and videos from other survivors of sexual assault who are expressing reactions, thoughts, and feelings to which I strongly relate. I have a docket of saved articles in my Facebook account, tons of bookmarked Instagram posts, and cued up podcasts competing for my attention. I have to force myself to pull out of the social media rabbit hole, get up and away from my computer (sometimes TV) to go brush my teeth, straighten my hair, put food in my mouth, earn money, and do other things that are vital to taking care of myself. They seem so much more boring in comparison to the day of reckoning that seems to be unfolding right before my eyes.

I must resist this siren call for a few reasons. Firstly, I know this is the position our capitalist society wants me in: too busy watching, ingesting, consuming, buying, and promoting the ideas and goods being peddled by others to get angry about all the more important injustices and inequities from the fallout of capitalism befalling me and the rest of us. Fuck that. That is one of the reasons why I stopped working in television. I couldn't imagine myself working so hard to be (if I were so lucky) a part of a successful show; at the end of the day, even the best creation will always be an opiate of the people to me.

Whether it is the thoughts, theories, or products of others, like most of us Americans, I have been trained to consume and have reveled in it for too long. (My family is Romanian and I can definitely see the difference in some of our shopping and lifestyle habits). And I want to use my time, energy, effort, voice and dollars to only support who and what I believe in, and what will support and sustain me. It’s not just money that I have to be concerned with, it’s time and energy - which frankly, are more precious, and affect me, my psyche and actions, and therefore my life, tremendously.

What I choose to consume has to have the purpose either to benefit, uplift or inspire me, too. Because I am also dying to create and share I have to be mindful to not overconsume to numb myself out and satiate the fire inside me to make stuff. While part of me wants America to take a few cues from the Nordic market economy model or conversely maybe give Libertarianism a real shot, American capitalism can obviously work for others, albeit a select handful. So I have to believe I am also worthy of a piece of that pie, and there has to be a market for what I have to offer.  

For example, I find myself obsessing about the Roy Moore story. I need to constantly remind myself that paying too much attention to him and Leigh Corfman, with whom I identify with strongly who was brave enough to shed light on how he molested her by grooming and taking advantage of her, at some point puts me in the observer and consumer mode. If I’m not careful, the contact high I get from her beautiful inspired acts can placate me enough to detract from what I can do for myself, too. It is definitely easier to watch her do it than to put myself out on a limb in the public eye, even though I passionately want to get out there myself.

As a woman who was at many points throughout my childhood, adolescence, and even adulthood silenced through intimidation and abuse, I must heed the call to speak up and let it surpass my urge to stay comfortable and quiet because I think it will keep me “safe.” I must constantly fight the further ingrained notion that others (especially men) know better than me. That I’m not worthy of listening to. Or that I don’t know quite enough yet to open my mouth. This has plagued me for years - despite getting an English degree from America’s top public university, making it through the ringer to become a licensed attorney in one of the most difficult states to pass the bar, ranking obscenely high in verbal ability on an IQ test, doing well at public speaking in some of my jobs, and even breaking into difficult industries and making multiple career changes.

External achievements are no match against a deeply long-held belief that I am only here to serve others, and my life, safety, comfort, and opinions don’t matter. It would follow and haunt me in every job or relationship I had. I truly believe it started with experiencing many “adverse childhood experiences,” specifically being sexually abused by someone in my family who was supposed to take care of me instead of use and abuse me. This, of course, set me up for many years of unconsciously repeating that dynamic in a lot of my other relationships and further cementing this completely false belief as a “truth” for me. I know this is why it is important for me to speak now. It is the antidote to all my internalized shame, hatred and anger. That was someone else’s bullshit, dysfunction and pain put upon me, and I don’t want it anymore. And if anything I say can help someone else stop putting up with it, too, it will all be worth it.

I know I am not fully ready to say or act upon all that I have weighing on my heart and mind yet. Because I am insanely jealous of the output of others who are, I know I will do it, too. I have to make small steps that work for me, be patient, and hold onto my knowing I will get there when it is my time. As Julia Cameron said in the Artist Way, jealousy is a roadmap; to paraphrase in my terms, its purpose is to tell you where you want to go, what you want to do, and who you want to be by making you so fucking mad when you see someone else is doing it and you are not. It’s that simple.

I know why I am a bit hesitant to say what I truly feel, talk about my own experiences, and make myself vulnerable to judgment. It is way easier to read something someone else did and share it with a quick comment on social media as opposed to say and create something from my own heart. There is less of my skin in the game. And the game of speaking out about feminism and sexual abuse and assault? I already know what the rules are. When women publicly speak out about anything related to women’s rights, people (almost all of them men) systematically call them fat and ugly and threaten to rape and kill them. They try to silence them by attacking their womanhood: their looks (what society has deemed a woman’s hottest commodity), their sense of emotional and personal safety (through means of violating the anatomical vulnerability of their genitals in comparison to men’s), their actual lives (murder, duh), and if that isn’t enough, their straight up worthiness of being alive (by making them feel unattractive, unsafe, unloved, unwanted, unintelligent, unworthy and ultimately emotionally annihilated). For a woman not up to withstanding that attack, the threatening perpetrator doesn’t have to actually follow through on his threat; his words and fear they create are enough. Men systemically perpetrating violence against women is alive and well in our culture and we all know it.

Wielding the power to drum up fear of personal attack or violence is the main tool used to control women and it can be incredibly effective against one who has already experienced such awful acts. And words can be just as powerful as actions in affecting someone’s sense of safety. These trolls know that. That’s exactly what Trump did to Rosie O’Donnell when he called her awful names and whatever else he has done to other women who ruffle his delicate feathers. A woman who has experienced that attack and/or violence firsthand has to be able to do a lot of work to come to the other side of it to feel free walking down the street safely, and even more so to be brave enough to talk about such controversial subjects in the public eye. So since I already know what the rules of the game are, I am in the process of deciding how I and when I want to play it, what I need to strengthen, and equipment I need to bring with me to make sure I come out of it victorious and intact.

[bubonickitten]

So what do you think are anders best traits (other than him worrying about mage rights and him being a compassive healer?) I really love him and I love the way you write about him so I'm just curious.

There’s a lot I love about him :0

I mean, on a personal level, he’s a really relatable character for me, so that’s part of why I like him so much.

But I also like him as a character in general. (I’ll put this post under a cut bc it got long.) 

Him being a compassionate healer and being incredibly passionate about mage rights are huge parts of his character and they’re honestly two of the biggest things that make me like him so much. 

Like, here’s a person who was subject to systemic abuse for most of his life, who knows full well the repercussions of rebelling against the status quo, but does it anyway, because his convictions are just that strong. He knows that the Circle and the Chantry are fundamentally wrong. He’s experienced and witnessed firsthand what happens to people who fight back. Hell, when we meet him Awakening, he’s only just recently been released from a year of solitary confinement for running away - he just got out and as soon as he was able to, he ran again. If he gets caught and sent back to the Circle again, he’s going back into solitary confinement at the very least, and by the time he’s in Kirkwall, he’s also possessed by a spirit, so he’s risking just being killed outright. He’s risking everything by fighting back so openly and actively, but he does it anyway. 

And it’s not just Justice’s presence that makes him so willing to fight. Even when he was running, he was fighting back, because by constantly running away, he was refusing to submit. But in Awakening, Anders did feel like he couldn’t have any impact on the status quo - he believed that things would change eventually, he believed that the way mages are treated is inherently and fundamentally wrong and one day things would be different, but he didn’t think he’d ever see it in his lifetime, and he didn’t believe he of all people could do anything to enact change. Justice helped him realize that he could be an agent of change, but that fire and that strong sense of right and wrong were already there - it just needed to be validated and encouraged, which Justice did for him. 

And I do like that Anders needed support to be able to get to that point, bc I feel like that’s... realistic, y’know? I don’t like the idea that everyone should have to fend for themselves and not have to rely on others to stand up and fight. He couldn’t do it alone, and there’s nothing wrong with that. He hasn’t gotten much support from others throughout his life, so I like that in this instance, he had someone to lean on. (And I still wish there were more opportunities to support him more actively in DA2.)  

Like, it was difficult for Anders to admit to those feelings of powerlessness - which is entirely understandable, because in his experience, showing that kind of vulnerability could get him killed or worse (if the templars considered a mage to be weak-willed, they might not even give them a chance at the Harrowing and just make them Tranquil outright - and Anders is canonically mentally ill, which I imagine added an extra burden in terms of hiding his vulnerability). So, outwardly, he talked a big talk about only being concerned with his own freedom and pretends to be more apathetic and careless than he actually is. 

This also shows a lot in terms of his sense of humor - it’s a lot of morbid sarcasm, irreverent joking, gallows humor even - because he uses it as a shield and a coping mechanism. Ngl, I love that aspect of him, it’s one of the things that started endearing him to me in Awakening first. I play my Hawke as having a similar sense of irreverent, snarky humor, so they play well off of one another. Humor as a coping mechanism is a character trait I tend to appreciate and relate to a lot, haha. 

Anyway, I think in actuality he cares so much it hurts. It might not seem like it when we first meet him in Awakening, but I think it’s just that it’s easier and psychologically safer for him to pretend he doesn’t care than it is to admit that he does care but feels powerless to change things. It takes a lot of strength (and also support from others, which again, is something that Anders hasn’t had much of throughout most of his life) to be able to confront your own vulnerability and try to channel it into something that benefits others. 

But even in Awakening, his actions often contradicted the “I don’t care about anyone but myself” talk - if you tell him to run away in the beginning of the game, he’ll do so, but he shows back up like five minutes later because he felt like he couldn’t leave the Warden to fight the darkspawn alone (he jokes about being “bad at the whole ‘fugitive from justice’ thing”, which... turns out to be way more accurate than he may even realize in that moment). In the endgame, he’s not eager to go along with the Warden to Amaranthine, but if you do bring him, he’s one of the companions who will argue against leaving Amaranthine to burn - his instincts might tell him to run, but he cares too much about the survivors in Amaranthine to leave them to their fate. 

Not to mention, canonically, spirit healers are kinda rare. They derive a lot of their power from spirits of compassion, which means earning spirits’ trust and cooperation. A person who isn’t compassionate probably wouldn’t be able to earn that cooperation of a spirit of compassion in the first place. Not to mention his interest in being a healer in general - it’s a big part of his identity, to the point where in DA2, one of the things he worries most about is not being able to heal anymore because he’s so afraid that he or Justice will accidentally hurt one of his patients.

I think a lot of his attachment to the healer role is also tied up in his own internalized belief that he has to be a Good Mage in order to deserve freedom - it seems contradictory, it’s something that goes against his stated principles, mages shouldn’t have to prove themselves and be ‘good’ mages according to the Chantry’s fucked up doctrine to deserve freedom and life and love, but he lived in the Circle for at least half his life and he definitely internalized a lot of the hateful messages they taught about mages. Fighting against those teachings is a constant battle for him - which also ties into his occasional crises of faith, because he’s an Andrastian and all the spiritual authorities in his life have taught him that he’s a non-person, that he’s inherently sinful and cursed and deserving of subjugation because he’s a mage. 

So, he has a lot of moments of self-doubt. He has a lifetime of trauma and abuse that affect his present well-being. He has a lot of self-loathing and a lot of fear of himself (the latter esp after merging with Justice). He doesn’t see himself as worthy of love or care, even if he talks passionately about how mages deserve those things - he often doesn’t give himself the same consideration that he’s willing to give others. He has an incredibly complicated relationship with his own anger - because his anger is totally and completely justifiable, but it scares him, because he associates rage and anger with demons and loss of control. (I think a big source of the conflict btwn he and Justice is how they differ re: embracing and accepting anger. For Justice, that anger is righteous fury, it’s justified, it’s a source of passion and change. For Anders, it’s a source of fear and insecurity a lot of the time. I think a lot of their miscommunication is rooted in that fear.)

But Anders works himself half to death trying to help as many people as he can for as long as he can, and even though he’s barely making a dent in all the suffering he sees in the world, even though he’s risking everything, he just keeps going, because that’s how strongly he believes and that’s how much he cares. Every mage he helps escape the Gallows, every patient he helps in his clinic is worth it to him. That kind of perseverance in the face of hopelessness and doubt and a world set against you is really admirable to me.

And I also like how clear it is that it doesn’t come easy to him. It’s not just some inspiration porn “you can do anything you set your mind to if you just try :)” thing. He stumbles a lot. He fails a lot. He spends most of DA2 in a constant state of anxiety and desperation (esp since he really doesn’t get much support from the people closest to him, except like… Justice and Hawke, if you play Hawke in a supportive role). He’s idealistic, but he can’t help but dip into periods of hopelessness and depression and doubt - partly because he has a mood disorder, partly because that’s just… expected for someone who’s seen as much shit as he has. His life is messy and he’s tired and it shows. But even when he’s running, he’s fighting. Sometimes, survival is in itself a form of rebellion and he’s a walking example of that. He is stubborn and although sometimes it’s a negative, it also has its perks. And that passion doesn’t just manifest as rage - it’s also love, because lbh, he is a hopeless romantic (in a dorky, endearing way at times) and in his romance route he loves Hawke fiercely.  

It’s a shame that he didn’t get more positive character development in DA2 (it’s no secret how resentful I am toward the writers, he and Justice really deserved better). I headcanon him over time learning how to communicate and coexist with Justice; learning to practice self-care and be kinder to himself; more fully accepting that he has a right to be angry and he doesn’t have to prove that he’s deserving of personhood or love.

And he has a fair amount of flaws for sure - he has a tendency to project his insecurities onto others (e.g. Merrill), he’s not a good ally to other marginalized groups (e.g. elves), he sometimes lashes out at others when they don’t deserve it (which, although I understand why he behaves that way, it still isn’t fair to others who are on the receiving end), he was manipulative in the ‘Justice’ quest (I understand his motivations but despite his intentions it wasn’t acceptable behavior) - but I think he has an ability to better himself in those areas and I like to headcanon that personal growth for him. (That’s not to say I want him to be a flawless character - nobody’s perfect, and a flawless character would be pretty flat and unrealistic, but I also like when characters are allowed to have personal growth in a positive direction.)

I guess, in all, he’s an interesting, likable, and relatable character for me - I wish the writers treated him better, I have a lot of criticisms wrt how he (and Justice) were written (including how Anders was treated as a bipolar character), and I’m also willing to criticize him where it’s deserved (I have a whole tag full of meta w/ my criticisms of him) - but overall he’s one of my faves.

 Tbh the reason why DA2 is my fave game in the series (despite all of my criticisms of the writing in it, esp Act 3) is the characters. Hawke is my favorite protag and DA2 has probably my favorite companion group - like, Anders, Merrill, Fenris, Isabela, and Varric are some of my fave characters in the whole series - so the characters are ultimately what make me like that game.  

[misskieshakate]

Langst Fic Idea Part 2!

Wow the first one went beyond 500 notes?? Like really?? For a fandom that swears their love and appreciation for Lance, we sure love to hurt him a lot.  As a thank you this is part 2 :))) 

 *I’m not really sure how langsty this is but here you go.*

 - The moment they noticed that Lance wasn’t with them, Pidge ran to the nearest control pad. 

 - When Lance flew away that night, Pidge placed tracking devices on each of the fighter jets in the hangar just in case. 

 - They crowd against Pidge, watching her as she tapped the screen multiple times. “I placed a device in all of the jets. I’m sure I can override the system with that so give me a sec…" 

 -“Fuck! Lance rewrote my program?” Because of that she was only able to track the ship and access the camera. And so they watched their battered and bruised friend place the ship in autopilot and try to give first aid to himself. - “Where is he going?” “He’s going back to Haggar.” Shiro said through gritted teeth, “ I heard him strike a deal before I passed out." 

 - "He was captured by the Galra and coming back to them? Screw that, i’m bringing him back!” “No Hunk. We just got Shiro back. We can’t lose another Paladin. We know where he is and he’s leading us to the Galra, this is our chance to blindside them for once.” - Hunk and Pidge argued hard with the princess but her logic was one where the universe has a chance in winning against the enemy. 

 - So they followed Lance’s ship and watched the Blue paladin writhe in pain. Hunk and Pidge stayed up every night watching diligently over Lance and often hear him sobbing himself to sleep. They thought it was because of his injuries but they didn’t know the extent of Lance’s pain. 

 - Because Lance was gone for a long time, Blue was left uncleaned ever since the day Shiro went missing. Hunk and Pidge made it their mission to scrub Blue clean for Lance, so they went to the hangar to give Blue a thorough washing. 

 - Once they were done, Blue’s shield went up and effectively trapping them inside. They pounded against the force field, even begged Blue to let them go but it was useless, the shield was not going away. 

 - Hunk called out to Yellow but she just sat there watching them. Pidge did the same with Green but the robo cat bowed its head when Blue let out a mechanical growl. 

 - “Guys, uhm… Blue wants you to come to the hangar asap. As soon as possible please, she’s kinda scary." 

 - When everyone was trapped inside Blue’s force field, Black pounced at Blue but Red immediately tackled Black to the ground, growling at their leader. Black stayed still a while after Green and Yellow pinned it down. 

 - they watched In amazement as the Lions did nothing to save them, even Allura was dumbfounded when she can’t control the lions. - Blue’s mouth opened beckoning them to enter. 

 - Once they were settled in Blue’s cockpit, Pidge’s initial action was to disable Blue’s forcefield. She sat on the pilot’s seat and was shocked with a bolt of electricity. The message was clear, no one sits on the pilot’s seat except her pilot. 

 - ‘All of you hurt my gentle Paladin. He did not deserve the way you treated him but he still loved all of you. You will stay and you will listen to me or suffer my wrath.’ The message was loud and clear… Blue was pissed. 

 - The temperature in the cockpit dropped a few degrees, fogging up their breaths as they breathed in and out the chilly air. 

 "Hey Blue! I hope you don’t mind if I hang out with you for a while. The guys are doing their thing and I guess they don’t need me for today.”

“I know it’s kinda late, Blue, but i just had a dream about one of my siblings and they were smiling at me…”

“Mind if I accompany you today, pretty thing? Haha was that a good pick up line? No it wasn’t huh… uhm, shiro and keith came out as a couple today. I don’t know how i feel about it, but it kinda hurts ya know. I get it, they’re perfect for each other, inevitable… haha what am i saying? As if i had a chance in the first place.”

 "Blue, why did you pick me? I’m… sub par, mediocre, average. I mean, I know i’m amazing and- ok ok i’m not using my ‘mask’ when I’m with you. Geez, you’re scary when you’re mad.”

 "Hey Blue, do you think i’m a part if this team? Because I know i’m not the best fighter but i try though. I love my friends so much that i’ll jump in front of a blaster for them… but will they do the same for me? Who am i kidding of course they do!“ 

"Pidge called me stupid today… i know it’s kinda true but it still hurt.”

 "Hunk and Pidge are doing this amazing thingy and i tried to help but they locked the door. They said that I talk too much… do i? Oh my god do I annoy you too? I’m sorry Blue, i’ll try to talk less.“

 ” ugh Keith is so… argsh! I know i suck in hand to hand but he didn’t need to call me useless!“ 

 ” you know that feeling when your leader doesn’t spare you a time of the day? Not listening to you and picking his boyfriend instead? I mean, i know that wasn’t his only reason but agh why am i crying?!“

 ” the princess made me feel like a loser today… hah why do i even try.“ 

 ” hey blue- i know i know i should go to the healing pod. But all of them are there and i don’t need an annotated list of the things i did wrong. Hehe it’s funny because that’s exactly what my mom would’ve done, well she’d show concern first though. 'Mijo you look like a beaten potato. Who did this to you? Do i need to call a parent? You should have punched harder. Kick 'em in the nuts! At least give a few bites… fight dirty mijo!’ Haha god i miss her. Agh do you mind if i cry again? It’s just that… it’s probably someone’s birthday right now or someone’s wedding. I wanna go home Blue. I wanna feel loved again.“

 "We… we lost Shiro, Blue. I-i tried to save him too but I can only retrieve Black. I heard Keith scream, heard his heart break. I came here because he lunged at me a while ago, practically blamed me for it. He said that he heard me giving up in the mind link, that i didn’t do my job in clearing an exit for the team. Why did he think that? Why? I love Shiro just as much as he does, why did he think that I’ll let anything bad happen to him or the team? I get it that i laugh at everything but i do take my job seriously- if i have a job in the first place-  but it’s done, Shiro’s been captured and I’m to blame. Hah i’m sorry your pilot is such a failure, Blue.”

���I tried to help the team today. I made some jokes and they laughed for the first time after Shiro. I guess that’s my role now cause I’m not even that good in shooting people…”

 ” oh my god Blue i think Keith likes me! What the fuck! Am i supposed to feel this happy? Oh god, is it cheating? Shit, i don’t want Keith to be cheating on Shiro! Oh god… is it bad that i’m happy? What am i suppose to feel?“ 

“God Blue… is this what being in love feels like? Like floating in a cloud of happiness and rainbows.”

“Keith’s avoiding me lately. I think it’s because I annoyed him again. I guess I’ll try shutting up for him.”

 "Keith broke up with me today. I expected this you know… who would even pick me when you have shiro? Hah turns out he was only using me cause he missed Shiro. It fuckin hurt Blue, i feel like my stomach is always hollow and my chest is too small for my heart.. i can’t. I was always waiting for the day when he’ll eventually call it quits but I didn’t know I’ll fall in love, that i’ll fall this deep. It’s my fault anyway, i should’ve known that it’ll always be Shiro, it’ll never be me. That’s why i made up my mind. i’m going to make this right." 

 "Hey Blue. I’m going to bring Shiro back and i’m here to say goodbye. i wish you’ll find a better pilot, a better fighter worthy of you. c’mon now girl don’t be like that. you and i know that the team deserves more that what i have to offer and they need more if they’re going to save the entire universe. i’m doing the team a favor, Blue. i’m doing you a favor. This team is like my family now, and I’ll do my best to protwct it. If that meant Shiro, then I ‘ll do my hardest to bring him back. And you’re like my mom too, if the pilot destined for you is out there then you better find them, not stick with some loser like me. If that ever happens, I want you to remember me ok? I love you, Blue. Catch you later.”

- All of them were dumbfounded by the series of videos that Blue played. Guilt was written all over their faces. Hunk was comforting a crying Pidge, Keith’s head was down unable to look at anyone, Shiro clutched at his prosthetic arm, and Allura’s knees went weak. It was Coran who braved Blue’s presence and asked her what their next move should be.

- ‘Instead of giving all of your resources to bring him back, you decide to merely follow him? He is hurt and all you do is watch him suffer. Do you hate him that much? When the Black paladin was captured, you targeted my gentle paladin, saying that he gave up. You endured sleepless nights looking for the Black paladin, searching far and wide with the hopes of bringing him back. And now my paladin is right there, not that far away, almost within your grasps and you do nothing! You ask me what you should do? Bring my paladin back to me.’

- While they were trapped inside Blue, Lance’s ship slowed to a stop. Then, the Galra ship’s invisibility barrier ebbed away and allowed Lance’s ship entrance.

- Lance was escorted to his usual cell, and his usual torturer sat comfortably in the middle of the room.

- “Back so soon, little Blue?” “Can we cut the pleasantries, Lotor. If you haven’t noticed, I’m kinda tired.” “And here I was waiting for you patiently just to show you something. C’mere, sit on my lap like a good boy.” The guard shoved Lance hard, applying pressure on his bad leg that he practically fell on Lotor’s lap. 

- Lotor flicked his hand and a giant screen lit up. “Did you know that the whole time you were coming back to me, your castle ship was close by? Heh, they didn’t even went out to chase you or bring you back. No, they just watched you go. I’m guessing they have some sort of device in your ship that can track you. Now, depending on what we gathered from you, my little Blue, is that you have someone in your ship who is capable of technological wonders. So why didn’t she hack into your ship? Wanna know what I think?” “Do i have a choice?”

“I think they planned on following you hoping that you’ll lead them to us. You see, they didn’t care if you got captured again as long as you lead them to the enemy. Face it, little Blue, you’re the sacrificial pawn, the loose bolt of a complete machine. You hold no significance to them.” “That’s not true!” “Or maybe, they were so fed up with your nonesense that they made sure that you are delivered properly to the slaughter.”

“You don’t believe me? Why don’t we ask them, little Blue. Maybe they’ll even watch as I carve into that beautiful bronze skin of yours.

- Lance didn’t know what to expect, will they be worried? Will they promise to het him back? Lance was so full of hope and longing for his team, that small minutes that he had with them when he came back to return Shiro was far from enough. 

- The screen connected to the catle ship’s system only to see the interior of the place. No paladins, no Allura, no Coran. 

- Lotor laughed maniacally as Lance’s tears flowed down his cheeks. Amidst Lotor’s full bellied laugh, Lance’s thoughts whispered in his mind: “Maybe what Lotor said was true.” 

-”Oh my little Blue, dont you see? They don’t care about you. They don’t need you. You’re useless and they would rather lose a limb than to endure another second of your presence. Why do you fight for ungrateful people when you can give in, give in to me. With me, you will never be hurt again. With me, you will never question your worth. With me, you are needed. So what do you say, my little Blue?”

- Lance knew the consequences of his next words. He knew that Lotor will hurt him with pain beyond his imagination. Still he turned to Lotor and said “Fuck you.”

I wanted to hurt the team too mehehe… 

Oh I also made a Part 3 if you’re interested :D