#you know when someone’s given you bad vibes for years and then you’re proven right?

[agentnico]

The Suicide Squad (2021) Review

This may be the better of the two, but the first Suicide Squad film will always hold the crown for managing to win an Oscar... somehow.

Plot: The government sends the most dangerous supervillains in the world -- Bloodsport, Peacemaker, King Shark, Harley Quinn and others -- to the remote, enemy-infused island of Corto Maltese. Armed with high-tech weapons, they trek through the dangerous jungle on a search-and-destroy mission, with only Col. Rick Flag on the ground to make them behave.

“So that’s it, huh? We’re some kind of suicide squad?” says Will Smith in the original first film, with the line in itself being a poor attempt at a fourth wall break, yet, that movie never reached that promise of being a true Suicide Squad film. Because hardly anyone died, and as a whole David Ayer’s film was a generic mess, regardless of studio interference or not. In comes James Gunn from Marvel, who seems to have cracked the code for how to bring this comic book series to live action in proper gratuitous form, with even the ‘The’ in the title symbolizing that this is the one!

I remember going to see the first Guardians of the Galaxy film at the cinema, and back then I was still only just getting acquainted with watching western media, and that included superhero films. Heck my first ever Marvel movie was Thor: The Dark World! I know, what a banger to start with.......NAAAWT!! Anyway, I went to see Guardians and it was one of the first superhero films I came out of feeling like I truly witnessed something special. It had action, comedy and a good heart to it, and wouldn’t you know, my good old pal James Gunn was behind that flick. I don’t know why I called him my good old pal, I don’t even know the fella. Except in my dreams, but we don’t talk about that. So, flashforward to Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, which I absolutely hated, and for that movie I’m pretty sure Marvel gave Mr Gunn mostly full reigns of creative freedom, as long as he kept it family friendly, and the result was a mess. Hence naturally now I was really sceptical when James Gunn ended up at Warner Bros. following the controversial moment when cancel culture decided to aim it’s slimy fingers at him, as he was given directing and writing duties for this new The Suicide Squad film, and also it was heavily insinuated that Warner Bros. basically told him he could do with the movie whatever the f*** he wanted, excuse my French. And we remember how it panned out last time when James Gunn was given a lot of creative freedom. 

Flashforward to present day; here I am wondering and scratching my head thinking what in the heavens has happened, as by golly I am happy to report that The Suicide Squad is a total winner and a blast with a capital B - Blast! Gosh goodness golly goblin, this movie is so much fun from beginning to end. Right from the opening sequence you know that this film isn’t holding back any punches. It’s going at a 447.19 km/h speed of a Koenigsegg Agera RS crashing through any barriers like it’s nothing. Speaking of the opening sequence, it establishes why the movie is called what it’s called from the get-go. You straight away are proven how not a single character is safe, minus the obvious one that we know who it is, as there ain’t no way Warner Bros. would have allowed James Gunn to kill off that one character. But besides that person, everyone else feels like they could die at any given moment. That’s really a big charm of it, as it is frustrating how in many superhero films, let alone any blockbuster action flicks, so many characters always feel so safe and unstoppable, no matter how many times they get shot or how many buildings crash down upon them. And yes, this movie features a certain CGI character that constantly gets that treatment and survives, although it’s very self aware in that regard and is purposefully humoristic. But overall the entire set of characters feel easily disposable, and so so many of them die in such gruesome fashion, so indeed don’t get attached, as they don’t. 

Speaking of which, this movie is hardcore gory! You see limbs and intestines flying round left and right, a guy gets ripped in half by a humanoid shark, another’s face gets teared off by a shotgun bullet and so on forth in all kinds of gruesome fashion. Visually this is one for the big screen, as here’s the thing: you’re either a mummy’s boy or you grow some cojones and go see a man’s heart get stabbed with a piece of debris glass in 4K high rate definition! Your choice! Oh, and it’s not just the violence, also the cinematography and the practical set pieces all look incredible. This is easily James Gunn’s best looking movie. The entire think LOOKS incredible!

We also have to talk about the cast, as they are all great! There literally isn’t a single weakling among them. Each one, no matter how big or small their role is, brings something to the table. I can’t talk about all of them, as we’d be here all day, so I’m simply going to mention a few of the stand-outs. Idris Elba comes in to replace Will Smith as a character called Bloodsport, who is in some ways a different character but evidently is a replacement of Smith’s. But that’s no bad thing, as with any ensemble movie you still need a main character to latch onto and have an emotional hook towards, and he is that character. In fact, I’d say he’s arguably better than Will Smith in the last movie, or at least he seems to be having more fun here. He works as a solid leading man, however what works even more is his banterous competitive genital-size-measuring back and forth with John Cena’s Peacemaker, who by the way is awesome as that character. He is not a good character, in fact he is as bad as a bad guy can get, especially cause he’s someone who believes that what he is doing is right, making him much more of a dangerous wild card. This is easily John Cena’s best role, with him adding to the comedy one-liners, but also delivering such an interesting character who I’m looking forward to seeing more of in his standalone spin-off show confirmed for next year. Oh, and he wears a toilet helmet on his head which he defines as “a beacon of freedom” which says it all. We also have returning characters from the last film Joel Kinnaman and Viola Davis as Rick Flag and Amanda Waller respectively, and both are given much more room to stretch their talents and spread their beautiful acting wings like the Hollywood angels that they are. Kinnaman’s Rick Flag is the moral compass of the group, as even though Elba is our main guy, he’s nonetheless a villain still, whilst Flag is a genuinely good guy and what is defined as a true American hero, to which Kinnaman fits the part well. And Viola Davis as Amanda Waller is on an absolutely different level. You can tell she’s an Academy Award winner through and through, as she plays such a serious character in an otherwise goofy movie, and so her presence is felt and it is felt BAD! She’s such a despicable yet intimidating personality and she gravitates all of the screen presence to herself. Margot Robbie returns as Harley Quinn, and she gets even more chance to develop this character that she’s played in multiple DCEU films now, and as per usual the Harley Quinn shtick works well for her, though I do kind of wish she didn’t always get all the attention. Look, I think she’s a fun character and Robbie plays her well, however she’s constantly used to overshadow others in these films which I don’t think is too fair, and its evident as ever in this film too. Anyway, the remainder of the cast including Jay Courtney as Captain Boomerang, David Dastmalchian as Polka-Dot Man, Michael Rooker as Savant, Nathan Fillion as TDK, Daniela Melchior as Ratcatcher 2 (who gave me strong A Plague Tale: Innocence vibes) and many more all play villains, but villains that don’t have particularly great superpowers. This is where the tragedy of Task Force X as a team plays a part, as many of these villains aren’t even good at being villains. They are useless, and the movie is really self aware of this and so treats all characters as they should be. Dare I also not forget to mention the CGI characters in this film, with both Weasel and King Shark being absolute scene stealers! 

The Suicide Squad is the type of wham-bam-thank-you-mam batshit crazy entertainment which exists for the pure reasons of fun. It doesn’t set out to be the best superhero film ever, nor does it need to be. It’s an exhilarating, shocking, funny and amusing ride from beginning to end, with the energy never stopping, and is easily the best time I’ve had with a comic-book film in a long while, and I’m even talking about before COVID! Do yourself a favour and watch this one as soon as you can, as I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - The Suicide Squad is a BLAST!!

Overall score: 9/10

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

My Moots and I (fuck grammar mkay) as Rob Characters (half ass based off of who we write but shhh)

ahha this is a bit long, if i missed u, i’ll be sure to get to it xx

Me: Simon Lewis OR, OR Cormac McNamara. Apart from being chaotic, I'm closest in age to Cormy, and we share a lot of characteristics. I'm sm0rt, don't realize when people gaslight me, and am passionate about the things I like. And I care a fuck ton about my pals, and dive in headfirst into literally everything I do. As well as that, if given the chance, I will infodump about my current hyperfixations.

Kat: @misskittysmagicportal, @miss-kittys-magical-library

She proclaimed herself as Nathan. Yes, this wonderful lady is extremely hilarious and makes jokes in a ton of situations. However, I do believe that she's a bit of a Leon on the inside xx. Now, let me get into this. She's very observant, and goes fucking balls deep if she wants to know something, or if it's just literally /there/. Like Leon. She's also very smart and kind, and has wonderful stories. (like for real she’s super smart i love ur stories kat)

Joz: @joz-stankovich, @sean-falco​

Sean Falco. Now, if I had to describe Joz with one object, it'd be flannel *shrugs*. They literally scream "yes i like flannels, yes i like cabins, yes i like hot choccy". AND THATS IT. Sean (according to my limited knowledge) is a very caring character, and he does what he can in order to help someone in need, or to help someone be happier. Joz is also a superb writer, and if Sean wasn't a photographer, I swear on my right shoulder that he'd write novels. Flor: @super-unpredictable98 

Billy (but also a bit o' Nathan) Flor's great and lovely. As well as that, from my experience, she’d be a bit of a charmer. Also also, one of the sweetest people, and she’s VERY passionate about what she does. Billy has CHARM i tell you, and the hilarity is tied to Nathan. She also makes a crude (but not offensive) joke every now and then.

Shye: @magic-multicolored-miracle, @the-novel-on-the-left

Luba. She sent me a bunch of compliments last night and I was ✨ unable ✨ to handle them. I feel like Luba’s actually really lovely (as ive proven time and time again), you’ve got to get to know him. I didn’t even have to know her to understand that she’s very good. A good egg.

Bad Sext: @badsext

Simon, with a smidge of Nathan. She’s really sweet and lovely! It’s actually been around a year since I’ve first started talking to her so cheers for that! She’s very funny and EXTREMELY hardworking, but still keeps what’s important to her at heart. 

Ry: @crabstick, @bisexualnathanyoung

Nathan with a smidge of Cormac. (but also a lot of Klaus) Ry’s hilarious. Very funny lass. Now, you may be thinking “what about the other somewhat stupid Nathan has said?” none of that applies to her bc she’s a good bean. i’ll fight u. Cormac because she’s also v smart BUT also bc HAVE YOU SEEN HER ANIMAL CROSSING KLAUS. Queen shit right there. 

Shay: @neuroticpuppy, @robertsheehanownsmyass

Klaus, actually. Apart from her fucking EXPERTISE at writing characters (she does it so flippin’ well) and the amount of characters she writes for like hey bestie. We don’t talk /much/ but she’s VERY cool and extremely edumacated. Also, I have a feeling that she probably lit a dumpster ablaze once.

Mickey: @frogs--are--bitches

Leon, no fucking doubts about it. ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH THIS LOVELY BEAN HERE. They’re one of the biggest cheerleaders in this fandom and has some of the most wonderful and funny stories about their oui’d experiences, as well as just randomly doing things. I feel like Leon fits them really well. Mickey’s also super duper caring and very supportive. (like leon)

Lubiaaa(i had to lengthen it i always do her name like that): @the-freckled-luba

Sean but also like *tucks hair behind ear* Simon. One of the most WONDERFUL PEOPLE. Like, she’s always in my tags being like “hi love u” and being really supportive of everyone’s stories. like, hey bestie. Sean’s very supportive (especially of Riley’s toxic faceass) also Simon because Simon canonically has one (1) sister, and Lubia also has siblings. This relates. She’s also such a sweetheart, i love seeing her (and all of my mutuals) in my tags

Bonnie: @seancekitsch

Klaus. SO MANY KLAUS VIBES. but like with a hint of nathan as well. We don’t talk too terribly much, but you’re VERY sweet, and I love your sleepover days! As well as that, she’s an INCREDIBLE writer, and honestly I’m shocked to call you (or any of my other mutuals)my friends. I feel like you also may have lit a dumpster fire.

On a more serious note, I really want to thank my mutuals for always being here for me. My brain is half-cooked eggs most of the time, but y’all are always like “Hey, I’m here for you pal.” And I really appreciate that endlessly. I haven’t had the best luck with friendships in the past, and sometimes I’m unable to understand certain niceties. (I have never used that word in my life, what the fuck.) They’re helped me understand loving myself, and doing my own research. Learning things I might not initially know, or simply just being there. I’m really forever grateful for that though. This is truly one of the best groups of people I have ever met. I love each and everyone of my mutuals so, so much and I really would like to give all of them a very big hug. Also all of my mutuals are beautiful and hot and anyone caught saying otherwise will be b0nked, and I will be stealing your kneecaps.

I’ll be here to love and support y’all if needed, you know these things. 

Love all y’all xx~Ellie

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

After the Bombs Fall [Animorphs ficlet]

[Note: I seem to have lost the ask where someone requested my post-war headcanon for Alloran, but anyway here it is.]

--

Less than a month after the end of the war, Alloran applies for transfer off of Earth and back to the homeworld.  When the first request gets cancelled due to a minor typo in a sub-section of a supplemental form, he curses himself and immediately applies again.

The second application lingers in the metaphorical z-space between agents for longer, nearly two Earth months, before it gets cancelled as well.  The systems are overtaxed due to the sudden influx of Earth tourism, the form letter tells him this time, and they’re very sorry for their inability to accommodate his request.

The third time he applies, the form remains “under review” on the submission portal for half a year, even though the review process normally takes less than a day.  So he applies a fourth time, a terrible suspicion taking hold by now.  The Electorate automatically cancels both applications, and has the gall to send him a snippy comm message asking that he refrain from filing redundant claims from now on.

The fifth application gets reviewed and cancelled; the sixth one doesn’t even get that courtesy.  It just stays there, “submitted” but not yet “under review,” unwanted and ignored.

Just like its author.

Alloran considers, then.  For nearly a day he paces, watching the andalite computer and the primitive human device alike, and weighs the merits of stealing Visser Three’s Blade ship out of the impound lot.  It wouldn’t be hard; the security system is coded to biometrics.  No one but he or Tom Berenson could fly that ship now, and Tom Berenson is dead.

After another day, Alloran instead morphs human and walks to the nearest CVS.

He has to swallow an entire jumbo bag of marshmallows and three jars of tomato sauce for comfort before he can swallow his pride as well.  But the comfort food does its trick, and at the end he pulls out the human cell phone still registered under one of Esplin 9466′s aliases and enters the fifth speed-dial option.

“Hey, you.”  Eva answers immediately.  “How’s it going?”

They don’t know each other, not really.  And yet in every one of their three conversations, Eva has greeted him like an old friend.  Her voice brings a reaction to Alloran’s human morph: tightness in his throat, the heat of tears behind his eyes.

“I apologize for troubling you,” Alloran says stiffly.  “Please, if you are busy, disregard this request.”

Eva snorts a laugh.  At least, Alloran thinks that that’s what the sound is.  “I’m not busy, and I owe you a favor anyway.  Shoot.”

Alloran glances around the room, but there are no weapons, so he decides to disregard that last.  “I am truly sorry if it slipped my mind,” he says, “but what favor do you owe?”

“My kid is not in jail on some foreign planet right now, and I hear that’s all your fault.  What’s the favor?”

“The War Council would not have imprisoned the Animorphs.  That is, perhaps Aximili and Prince Jake may have been imprisoned, but doubtless the full Electorate court would have proven merciful—”

“Alloran.  What’s the favor.”

He’s stalling, and she knows it.  “It’s a bit of a complicated political matter, and I’m afraid I am not well equipped to explain it to a human, but enforcement of our travel policies is more subject to individual agents’ personal judgment than we ideally would have it be, and...”

“Hijo de puta.  They’re not letting you go home, are they?”

Alloran fills his human lungs with more air than they technically need for speech.  “It’s a complicated matter.”  Nevertheless, his voice comes out small.

“You still camping at the Sharing Community Center?”

“Yes.”  His voice is even smaller now.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, querido.”  She hangs up.

While he waits, he goes outside to run, to graze, to stare up at the stars.

He didn’t lie; it is complicated.  The Andalite Electorate is struggling to recover from a decades-long war, one that threatened the existence of their very soul as a people.  Seerow’s mistakes — and Alloran’s own decision to publicize the failings of his prince — have ensured that the whole debacle was a massive embarrassment even before the defeat on the hork-bajir homeworld.

And then...

He’s heard the word, whispered and hissed and screamed and shouted.

Abomination.

Abomination.

His face is the public face of the Yeerk Empire.  His voice is its voice.  The morph he was just using — a bald, middle-aged human male — was constructed from the DNA of a dozen human-controllers.  Everything he owns, from the black limousine parked at the curb to the press pass of a woman called Aria, was taken from the hands of murdered slaves.

Of course his people don’t want him back.  Of course not.  The quantum virus was one thing, but then he had the gall go to and get himself captured by the yeerks.  And he’d added insult to injury when he’d challenged a captain on Aximili’s behalf.

He can see it.  That’s what stings.  He can stare up at the glittering point of his home star even as he runs across a field of dull foreign grass, and at this rate it’ll never be anything but a fixed point of light in an unfamiliar sky ever again.

Eva shows up then, before he can feel too sorry for himself.

She brings a human substance known as pinot noir.

**********

“And then...”  Eva points a wavering finger at him.  Her words have gotten blurrier over time.  “And then, we just sneak it in, and bam!”  She slaps the tabletop.

Alloran leans in across to her.  “Bam,” he agrees.

“You needed a ride home?”

At the new voice, Alloran stands up sharply.  Too sharply.  He gets his two flimsy little legs tangled in the chair and almost pitches over.

Marco catches him.  “You all right?” he asks.

“I,” Alloran intones, “am intoxicated.  Tox.  I.  Cate.  Ed.  Wonderful word.  Intock.  Sick.  Kate.  Dd-d-d-d-d.”

“Yeeeaah, I was getting those vibes from the—”  Marco leans around him in an impressive display of human balance.  “Bottle of wine apiece you two’ve apparently emptied.”

Eva draws herself up.  “I did not call and request a ride home, I called and requested a ride to the Netherlands!”

“You’re right, you did.”  Marco rolls his eyes.  “Which is why I made the decision to show up and bring you home instead.”

“No, no, the Netherlands.”  Eva steps up next to Alloran.  They both regard Marco carefully.  “Not to worry, we’ve thought it through.  You call your friend with the private plane, Bradley or Bradford or whomever his name is.  We fly out to the Hague tonight.”

“Where is this going,” Marco mutters.

“Holland,” Alloran informs him.  “It is-sssss in...”

“Yeah, I’ve been.”

“Anyway.”  Eva gestures sharply, bringing attention back to her.  “We shall have a perfectly ordinary canister of table salt with us, and we shall request to visit with Visser Three—”

“Oh Jesus.  Mom.”

“The guards will not suspect a thing, for it is just an ordinary condiment.  All we must then do is create a diversion, and...”  Eva flings out both hands as if miming an explosion.

“Splat,” Alloran says.  “Pllll-lat.  Hissssss.”

“And this will accomplish what, exactly?” Marco asks.

“Making Alloran feel better,” Eva whispers to him.  However, she seems to be whispering a great deal louder than she realizes.  Humans are ill-equipped for private communication, with their sad reliance on verbal speech.  “None of the andalites want him back.”

“Yeah.  Cool.”  Marco laughs.  “Ten out of ten therapists recommend war crimes for a friend in need!  And as a guy who’s been to at least ten therapists, I’d know.”

Alloran is not certain, but he believes that Marco might be employing the human verbal quirk known as “sarcasm.”

“No one will suspect a thing.”  Eva pats him on the shoulder.

Marco sighs.  “Security will just think it’s cocaine.”

“Cocaine?” Alloran asks.  “Coke-cane?  Co-c-c-c-c-c-c-aine?”

“Something you’re never going to try.”  Marco levels a hard stare at him.  “Given how well you handle your red wine.”

“Cooo-caaayyy-nnnee.  Co-cane.”

“How did you get wrapped up in this dumbass heist, anyway?”  Marco looks from one of them to the other.

“Alloran needed me,” Eva says.

“I have no friends,” Alloran announces.  “And Arbron does not own a cell phone.  Ell.  Elffffff-own.”

Marco closes his main eyes for several seconds, massaging the bridge of his nose.  An impressive feat of daring, for a creature with no stalk eyes who relies upon bipedalism.  “Should’ve known you’d be a morose drunk,” he says.

“So, you’ll take us to the airfield, then?” Eva asks.

Lifting his head up, Marco opens his eyes.  “In the words of my wise and estimable mother: if you want it that bad, you can have it when you’re sober.”

Eva opens her mouth halfway, squinting in what Alloran would guess is the effort of remembering when she would have said that.  After a second, her expression clears.  “I was right to say it, that floozy would have broken your heart in the morning, and this situation is entirely different!”

“That floozy’s name was Jake Gyllenhaal,” Marco mutters, “and I totally would’ve gone for it when I was sober, but I never got his number.”

Eva says something in Spanish, presumably about the loose morals of Jake Gyllenhaal.  Marco’s expression would suggest that he only pretends not to understand her.

“Anyway.  The point stands.  I’m driving you home.”  Marco jerks his chin at Eva.  “And you,” he says, looking at Alloran, “are gonna morph and sober up before we go anywhere.  I’m not having you nothlited on my conscience.”

“But,” Alloran says, “the salt—”

“We’ll revisit the salt in the morning,” Marco says firmly.  “Demorph.  Please.”

Alloran considers pointing out that he is a war-prince, he does not take orders from alien children, he has his pride... And then considers whether any of those statements is actually true.

He demorphs.

Instantly, he feels both better and worse.  On the upside he’s more clear-headed now, but on the downside he’s more clear-headed.

“I’ll call you.”  Marco gives him a long look while shepherding Eva out the door.

**********

Marco does not call, but he does send several written missives to Alloran’s cell phone.  The Animorphs still have an illegal andalite communication device, it would appear, and Marco has put in requests to channels both official and not about the possibility of transport from Earth to the homeworld.

     —Ax is on it, Marco’s latest text reads.  —He’s calling an old friend.  Might take some smuggling, but we’ve got an idea.

     —Thank you, Alloran types carefully on the tiny keyboard.  —Your assistance is greatly appreciated, and undeserved.

He’s debating whether to hit send when there’s a knock on the door.

Alloran’s in an abandoned building the Sharing used to use for housing human-controllers.  There is very little chance that this is an incidental knock, or someone who wandered by accidentally.

The thought occurs to him that it’d be smarter to morph human and blend in before he answers.  But the fear of facing the unknown in a half-blind, tailless morph wins out.  He opens the door as is.

It proves to be the right decision.  The andalite on the other side didn’t bother to morph either.

Estrid stares at him in silence for several seconds.  Her expression is unreadable, all eyes ahead and carefully blank.  Alloran doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but he lets her look.

«Estrid,» he says at last, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak first.  He gestures with his tail blade, the downward sweep of greeting for an honored warrior.

«Father,» she says.

Her own sharp tail-turn puts the flat of her blade toward him.  A greeting between equals.  An insult.  Both not formal enough for an aristh to acknowledge a war-prince, and too formal for greeting a family member.

But then, Alloran went for Estrid, didn’t he.  Not Aristh Estrid-Corill-Darrath, not Estri-kala or my child.

They haven’t seen each other in over two years.  They haven’t spoken in almost twenty.

Arguably, given how young she was when he was taken, they’ve never really spoken at all.  Certainly Alloran knows little of the person his daughter has become as a young adult.  As a groundbreaking aristh.  As a brilliant researcher.

As a war criminal.

Humans have a saying, about apples that don’t fall far.

«How is Jahar?» Alloran says.  It’s what he really wants to know, and he doesn’t know how to approach any of the other minefields that lie between them.  «And Ajaht, how is he?»

Judging by Estrid’s expression, she takes this to be a standard small-talk opening instead of the deeply earnest inquiry it is.  «Mother is well enough.  I suppose you’ll have to apologize to her in person.»  She doesn’t mention her brother.

Alloran feels his tail blade drop nearly to the floor without his permission.  «Yes.  Of course.  Estrid...»

«I’m on a diplomatic mission to Earth,» she says briskly.  «Prince Aximili and I have concluded discussions with several local leaders about access to morphing technology and tourism restrictions going forward.  Therefore, I will be able to exit the planet and return home after being subject to nothing more rigorous than human security scans.»  The dismissive little flick of her tail at this last is, all things considered, somewhat warranted.  Humans have yet to devise a single effective way to detect morphers.

«Return home,» Alloran repeats.

Might take some smuggling, Marco said.  It’s sinking in: Estrid is here to bring him home.

Home.  To the wife he disgraced.  The brother he got killed.  The children who won’t even acknowledge him, a feverish pair of overachievers desperate to leave his legacy behind.  Ajaht’s tail-fighting is so legendary that, even using human channels, Alloran has been able to find scraps of news.  Estrid’s skill is not praised so publicly... but the yeerks got ahold of Arbat’s files, after their disastrous mission to Earth.  Alloran knows more about her, he thinks, than he ever wanted to.

«We’re leaving now,» Estrid says.  «My window for authorized exit ends in two-point-eight-six Earth hours, so we need to move.»

She must have been here for days if not weeks, to negotiate the way she’s describing.  And yet she came to find him at the last possible second.  Likely to minimize the time they’re forced to spend together.

Alloran doesn’t have the time or the energy to care.  «What would you prefer me to morph?»

«Something small and Earth-based.»  She barely finishes speaking before she starts to morph herself.

Alloran pauses in surprise, because Estrid morphs with shocking skill, melding from andalite to human in a mere forty-seven seconds, all without ever once losing her footing.  She even wears a normative amount of clothing when she’s finished, a sundress and sneakers and a coat overtop.

She sighs, looking him over.  «We don’t have all day, here.»

«You were wasted in Arbat’s lab,» Alloran says.

«You don’t have to tell me that,» Estrid snaps.  «Tell me, dear father, what else was a girl and a second-born and the child of a disgraced bloodline meant to do?»

Alloran has no answer.  Silently he morphs.

His options are limited — Visser Three overwhelmingly preferred large to small morphs, and Alloran hasn’t bothered acquiring much else — so he opts for snake, Lachesis muta according to a human-controller from the area.  It’s still larger than most Earth reptiles, but by coiling in close he becomes small enough to drop into the oversized pocket of Estrid’s jacket.

Estrid doesn’t speak to him, and he doesn’t ask her to, the entire way back to her fighter.  She’s under no obligation, and he won’t force the issue.

********

«We’re landing soon,» Estrid tells him, three Earth weeks and eighty-two light years later.  She’s maintained that icy formality throughout the entire journey so far, responding to Alloran’s questions — about her research, about her brother, about her morphing — with flat non-answers.

Alloran steps to the viewport to look out over the rolling grasslands of home like a child on his first in-atmosphere flight.  Is it home, really?  It’s been thirty-nine years since he left home to quell the small skirmish on the hork-bajir homeworld, forty-seven since his first offworld assignment serving under Prince Seerow.  He has seen a dozen planets, been a hundred species, since that time.  This body belonged to Visser Three for nearly as long as it did to Alloran himself, decades of nonexistence until he all but forgot his own name.

«What will you do next?» Alloran asks Estrid, still desperate for conversation.

She flicks a dismissive hand at the air.  «I have my work.»

«Even without Arbat?»

«I didn’t say it was easy.»

«And the quantum virus?»

She turns all four eyes on him.  A small part of him wants to scold her for bad form, but a far larger part of him recognizes he’d be overstepping.  «The quantum virus never happened,» she says sharply.  «And if it did, I was never informed of its existence.  This journey was my first visit to Earth, Arbat died in a lab accident, we were never involved in weapons development, and if you even think about saying differently the War Council will back my story, because all of the documentation —»

«Estrid.»  He cuts her off as gently as he can.  «I would never...»

He sees it, in the stiffening of her stalk eyes.  Hears it in the catch of her breath.  She doesn’t want a father.  Or if she does, she doesn’t want him.

«I would never dishonor the memory of my brother by raising questions about his death,» Alloran says instead.

Estrid relaxes, and turns back to the controls.

He is weary of war, weary of being alone.  The person he’d been when he first met Esplin 9466 would have been shouting by now, demanding to know what right Estrid has to consider herself any better than him.  He only deployed a quantum virus, had no hand in its evil creation.  Either she is a hypocrite... or she is just like the War Council officials who consider it a far worse crime to be enslaved by yeerks than to have murdered ten million hork-bajir.

It’s been a long war, and Alloran has missed her every moment of it.  Let her be angry; she’s here.

There is one more delicate question Alloran needs to ask, however, before they disembark on their family’s land.  «Jahar,» he says.  «I assume... She has found someone else.  To help raise you, and...»  Dark Sun, but this is hard.  «She deserves to be loved, of course.»

Eva’s mate remarried, after all.  Together they’d cried about that, somewhere between the third and fourth glasses of wine.

«Who would date her?» Estrid asks.  «Who would be seen speaking to her?  No.  There’s no one.  There hasn’t been.  There was me, and Ajaht, and that’s it.»

Alloran feels sadness and relief and disappointment and shame at his relief, all at once in a rush too complex to understand.  «I see,» he says at last.

«So go to her.»  Estrid yanks hard to unseal the fighter’s outer door; they’ve landed without his noticing.  «Go to her and—»  Another hard yank.  «Kriffing thing!»

Alloran puts his hand next to hers, pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull away.  As one they move, and the door comes open at last.

She came to meet them.  Alloran doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that, and yet...

Jahar is older, lined around the eyes and stooped in her shoulders and dull-edged around her hooves.  She’s radiant.  Transcendent.

Alloran is frozen.  Aware of all the knocks he’s taken, all the shine he’s lost.  Aware that they’ve been apart for longer than they ever were together.

He blames that last for the way his knees lock.  For the voice that freezes inside his mind, unable to form words.  For the crack in his breath and the painful squeeze of his hearts as she becomes the one to step forward.  As she raises a hand to his cheek, in the first gentle touch he’s felt in over twenty years.

--

[Note: I know that Aloth’s line in #38 about Estrid being Arbat’s niece — which would make her Alloran’s daughter — is probably not meant to be literal in context.  But the straightforward interpretation is boring, so I went with the fun one.]

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Confetti Album First Listen (+ Reflection) Thoughts

General Thoughts:

Earlier this year when Break Up Song dropped, I was so excited for this album. As someone who felt LM5 + Bounce Back was rushed and relied too much on nostalgic production and as someone who still stans Glory Days, this felt much more like my sound. To compare this to another artist, I had hoped this album had been the equivalent to Taylor’s Reputation; not in sound, but in the fact that I didn’t like 1989 and wondered if I had outgrown her only to be proven wrong with Reputation. And with a lead single as strong as Break Up Song (and One I’ve Been Missing), I was very hopeful.

However, none of the singles that followed lived up to this standard in my opinion. I still hate Holiday, Not A Pop Song is nostalgic but ultimately a forgettable song, Happiness just felt like a weaker The Cure and to be honest, even now, I could not tell you the first thing about Sweet Melody.

As I will discuss, this trend continued with the album. In short, I feel as if this album had a lot of potential and in theory, I should have loved it. But I also feel like it fell into the same trap as LM5 for me in which nostalgic production was too heavily relied upon. But where LM5 had diamonds in the rough which I still adore, Confetti feels lacklustre lyrically to the point I can only realistically see myself listening to Break Up Song consistently in the long run, with maybe three other songs if I’m in the right mood. Ultimately, Confetti is a off-putting mix of the girls seemingly not caring to put in the effort anymore and yet still trying to hold onto getting chart hits. Further, Confetti sounds as if it was made from the rightfully cut songs from Get Weird. And though Get Weird is my tied second favourite album from Little Mix alongside Salute, Confetti just doesn’t stack up.

If I haven’t already turned you away, my thoughts on individual songs will be below.

Break Up Song: As I’ve already mentioned, I love this song. It’s very classic Little Mix in a way that doesn’t like I’ve heard it from them before. All up it’s just a really fun song which feels like a throwback to Glory Days and I hope more songs like this are in their future.

Holiday: I hate this song. Like it was very clearly made to be a hit with mixed results but nothing about it appeals to me. I don’t really think there’s much else to say, especially seeing as this seems to be the one take I have in this fandom which isn’t unpopular lmao.

Sweet Melody: I’m going to be honest, I do not understand the hype for this song. The video is alright and I’m glad the choreography is back, but ultimately it feels mismatched to the song upon looking up the lyrics. Like I feel like it would have been better for a Salute song than here. It definitely sounds very 2000s girl group which typically I like, but again, when I feel like I’ve heard it all before, it’s like ‘okay well why should I come back to this song in particular?’. Ultimately I guess I could use it as background music. Like it’s not bad, just very forgettable.

Confetti: This is one of those songs that in theory I should love. It has a good message behind the lyrics. But again, ultimately I find it forgettable, especially from a group that has several songs with a similar message. I will give it that in a club setting, the chorus probably goes off.

Happiness: I’ll be honest, had Little Mix not released The Cure, I probably would have liked this song. ‘I was searching for happiness, I was using you to fill up my loneliness’ is a great line, especially when thinking about who I’d relate to this song to personally. But like in general, I just feel like this is a weaker version of The Cure lyrically and find myself more inclined to just listen to The Cure instead.

Not A Pop Song: I’ve mentioned in past posts that this song makes me nostalgic for the late Christina Grimmie’s song My Anthem and while that made me smile, it’s another case of ‘okay well I can just go listen to Christina’s music’. I also feel this is a kinda weak resistance song, and not just due to the lack of profanities. Like again it feels like it was released for sales knowing that that ‘I don’t do what Simon says’ line would drum up gossip. So again, it’s an okay song for background music I guess, but definitely not a favourite from the girls.

Nothing But My Feelings: This one feels fun and gives me similar vibes to Private Show. While I think I’ll have to be in the mood for it, this one was one of the ones that positively stood out to me when I first listened to the album. Unsurprisingly, it also seems to be one the fandom as a whole likes the least given usually the songs I like are but yeah, I’d go as far as to say it’s a top three for me for this album. Although I will be the first to admit that that’s a low bar.

Gloves Up: I wasn’t surprised to see this was a fan favourite given the Salute vibes it gives both lyrically and in its production. However, I feel like it resembles Salute in the outdated way production wise. Likewise, lyrically I feel like it doesn’t stand up next to Little Mix’s other empowerment songs, so much like Happiness, I feel like I’m just going to end up listening to their past songs.

A Mess (Happy 4 U): Again, I feel like this is a song I should like. It’s relatable, the girls’ voices sound great on it and in theory should be emotional. But ultimately it just feels forgettable with nothing drawing me back to it in the way other songs I’ve previously heard with the same message/situation do.

My Love Won’t Let You Down: So I’ll say that I don’t feel like this ballad lives up to the girls’ past ones BUT THANK GOD THEY BROUGHT BACK BALLADS! Like this was the one thing I really felt was missing from LM5. This is definitely a top three track for me for this album and while again, I feel like I’m gonna need to be in the mood to listen to it, I feel like it will hit when I need it to.

Rendezvous: Again, Imma be honest, I don’t get the hype for this song. It’s another one that I feel like I’ve felt a million times before. It also kinda reminds me of a song that would be on Crazy Ex Girlfriend which like isn’t bad but a completely different vibe for me than what a studio album should be. Again, could be used for background music but ultimately forgettable.

If You Want My Love: ‘Everything you're doin' right now is so basic’ feels like a good representation of this song for me, not going to lie. It feels like a watered down 2000s track and as if You Gotta Not and American Boy had a baby lyrically. And those who know me know they’re not my favourite tracks.

Breathe: I actually really liked this song... until the chorus. Good and relatable message and lyrics with good production. But the production and repetition in the chorus just ruin it for me. I hope at some point they do an acapella or stripped back version without those features, but I doubt it.

[yamayamawrites]

Wishing You the Best - TodoDeku

Hi friends! As a birthday present from myself to you, I’m coming back from my month-long break to give you....a TodoDeku pen pals AU! I’ve been very busy writing this past month and trying to start and finish fics before posting them (I say, as I post the first chapter of an unfinished fic). This one is kind of different from my normal stuff because it’s shorter - each chapter is only 1-2k words long. I have something else in my drafts that should be coming out shortly that I’m really proud of (100k+) so please be aware that’s coming, too!

Anyways, this one is a university AU in which Midoriya and Todoroki (and the rest of class 1-A) are university students! It has a little hint of coffee shop AU vibes, but for the most part it’s just a university AU. Hope you enjoy this first chapter!!

Week 01

Izuku’s never been a fan of English classes. He’s not bad at speaking the language; in fact, he’s quite good at it. The problem is that it’s not nearly as intriguing as some of the other courses he’s taken. He’s more interested in science and math classes, in solving complex problems and studying the way the world around him works.

Which is why he’s so nervous about these three words written in sloppy English on the board in front of him.

‘PEN PAL PROJECT’

He drops into his seat with a huff next to Ochaco, who has already arranged her notebook and colored pens in preparation for note-taking. Izuku has English and Chemistry with her, and they sit together for both; naturally, at the end of the day they trade notebooks – Izuku takes her English notes and she his Chemistry notes – and they review and fill in holes where they missed them. It’s an effective system, and Izuku especially likes looking at Ochaco’s neat handwriting.

Ochaco tosses a friendly smile over her shoulder at him and he returns it, wide and a little winded from sprinting the campus to get here. It’s a nine in the morning class, and his alarm clock has a habit of not going off in the morning. Izuku sometimes gets the suspicion that Kacchan, his roommate, has some part in that. “Morning, Deku!” Ochaco chirps, then returns her attention to writing today’s date at the top of her notebook page. She’s deciding on a color scheme for her notes.

“Morning!” Izuku replies, bright and chipper. “You should go with blue and red today.”

“You always say that,” Ochaco laughs, but still she settles on her blue and red pens. “What do you think this is all about?” she nods vaguely at the board, and all Izuku can do is shrug and open his mouth to reply before their professor is proudly proclaiming his entrance into the classroom.

“Good morning!” Professor Yamada is shouting, and he really doesn’t need to yell because the classroom is relatively small but he does anyway. Some of the less awake students wince at his voice, but Izuku’s come to expect it, having been briefed by a few friends who have had Professor Yamada in the past. “Welcome to English one-oh-six!”

He’s speaking English right now, and Izuku’s taken enough English courses in middle school and high school to know most of what he’s saying, but it does take him a moment to piece the number together. He uses context clues to assume Professor Yamada is talking about the class number and he nods his head once, glad to make a connection like this so early in the morning and without any caffeine. (It’s not something he should be as impressed about as he is.)

Yamada switches gears and begins going through the plans of the day in Japanese. “Let’s talk about the Pen Pal Project,” he claps his hands together as he finishes going over basic syllabus information. “For the next semester, you will be exchanging weekly letters with a pen pal in English. It’s much easier to learn a language when you write in said language and communicate with others in that language. I’ve assigned each of you a pen pal from the other sections of English one-oh-six, and you’ll be expected to write them a note each week for class.”

The class around Izuku is convoluted. Some are whispering about how they think this is a childish lesson, others are excitedly chattering with their friends at the possibility of getting to write letters back and forth with another friend from a different section of this course. Ochaco leans over to Izuku, and she appears to be part of the latter group of students. “Isn’t this exciting?!” she whisper-shouts. “Maybe I’ll get to write letters to Tsuyu!”

Izuku hums, taps his pencil on the desk. He doesn’t know many people at this university yet – he really only knows Ochaco, Kacchan, and the acquaintances he works with at the on-campus café. “I think it might be fun,” he decides finally. He’s always been a friendly and outgoing person, and while his English isn’t perfect, he doubts the person he gets paired up with will judge him for it. In all, it seems like a creative way to teach a class, and it really does seem like a nice change of pace.

***

“He’s still doing that stupid pen pal thing, huh?”

Kacchan is leaning against the counter of their kitchenette while Izuku works on drafting his pen pal note at the island counter. “Mm,” Izuku hums his affirmation.

“I had him last semester,” Kacchan grunts, turns back to the microwave where he’s waiting on his ramen. “Thought that assignment was kinda fuckin’ stupid.”

“Who was your pen pal?” Izuku asks, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. He’s drafted his first letter three times now, trying to make sure it has as little errors as possible while also trying not to have scribble marks and pencil erasings.

“Some guy named Hitoshi,” Kacchan shrugs. “He wasn’t all that good at English. I could barely understand what the hell he was trying to say half the time.” He peers over the counter, eyeing Izuku’s paper. “You used the wrong tense there,” he points after a moment, and Izuku groans and throws his head down.

“Why don’t you write it for me?” Izuku whines, turns his cheek so it presses against the counter and he can stare up at Kacchan with big puppy dog eyes. Kacchan just grumbles under his breath and turns away, irritation in his voice even when his words are unintelligible.

“I’m not doing that stupid ass project again,” Kacchan gripes. “Who’s your pen pal or whatever, anyway?”

Izuku blinks to try and focus his eyes on the paper that is much too close to his face to be able to read. Finally he sits up and rubs his eyes, glares down at the name he’s written at the top of the paper. “Todoroki Shouto,” he says.

“Oh, that guy?” Kacchan keeps his eyes on the microwave as it ticks down. “Should be fuckin’ delightful to talk to,” he teases.

“What’s wrong with Todoroki?” Izuku asks, means not to sound defensive but he always seems to get this way when Kacchan acts abrasive.

“I had him in my Japanese lit class last semester,” he explains with a wave of the hand. “He’s just like, the exact opposite of your type.”

Izuku’s ears redden at the tips. “I’m not looking for a relationship,” he says quickly, his voice jumping up a few pitches. “It’s a school assignment! Why would you think—”

“Deku,” Kacchan interrupts, stern and a little intimidating. “It’s been months. You’re getting irritable.”

“Am not!” Izuku shoots back, then covers his mouth. Kacchan just smirks, knowingly, as if those two words have proven him right, because they kind of have.

“Whatever you say,” Kacchan grunts, opens the microwave just before it beeps and takes out his bowl of ramen noodles. He grabs a set of chopsticks from the drawer and migrates to the couch in their tiny living space. The television drowns out whatever Kacchan’s grumbling under his breath, and Izuku doesn’t quite care to ask him to repeat himself because honestly, he’s a little scared of the answer he’ll receive. So he returns his attention back to the page in front of him.

It’s a simple note. Professor Yamada has given everyone a topic for their first letter, ordering the class to talk about what they’re going to school for and what classes they’re taking this semester. He’s told everyone it needs to be around fifty words long to get full credit, and that they’re not being graded on English accuracy so much as on participation. Izuku knows he doesn’t have to put as much thought and effort into it as he is right now, but he can’t help himself; he wants to sound smart. That’s his downfall, is that he doesn’t want his first impression to be terrible.

Dear Todoroki Shouto,

Hi! My name is Midoriya Izuku. I am just turned twenty and this is my third year attending Yuuei University. I study natural science, chemistry, and modern history also with English. I major in Engineering, but I do know not what I want to do with that degree. I live on campus and have one roommate. It is nice to meet you!

Wishing you the best,

Midoriya Izuku

By the time he’s finally settled on his letter, it’s nearing ten at night. He knows he’s taken a lot more time on this than probably anyone else has, but that’s just his personality – he never puts less than a hundred percent into anything. “Kacchan,” he calls through the dorm; he heard Kacchan get out of the shower twenty minutes or so ago now and he really needs someone who’s better at English to revise for him.

“Fuck off, trying to sleep,” Kacchan calls back, his voice muffled through his bedroom door. Izuku sighs, wonders if Ochaco is still awake.

She must be, considering when he grabs for his cell phone that he’d put on silent just before he began working he sees sixteen new text messages, the most recent of which being from eight minutes ago. He exhales and decides that, rather than responding to all sixteen messages, it might be easier to just call her, so he scrolls through his contacts and hits the button to video call.

She picks up after two rings. “Deku!” she cries, but she doesn’t really sound angry, which is unusual when Izuku’s missed so many of her messages. “You got paired up with Todoroki Shouto?!”

“Ah, yeah?” Izuku’s beginning to wonder if he’s the only one who has no idea who this guy is. “So what?”

“So what?!” Ochaco repeats, her voice shrill with the question. “So, he’s like one of the hottest guys on campus!”

Izuku flushes. “I don’t really see how that—”

“You totally need to get with him! You’re getting irritable, Deku!”

Izuku feels his ears reddening again. Is it really that obvious? he thinks hopelessly. “I’m not,” he replies, tries not to sound as irritable this time when he says it.

“Are too,” Ochaco sing-songs.

“I don’t even know what he looks like,” Izuku whines finally, throws his head down on the note. “Who did you get paired up with?”

“Iida Tenya,” she says after a moment. “Do you know him?”

“Yeah,” Izuku sits up again. “I work with him. We usually have the same shift at the café.”

“Oh! The tall guy with the glasses?”

Izuku nods, grateful that his topic change has been so successful. Ochaco seems to notice what he’s done a moment later though, because she’s scolding him in mumbles and all Izuku can catch is “you can’t fool me, Deku”.

“Can you help me review my note?” Izuku asks, remembering now his main reasoning for calling in the first place.

Ochaco sighs and rubs her temple in a gesture that’s meant to be teasing but feels almost genuine. “Sure, sure,” she says with a fatigued smile. “But only if you’ll help me with Chemistry.”

[fy-enhypen]

“I’m extremely passionate about what I like” - Jay

Everything he did was JAYish. He had been moving to the rhythm of the music, then he came into the photoshoot with an abrupt change in his attitude. He laughed heartily when making pleasant conversation but his voice, expression, even his way of speaking reflected his passion and sincerity when he spoke seriously about his deepest feelings. You must feel very different after your debut, seeing as you were a trainee for so long.

JAY: I guess I’m more relaxed than happy or excited. I saw a lot of my friends debut while I was a trainee for three years, so I knew what to expect from the debut process from watching them.

It seems like you’ve changed since your I-LAND days. You look a little more relaxed.

JAY: You’re right. The show was three months of lots of difficulty and stress, having to keep proving myself at every moment. I was much more nervous then. Now I hardly ever feel nervous on stage. I concentrate like I’m comfortably singing and dancing in my own room. (laughs)

When I saw your parents on the show, they looked like cheery people.

JAY: I have an easy-going, friendly relationship with my parents. And the way my mom talked on the show was extremely blunt. (laughs) My parents and I are very honest and straightforward—like, no matter what everyone might think of me, I’ll say what they need to hear and whatever I want to them. We’re all like that. Even on I-LAND, it wasn’t that different from when I was a trainee. I only thought about wanting to put on a good show every week, and that way, I think, I showed my honest side.

And that’s when you had your “RAS” moment. (laughs) What did you think when you saw that scene?

JAY: “Whoa … Someone’s having a hard time!” (laughs) I can’t really remember that well anymore, but I must’ve had a really hard time. I think I was way too honest. (laughs)

You’re taking BTS’s advice: “Enjoy your embarrassing moments.” (laughs)

JAY: Exactly. I don’t care about it at all anymore. I ignore it; I think, it is what it is, and there’s no way to take it back. Even after I die, it’ll still be floating around the Internet, like my ghost. So I just kind of gave up on that. (laughs)

JAY: (laughs) Yes. I really like them (laughs) and, for the hook in the chorus, SUNGHOON’s part and mine are pretty much identical which are repeated. It was actually my dance move for SUNGHOON’s part and his move for my part at first, but it was decided later it would fit the mood better if the choreography was changed, so they ended up switched. The first way wasn’t bad either, but I think the changed version suited both of us much better.

I understand you’re something of a scaredy-cat. (laughs) Wasn’t it hard for you to get into the horror movie concept?

JAY: People say I’m a scaredy-cat, but I’m really not. (laughs) I’m more of a logical person (laughs) so I’m sort of afraid of things that can’t be proven or analyzed mathematically or scientifically. So maybe that’s why horror themes aren’t my strong suit.

I saw your reaction video for “Given-Taken” and it looked as though you were really surprised by how cool the music video turned out.

JAY: Yes. There were a number of scenes I felt underwhelmed about when we were shooting them, but the director actually made them look really cool. There’s this one part especially, where JAKE and I are looking at each other and the camera moves between us and then passes to SUNGHOON. When we were filming that, I kept wondering, “How is this going to end up?” And then that scene turned out way cooler than I expected. (laughs)

The look in your eyes the first time the chorus plays is amazing.

JAY: I’m first up on both the first and second verses, so I paid extra attention to my facial expressions and the way the dancing feels so that that whole part would turn out well. It’s a lot harder to emphasize a slow dance than a fast and pounding one, so I tried to put more focus on that part by giving off a sort of aggressively charismatic sort of feeling.

The part in the chorus where you were in the center was really intense, too.

JAY: The first thing the performance director told me to do for that part was to do this sort of tough guy swagger. And when I thought about the whole song, the characters we play give off a kind of aristocracy vibe, so I made it a point to seem like we were looking down on people. So I was dancing with everything I’ve got while I kept my face relaxed. I even smirked a little.

What do you hope to express when you’re dancing?

JAY: Whenever I practice, I always keep in mind what my dance instructor said: “Anyone who has the basics of dancing down can dance well, but looking really good comes from knowing how to relax.” So I want to dance as if it’s a piece of cake even when I’m using every last drop of my energy that I could collapse. Because of that, I made Jimin from BTS my role model for when I’m doing K-pop choreography.

It seems like you’re always thinking about dancing.

JAY: I’m extremely passionate about what I like and what I’m interested in. I get sucked into things until I use up all my energy on them. I have this tendency to focus on just one thing, and for weeks I’ll spend all my time on that one interest except for when I eat, sleep and shower. I also really like everything to be organized perfectly: I make all my game IDs the same, and arrange all my things by color. I must’ve been influenced by a bunch of designers when I started to get into fashion—like Karl Lagerfeld, for example. He only ever wore black suits in public, so now we always have this exact image of him. If you think about it, it’s like a concept. I thought it’s pretty cool to create this identity where people think or feel something specific when you see them.

You’re also interested in fashion, right?

JAY: I’m interested in anything related to art. And I think to be worthy of the title “artist” you need to be at least somewhat good in every art-related field. I take fashion very seriously because I think artists should show outwardly how seriously they take their art and their work. I think I’m also influenced by looking at artists like V from BTS who’re famous for their fashion sense.

I heard you’re also a stylist for the other members.

JAY: They’ve been asking me a lot of questions lately because they’re particularly into fashion now. My sense of fashion isn’t perfect, but I can make a decent judgment call by looking at length or color. For example, I can tell just from looking at a picture whether some combination will make someone’s legs look shorter or if some other combination will make their face look washed out, so the members will come to me to ask me questions and use me like a calculator. (laughs)

That reminds me of the episode of I-LAND where you allotted parts for “Dive into You” based on how well they suited each of the unit members.

JAY: I have a pretty good eye for things like music, dance, and clothes, so I think I can zero in on the key characteristics. I also stress efficiency in everything I do. I was actually a little bit edgy when I was giving out the parts for “Dive into You.” (laughs) Emotion is the root of my efficient and computative side. If I’m feeling competitive, or angry, or it’s a matter of pride, I get extremely focused and then I can think fast and efficiently to get results.

Not unlike that scene on I-LAND that people were talking about where producer Rain gave you feedback.

JAY: I was a bit surprised to see that clip of me being scolded by him popping up here and there. (laughs) Part of the reason I acted that way was because I was born in the US, but it’s also from my way of thinking efficiently. If I try to improve myself instead of just feeling intimidated, I might get better results next time. And I think it’s both efficient and not rude to listen to someone’s opinion properly, and show my determination not to repeat my mistakes in the future. That way I show how I’ll keep improving and moving forward.

Your life in the US must have been a big influence on you.

JAY: I think I was influenced by the way they always expect open and honest answers to everything. I usually think about what’s most important to others, to me, and to the situation before anything else, and then act based on that thinking. I never hesitate. I seriously won’t hesitate to do what’s best for them and for me, even if it makes me look bad. I think that’s more efficient than not being able to express my real opinion.

You keep emphasizing efficiency. I’m guessing you would really hate to ease up on your practice or work schedule.

JAY: Practice is a special case, I think. I think of art as an abstract kind of work: It’s something you have to slow down for and feel and think about, rather than something you can just figure out efficiently. So even when it’s time to dance, I’ll sometimes sit down with my earphones on and listen to some music to focus on my thoughts.

Is that why you’re interested in so many different things? You also cook, and you know a lot about many different topics.

JAY: I have interested in cooking since I was little. I learned bit by bit from my parents and from watching YouTube and slowly tried my hand at it. As for knowing a lot of trivia, that’s because of my dad. My dad and I are really similar. He knows literally everything. Even things you don’t usually need to know, he has a high-level understanding of. I heard him talk about a lot of things because I’m a naturally curious person and asked him a lot of questions. Ever since I was a kid, I have been curious about a lot of random things. Even when I’m in bed, if I suddenly wonder about things like, “Why isn’t time travel possible?” or, “How does the touch screen on phones work?” I immediately get up and search it.

And what led such a curious boy to become an idol?

JAY: I didn’t originally have any interest in it, but I got an offer to audition through street casting by another company. It sounded like it could be cool (laughs) so I decided to give it a try. I took some lessons for two or three days and had the audition and got in, but then something came up and I left that company. When I got serious again about wanting to demonstrate my skills and get into another company, I was just browsing the music charts and saw BTS’s “Blood Sweat & Tears” was number one. I didn’t really know about BTS at the time, though. As soon as I heard the song, my mind was blown. I looked up the music video and thought, wow, these guys are on a whole different level. (laughs) So I made Big Hit my goal, practiced for a month or two and here I am.

That must be why you were so determined to debut when you were on I-LAND. We also saw you in the role of leader. How did it feel to lead a team like that?

JAY: As someone who’s been leader twice, I don’t think it’s a job for humans. (laughs) That’s how hard it is. It’s too much pressure. When I was talking to HEESEUNG, I even said, “Honestly, you and I don’t have the right personality to be the leader.” There weren’t many people on I-LAND who had experience being the leader, so HEESEUNG and I had no choice but to do it. That was pretty hard. I knew what I had to do and how I should manage the team, but I felt like I just didn’t have the personality for it. But anyway, seeing how strong-willed JUNGWON is, I think he’ll do a perfectly good job as he gains more experience.

It seems like you were close with HEESEUNG even before the debut.

JAY: HEESEUNG and I are more like family. In the past three years, I spent more time with HEESEUNG than with my mom. We’re so close that we can say anything to each other. But with JUNGWON, it was more like a younger brother–older brother situation, so it was more about taking care of one another than being friends, and it was hard for me or HEESEUNG to get close to him. But as it started to feel like we might become members of the same team, I felt like JUNGWON was opening himself up to me, and I think that’s when we started to get close.

I imagine that, as you grew closer practicing and debuting with your team, you also grew fonder of them.

JAY: I really want to take good care of them. I really don’t need to interfere when someone else can handle it better, but still, I just want to do whatever I can to help out.

Even though you haven’t been able to meet your fans yet, what would you like to do for them?

JAY: It’s true that we can’t see our fans, and it’s a bad time for us and them both, but I’m trying to stay positive. For example, most of our shows right now are pre-recorded, so at least we can make fewer mistakes at the beginning of our debut. We have plenty of time to make ourselves even better so that when we see our fans in person we can hopefully put on a live show that we’ll have no regrets about. That’s what I want to do, so I’m practicing hard.

[rebelminxy]

Never Trust an Angel

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader x Dean Winchester

Word Count:4330

Square Filled: Case Fic

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Explicit Language, Oral (Female Receiving), Double Penetration, Anal Sex, Unprotected Sex

A/N: This is written for @spnkinkbingo and no, not putting exactly who or what the reader is because I wanted it to be a sort of surprise at the end. This takes place during season two.

MASTERLIST

SPNKinkBingo Masterlist

The door to the Roadhouse swung open, causing Sam and Dean to turn and see who was the new arrival. A young woman stood at the entrance, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in leather from head to toe. Both the brothers couldn’t help but admire the beauty walking towards them, as her hips swayed with each step she took. 

“Hey there Angel! Long time no see!” Ellen called out, causing the woman to smile.

Angel reached the bar and got up on a stool, leaning over to give Ellen a hug. Both women shared a laugh before letting each other go. This was the first time the Winchesters ever saw Ellen being affectionate to someone other than her daughter.

“What’ve been up to woman? Last I heard you were down in New Orleans doing an exorcism.”

“Eh, the same as usual, banishing demons, cleansing folks, the same old stuff,” Angel replied as she sat down properly between the boys.

“Well glad you could make it. Let me introduce you to the Winchester brothers, eldest one here is Dean and the fluff ball of hair is Sam.”

“Winchester, as in John Winchester’s boys?” Angel asked, her gaze crawling all over them.

“The exact ones,” Ellen replied.

“Hmm, hope y’all not as bad as your father. I got a bone to pick with the bastard, still owes me money from a bet we made about a year ago.”

“Sorry to say sugar,” Dean said. “But our father died recently.”

“Oof,” she replied with a huff. “Sorry to hear that, bless that asshole’s soul.”

Ellen threw a washrag at Angel, fussing at her about disrespecting the dead.

“Well, see here, I called you because these boys are in a bit of demon trouble. Ash is helping them but figured might as well call in the professional.” 

Sam looked over at Angel with a confused look, something that wasn’t ignored by the woman.

“That’s right boys, my specialty is demons. Hunt them, trap them, and send them back to the hellhole they belong.” 

“Wow, that’s kind of cool that you specialize in demons,” Sam stated as he fully turned his attention away from the paperwork in front of him.

“Cool but dangerous,” Angel stated. “So, what’s the trouble? Lower level demon, crossroads demon that went too far with making a deal?”

“Looking for a demon named Azazel,” Dean spoke up before taking a swing of beer.

“Azazel? What’s that bastard got with you two?”

“Let’s just say, he owes us his life.”

Angel turned to look at Dean, noticing how dark his eyes turned. She then turned to look at Sam and saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. Angel debated silently in her mind her next response.

“Look, you’re the expert here,” Ellen began. “I trust you to help these boys and by what they’ve told me, this demon is bigger trouble than your usual lackeys.”

“Yeah, I know,” Angel replied. “The few run-ins I’ve had mentioned this name.”

“So will you help them?” Ellen asked with a pleading look.

Angel sighed and nodded her head, giving in to Ellen’s pleads. Ellen reached over the bar and slapped Angel on the shoulder, giving her a wide smile.

“Good girl!” Ellen exclaimed. “Now, go do your thing and let us know if there is any good news on getting to this bastard.”

“You got it, Ellen,” Angel replied with a grunt, getting up from the stool. “Give me 3 days tops and we’ll meet back here at this time with the information I have.”

Angel patted both Dean and Sam’s shoulder, saying goodbye to the trio before making her way out the roadhouse. Once the door swung shut, Dean turned to Ellen.

“A demon hunter named Angel, that’s a new one.”

“Well, the name was given to her,” Ellen stated as she cleaned a couple of beer glasses. “She came one day after a hunt and when I asked for her name, she wouldn’t give it to me. A few weeks later, she came back in with a hunter who was bleeding out. Saved the poor bastard and in his drugged daze, he called her an angel. So, the name stuck. She didn’t want to give a name so we gave her one.”

“So you don’t even know her name, yet trust her?” Same asked cautiously. 

“Yeah, the girl has proven her worth and has saved many lives. If she had any ill will to anyone, she would have already acted on it.”

“Just, something about her doesn’t rub right,” Dean whispered, earning a towel slap on the back of his head from Ellen.

“Listen here boy, she is the best demon hunter out there. You want to reach that demon of yours, she the answer. So don’t go judging because that girl will have your hide for questioning her motives.”

Dean huffed in response, moving to the stool next to Sam. Ellen had walked away as Dean leaned in close to Sam and whispered.

“Did you get any good vibes from that girl?”

“Honestly, no,” Sam responded softly. “But if she’s as good as Ellen says she is, then maybe we should at least trust her with her help.”

Dean rolled his eyes and backed away from his baby brother. Just something about her caught his eye and it wasn’t just her body.

====

3 Days Later

The door swung wide open, causing Sam and Dean to look up from their game of pool. There stood Angel in a  grey trench coat and a pair of silver open-toed, six-inch heels, two plastic garment bags in hand. She strutted towards the bar, throwing the garment bags on it. Ellen walked out from the back as the brothers walked towards Angel.

“What’s with the getup?” asked Dean.

“We are going to a club tonight, and it ain’t just any old club. It’s Hell’s Gate.”

“And we have to go there why?” Sam asked with an arched brow.

“Hell’s Gate is basically a sex club. Demons run it and possess bodies and use them to make deals. Get humans all happy and convince them to sign their soul away.”

“And again, why?” Sam asked again.

“Found out Azazel’s boys run the place, and supposedly tonight Azazel is making an appearance.”

“Wow, really?” Ellen asked.

“Yeah, so we need to get there and wait until Azazel shows up to face the bastard.”

“If it’s a club,” Dean began. “We would need the right clothes for…”

“Way ahead of ya mister,” Angel giggled as she picked the garment bags from the bar and handed one to each brother. “They are your size, I asked Ellen for measurements. So go get dressed and let’s go. The club is about 20 minutes from here and they are going to open up soon.”

Angel pushed both men towards the bathroom so they would get dressed. Once they were dressed and ready, they walked back out into the main room. Ellen’s mouth dropped at the sight of them. They were both wearing a black tux, but while Sam wore the bowtie, Dean just stuffed it into his pocket and went without it. 

“Damn, you boys do clean up good,” Ellen chuckled as she took them all in.

“Thanks, Ellen,” Sam replied with a smile. “So huge issue, almost every demon that works for Azazel knows our faces. How are we even going to walk through the door?”

“Best thing about tonight, it’s masquerade night,” Angel responded with a cocky smile, handing both brothers a mask. “These should hide you, hopefully.”

Sam and Dean grabbed the black full face masks and examined them. 

“Well let’s go, we need to be there before Azazel arrives.”

The trio said goodbye to Ellen and made their way out the Roadhouse. The brothers headed over to the Impala, but Angel told them it would be best to ride in her car since everyone knew their car. They all climbed into her little silver Toyota and made their way to Hell’s Gate. Once they arrived, the brothers straighten themselves out as they looked around that parking lot, only a few cars there.

“Place looks empty for a sex joint,” Dean examined, mask already on.

“It’s early,” Angel responded, removing her trench coat. “Everyone will show up later.”

Sam and Dean’s eyes grew wide in shock as they watched her remove her trench coat to reveal what she was wearing. She wore a silver sleeveless, sequin dress with small rhinestone chains draping her shoulders. The neckline was extremely low cut and half her back was exposed. The dress ended mid-thigh and she wore three silver chains around her neck like a choker, her hair pinned up in an updo with a few strands falling around her face. She placed her mask on which was a silver rhinestone one that covered only around her eyes.

“Wow,” Dean whispered before taking a big gulp. 

“Yeah,” Sam huffed back, pulling at his collar. 

“You boys ready to get this party started?” Angel asked as she made her way to the main building.

Sam and Dean followed her, letting her do all the talking once they made it to the door. She easily got them in and once they were inside, they noticed how full it actually was. Dancers on various stages while men and women alike were watching. Angel guided them to the bar, all three examining the area for any possible exits just in case. At the bar, Angel ordered three whiskey shots and gave one to each guy, taking hers in one swing.

“Hey there beautiful,” the male bartender said to Angel. “Looks like you’re one for sharing eh.”

He winked at the brothers and looked back at her.

“If you need extra company, my break will be coming up.”

“Not interested, big boy,” Angel responded in annoyance.

“Well, the offer still stands.”

As the bartender turned away, Angel turned to look at the debauchery before them, sighing.

“If my sources were correct, Azazel should be here soon.”

“Well, if your sources are wrong, at least we can get rid of a few demons in the process,” Dean mumbled as he leaned closer to her.

“Yeah but would have been best if we could have gotten two birds with one stone,” Sam added, his face very close to Angel’s ear.

“Don’t worry, you know the time and if he isn’t here by then, we clean out this area.”

The three stood there at the bar, watching as some couples headed to the back rooms for more private fun. But those that had stayed in the main room, didn’t hide what they were looking for. Sex everywhere, seeing couples going at it, trio’s, there was even an orgy going on in a corner. The place reeked of sex, which wasn’t helping the three either. Sam and Dean were only inches away from Angel, their breathing getting heavier as they watched these people get fucked. 

Sam and Dean had spoken earlier how they both found Angel attractive and how they both wanted to flirt with her. In the end, they came to an agreement and left the matters there. But with what was going on in that room was not helping either of them, and by the looks of it, neither was it helping Angel.

“Damnit, we need to get out of here,” Angel groaned as she made her way towards the back rooms. Sam and Dean followed right behind, their eyes never leaving her. She entered a room and sat on the bed, her breathing heavy. Dean shut the door behind him once they were all inside. 

“Something’s wrong, I feel hot,” Angel complained as she tugged at the hem of her dress.

“You are hot, baby,” Dean chuckled as his eyes roamed over her body.

“No, something doesn’t feel right,” she replied in annoyance, waving her hand in front of her face.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, slowly making his way towards her.

“I mean, I have such an urge to fuck the both of you it’s killing me.”

Sam turned to look at Dean, who was already unbuttoning his sweat ridden shirt.

“Will admit, I’ve been feeling the same way the moment I saw you in that dress,” Dean confessed huskily.

Angel looked up to glare at Dean, but her eyes were dark with desire, her skin sweating as if she ran a marathon. She looked over at Sam to see him sweating just like them, his eyes narrowing on her. The three looked at each other as if wondering who would make the first move. Whatever was happening to them, it was as if it broke that last bit of resistance anyone had, because Angel ran towards Sam and jumped onto him, her arms wrapped around his neck as she planted her lips on his. Dean stood where he was as he watched his baby brother kiss the woman they had both desired. With both hands, Sam groped her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She pressed her body as close to Sam as she possibly could, rubbing her breasts against his chest. Dean moved from his spot to stand behind her, placing his hands on her waist as he placed his lips and began to kiss her exposed back. She arched between them, biting down on Sam’s lip, causing him to bleed. 

“Bed, now!” she exclaimed.

Dean pulled her from Sam’s arms and turned her around to kiss him, her body wrapped around his just like she did with Sam. As Dean made his way towards the bed, Sam moved to lock the door. He turned back to see his brother kissing Angel passionately as he laid her on the bed. Sam began to strip from his suit, making a quick job of it. He was only in his boxers when he reached the bed, pushing Dean out the way so he could continue kissing her. Dean made quick work of his clothes, fully naked and climbed the bed so that he was by her head.

Sam released her swollen lips and quickly lowered himself onto his knees, his hands spreading her legs apart.

“Wanna taste you, baby,” he groaned out as his face inched closer to her core, finding out in the process that she wore no underwear.

“Yes, please,” she begged, her hands reaching to dig into his hair, pushing his face closer.

Both brothers chuckled as their eyes met, Dean winked at Sam, and dipped his head into her neck, nibbling at her skin. Dean traveled from her shoulder over her collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses and bites behind as he reached her exposed cleavage.

“She’s overdressed Sam,” Dean huffed.

“Then undress her,” Sam replied before blowing on her soaking wet core.

Dean grabbed for the neckline of her dress and tore it open, receiving a gasp from her.

“That was my favorite dress.”

“Will buy you a new one after,” Dean replied as he ripped the torn cloth away, leaving it in shreds under her. 

She wore nothing under her dress, giving both brothers joy to know she was naked underneath the entire time. Sam couldn’t wait any longer, sliding his tongue along her slit, teasing her before pushing it through to her clit. He looked up with blown pupils as he watched her thrive in pleasure, Dean reaching her breasts as his mouth took in a nipple, his fingers teasing the other until it was hard. Sam dragged his tongue up and down inside her, causing her body to arch up. He suckled on her clit like a baby eating from its mother. His tongue moved down to her core, lapping up the juices that flowed from her entrance. While Sam’s tongue fucked her, Dean was biting and suckling on her nipples, switching from one to the other, causing her skin to turn purple. Whenever a nipple wasn’t in his mouth, he would use his free hand to twist the nub with his fingers, causing a rush of pleasurable pain course through her body. 

The twisting and biting from Dean, plus Sam’s tongue, she couldn’t hold back any longer. She screamed out in pleasure, her body arching as far off the bed as she could with both men holding her down. She rode out her high as Sam swallowed her pleasure, Dean massaging her breasts. 

But it wasn’t enough.

“More, need more,” she breathed out heavily as she came down from her first orgasm.

“We can give you more, baby,” Dean whispered in her ear, lifting her up and moving her to be on top of him. 

Dean laid beneath her, his cock pushing at her entrance. And just as desperate as she was, he couldn’t wait. He pushed his cock into her in one swift motion and they both gasped in pleasure. Her heat encircled him, causing it hard to move out of fear that he would orgasm the moment he did. 

“Have you gotten fucked in the ass, baby?” Sam asked from behind them.

“Yeah, once,” Angel replied with a slight stutter.

“Good, gonna spread those cheeks for me real good,” he groaned out as he searched the cabinets of the nightstand next to the bed. 

Dean slowly began to pull out, moaning out as soon as just the tip was inside, and then he rammed his cock right back into her. Once Sam found what he needed, he removed his boxers and grabbed the bottle of lube he found. Once the bottle was open, he used his free hand to spread her asscheeks open, dropping some of the bottle’s contents on her hole. He heard her gasp, probably from the cold liquid. He emptied half the bottle on her and closed it, throwing it across the room. He grabbed both cheeks and massaged them together to make sure her hole was covered. To test the area out, he spread her open again and used a finger to slowly penetrate her, receiving a scream.

“Fuck, Sam, think she liked that because she went tight on me,” Dean groaned out, throwing his head back.

Sam finger fucked her asshole for a bit, making sure her hole was covered in lube. As he did so, Dean was ramming his cock into her, using all his strength to not end his pleasure so quickly. Her heat engulfed him, her breasts rubbed against his chest, her lips pressed against his as he felt her moans vibrate through him. It was finally Sam’s time to enter her, which he did slowly so she could adjust. As Sam entered her, Dean stopped his movements, holding her in place so Sam could slide in. It was a bit of a slow process, but finally, Sam slid all the way in. Her eyes flew open and rolling back in pleasure as she was fully filled from both holes.

“Fuck she is tight,” Sam grunted as he adjusted himself, grabbing his brother’s legs to pull them to the edge of the bed so he could stand.

“Hell yeah she is, fucking perfect,” Dean answered before lifting his head to nibble on her earlobe.

“Just fuck me you animals!” she screamed out.

And that’s what they did. Dean lifted his hips, his hands holding her hips in place. Sam pulled out slowly at first but after his second push in, he didn’t hesitate. He quickened his pace, loving how tight she felt around his cock. Both brothers didn’t hold back as they fucked her senseless, Sam’s hands on her back as Dean caressed and held her hips. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, their moans and groans echoing in the room, this was wild animal sex. Their bodies soaked in sweat as they all reached their high quickly. Sam and Dean held on for dear life until they heard her scream out in pleasure, her body convulsing between them as they joined her in such orgasmic pleasure. They both came right after she did, their cocks filling her to the brim with cream. All three rode out their high as they caught their breath. 

Once the brother’s softened, they pulled out and she turned over off Dean, laying on the bed as they all caught their breath.

“That’s what I call a goddamn good fuck,” Angel chuckled.

“Gotta say, I agree with you there,” Dean laughed out.

Their moment of joy was interrupted with a banging at the door. Dean and Sam quickly threw on their pants as Angel grabbed one of their shirts to wear.

“We know you’re in there Demon Hunter, so come out here and face your punishment!”

“Fuck, they found out,” Angel whispered.

Dean grabbed his jacket and pulled out two knives, Sam doing the same with his jacket. Dean handed Angel a knife and the three got ready for whoever was on the other side of the door.

“You made sure your plan would be ready?” Sam asked as the banging continued.

“Double checked and everything,” Angel replied.

The door suddenly burst into pieces and two men stood at the entrance, their eyes fully black.

“There’s the damn bitch!” one exclaimed.

Sam and Dean rushed the two demons, stabbing them and pushing a card through the wounds. Both demons broke free and pushed away, standing as they got their bearings. Before they could even register what had happened, Angel was chanting an exorcism out loud, causing both demons to writhe in pain, before leaving the body. Once the black smoke was gone, both bodies dropped dead on the floor.

“Ok, didn’t expect that to work,” Dean said as he looked between the two.

“Told you, those cards not only have a devil’s trap on them but they are bathed in holy water. So it dazes the demon out long enough for the exorcism to work. Now let’s move.”

The trio made their way down the hall and into the main room. Once they were there, they noticed that everyone was surrounding the main stage in the middle of the club, Azazel standing there with a smile on his face.

“Welcome boys, I assume you both had a wonderful time here,” he said with an evil tone to his voice.

“Azazel,” Dean whispered.

“Well, now that we are all together, why don’t we play a little game I like to call, Cat and Mouse. And you, are the mouse!”

“Fuck you, demon!” Dean exclaimed before he began the exorcism chant. 

Everyone that was a demon began to react, leaving their vessels. But when they tried to fly off, they realized they couldn’t move from the center. Azazel looked up at the ceiling and saw a glow in the dark devil’s trap, which was holding all the demons inside. One by one they all made their way back to hell just like the exorcism ordered. By the time the last demon disappeared, Dean was exhausted from repeating that chant by heart. Azazel was still standing on the stage, the one that wasn’t inside the trap.

“You are going to pay for that mess,” Azazel began.

“Not really, since we are going to kill…oophm!”

Sam turned to see Dean knocked out cold on the floor, Angel holding the blunt part of her knife up in the air. Sam looked at Angel in shock.

“What the hell is going on?” he exclaimed, his eyes shifting between Azazel’s smiling face and Angel’s back.

“Just shut up,” Angel stated as she turned and kicked Sam in the face, knocking him out as well.

The silence in the room was broken by Azazel’s clapping. She looked up at him, her face stoic.

“Well done, (Y/N),” Azazel praised. “Did not think you would get through this. You didn’t have to send all my demons down to hell you know.”

“Just because I was working for you doesn’t mean I stop being a hunter. You’re damn lucky I won’t send you the hell where you belong. And why did you spike our drinks? I told you I had a plan!”

“Darling, even if you tried, I would just come right back up and make your life a living hell,” Azazel replied with a wicked smile on his face. "And I just wanted to be safe than sorry. At least you got a quick fuck out of it."

“Alright, you got what you wanted, now give me my freedom,” (Y/N) demanded, extending her arm out to him. On the inside of her arm was a black marking, something anyone would take as a tattoo. But it was Azazel’s symbol of dealings, the one that was only used on serious deals. 

Azazel smiled at her and waved his hand, the markings disappearing from her skin. She rubbed the spot, making sure it was gone.

“You are no longer a vessel choice for our Lord, Lucifer. It’s a shame though, if I would have known you would have turned out like this, I would have placed my bet on you rather than Sammy boy here.”

“I’m no one’s vessel, let alone the king of demons.”

“Was this really your main motive? I mean you could have avoided the choice when the time came.”

“It’s not my main motive,” (Y/N) replied while looking down at the brothers on the floor. “But it was number two on my list.”

“And number one is?”

“Vengeance from John Winchester.”

“Oh, so it was their father who killed your entire family,” Azazel whistled out.

“My family were peaceful witches, using their magic only to help those in need,” (Y/N) said, lost in the memory. “Yet that bastard came and burned my home with my entire family inside. Didn’t ask questions, just murdered and burned them.”

(Y/N) looked down at Sam and a wicked smile etched her lips.

“To know John is in hell, screaming in pain, and to see his boy become the Devil’s vessel, that’s all I needed to feel complete.”

“And are you going to stop using my demons as daily meals?”

“No,” (Y/N) replied, her eyes landing on Azazel before turning fully black. “Gonna need their blood for more power.”

[geekgirles]

A sword and a yo-yo.

So, as I expected, I was disappointment with Oni-chan. And I decided to write a nice aftermath considering the lack of bonding time between Marinette and Kagami when they're the only sane characters who're into Adrien! So, I changed that ;) Sorry if it's too vague, I actually wrote it yesterday. Please enjoy! And shout-out to @apocalypse-of-the-fucked for helping me out! Girl, you rock!

The parisian sunset was a sight to behold, indeed. With the sky’s rosy and orange shades darkening as time went by, yet it only made the view even more breathtaking. She would say it could even rival the first sunrise of the year back in Japan. The only thing that made it not so perfect though, was that she was watching it from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Right after she had been akumatised that same day.

But, she was there per Ladybug’s request. And after having to deal with whatever she had turned into this time and the Hell that Lila Rossi had proven herself to be in the scarce few hours she had known her, something inside her told her she owed it to the superheroine.

As she waited for the masked hero to make her appearance, she allowed her mind to wander back to the moment she had regained her senses.

Kagami suddenly found herself in the middle of Paris, in some unknown location she had never been to in all her months living in the City of Lights. But one thing she could recognise for sure was the two heroes standing near her and, unfortunately, the Italian girl who was complaining to her phone. Annoyance apparent in her voice.

The young fencer narrowed her eyes. From what she could hear, Lila seemed to be playing the victim to her mother, whining about the lousy job Paris’ duo of superheroes had done to protect her from the crazy chick who had lost her marbles and attacked her.

“They can’t be that bad if you’re still alive and whining, if you ask me”. The Japanese teen thought.

Everything was just very suspicious, she remembered this girl was annoying and gave off the vibe of being more fake than a tan from a beauty parlor, but didn’t she always say she was best friends with Ladybug? Then why would she criticise her like that?

That’s when she appeared. In all her mysterious glory and deep blue eyes, Ladybug crouched down before Kagami. The young fencer had to keep her cool, something that didn’t happen often considering she was practically trained to remain focused at all times.

“Are you okay?” The heroine simply asked.

“Y-yeah. I...think so”.

“Don’t worry about losing your cool and getting akumatised. Happens to the best of us”.

Kagami couldn’t believe her ears. Despite losing all control and probably, most likely, trying to hurt innocent people out of spite, Ladybug was trying to comfort her. No wonder she was Paris’ idol… No, scratch that. More like its guardian angel.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Lila exclaiming something about Ladybug having to be beside her because Alya (?) had asked her about whatever and she demanded her presence because, apparently, she owed it to her.

Then it was Chat’s turn to speak.

“Sorry, Lila, but we’d better go. Don’t wanna de-transform, you know!”

As if on cue, Ladybug followed suit but not before leaning into Kagami’s ear to whisper “Come meet me at the top of the Eiffel Tower at sunset”. And then, she was gone.

And that’s why she had had to convince her driver to take her to the famous landmark instead of going home after such a stressful day. And the reason why she found herself waiting for the masked girl to appear.

But why would she want to speak to her, though? Did she want to make sure she was alright after being akumatised? Which was sweet, but she had never heard any of the other students who had been turned into villains mention the same process. Just what was going on?!

“Hi”

Her thoughts were abruptly stopped by the arrival of said hero.

“Hello”. She replied as formally and professionally as she could.

Gesturing to the edge of the tower, Ladybug welcomed her to sit. Once she had done so, the polka-dotted lady did the same.

“So”-she started- “I guess you must be wondering why I asked you to come meet me here, right?”

“That must be the understatement of the century” The Japanese teen answered, a bit more harshly than she had intended. “Look, if this is about me getting akumatised for the fourth time-”

“It’s not!” Ladybug quickly corrected. “I mean, I decided I should talk to you after you were akumatised… But I actually wanted to have an honest chat with you because I believe you deserve the truth. Telling me why you became one of Hawk Moth’s victims would indeed be a good start, though”.

This was going to be humiliating… However, Kagami, always the proud one, put on a façade and sighed.

“I was akumatised because I was jealous.” She revealed.

“Jealous? Of who?”

“Of Lila.” Kagami revealed. “Listen, I know it’s petty, but I can’t help it. She was just so close to this one boy I like, who happens to be my closest friend back at school, that I just couldn’t control myself! I already have to deal with his not-so-secret crush on this other girl who’s… kind of difficult to read? She seems to be head over heels for him yet, she rejects him. It’s infuriating!”

Luckily for her, Kagami had ignored Ladybug’s utter astonishment. She was clearly talking about Adrien. But who could this mysterious girl of his be? Certainly, it wasn’t Lila. And Chloé… The fact that they were friends was appalling enough. She was convinced she was Kagami, but the Ice Queen’s outburst had left her questioning everything. Could she be talking about Marinette-erm- her? That couldn’t be possible. He had asked her for advice with the girl sitting next to her! But, at the same time, Marinette couldn’t think of anyone else Kagami could suspect of. So, what if?

“Not to mention, that Lila girl does not appear to be trustworthy at all. I have sometimes been described as a judgemental character, I won’t deny it, but this girl in particular just rubs me off the wrong way. Always so sweet, so charming around others. And yet, as soon as the vast majority turns around, she becomes cold, distant, proud… It appears as if all her charm was nothing but a trap to lure you in… And forgive me, I know she’s your best friend, Ladybug, but she’s just-!”

“Lila is a liar”.

At that her rumbling stopped. She turned to the polka-dotted girl next to her, eyes wide. So many questions popping up in her head, so many feelings battling against each other for dominance. But anger was soon getting the upper hand. So much anger.

“What?”. She hissed.

“Lila”, The hero began, "is a liar. She lies about absolutely everything. Believe me, this conversation would end a lot sooner if I just told you which truths she has actually said. But yes, Lila lies with every breath. I can’t tell you every single falsehood she’s talked about, but I can tell you this: I never saved Lila’s life, and therefore, we are not friends. Even better! Not only did I never saved her life, but I don’t even like her as a person and, on top of it, I’m pretty sure she absolutely hates me.

“Lila lies for several reasons, as far as I’m concerned. She lies to be the centre of attention and get everyone on her good side, willing to obey her every command, or , if she feels threatened enough, to turn everyone against you and get rid of you. To bring you down.”

“So everything she’s said about you was to make herself look good in front of others?”. Kagami asked, dumbfounded.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Was Ladybug’s simple answer.

The Asian teen was absolutely disgusted about that new piece of information. No wonder she seemed suspicious and fake. The Italian girl turned out to be the kind of people Kagami despised the most!

“And why haven’t you expose her to the Ladyblog? If I’m not mistaken, that Alya girl who runs it has some interviews about her and her “close friendship with Ladybug”, the world should know about this!” The fencer stated, fury apparent in her delicate features.

“I did expose her, though”-Marinette tried to excuse herself-”And that led to some damaging tendencies...”

“What do you mean?” Kagami asked, now more confused than angry.

The blue-eyed hero sighed. She really did have to fess up just about everything, didn’t she?

“Lila is prone to akumatisation. I wholeheartedly believe she’s already been akumatised four times, and whenever that happens she’s usually a tough opponent. Besides, knowing Lila as much as I’ve come to know her these past few months, she’s most likely to become emotionally vulnerable if someone exposes her lies. For a liar, that girl sure is proud!”

“And you know this because you exposed her?” The Asian girl was beginning to understand.

Once again, the hero sighed.

“Yeah… Look, I’m not really proud of that because, while she deserved it, I must admit I went overboard. I-I humiliated her in front of the guy she likes, who’s probably the same guy you like, when she was trying to win him over by saying we were friends and she was actually another superhero. So...you can imagine how that one went. Not even ten minutes afterwards I had to fight against a superhero copycat and master of illusions.”

“Wait!” -Kagami demanded- “So you’re telling me Adrien knows?!”

Now she was furious. Her closest friend knew all along and, not only did allow her to get akumatised by not telling her, but he also allowed Lila to manipulate all his friends! Something was clearly wrong with that guy.

“Yes, Adrien does know. And, in case you’re wondering, no, he hasn’t exposed her himself. He believes in taking the high road given proving Lila is nothing but a liar will only hurt her more and cause more trouble.” Ladybug tried to defend her crush.

“Yes, but at the same time he’s letting her get her way while everyone’s deceived and he has to endure her clingy tendencies!”

Now that she had given a lot of thought. By taking the high road even Adrien had to suffer Lila’s actions. And sure, it had sounded as a nice alternative when he had first suggested it, but it hadn’t stopped Lila from declaring war between them, with no Adrien directly involved, after the seats had been rearranged, and he was the one who turned Lila down to sit next to her in the first place! As much as she wanted to side with Adrien, Kagami was in the right here. Taking the high road wouldn’t stop Lila.

“You know what, Kagami? I think there’s someone who’ll share your point of view.”

Now the fencer was simply taken aback. Who on Earth would be willing to take her side if her fencing partner, closest friend and oblivious crush wouldn’t? Unable to repress her curiosity-she needed to do something with her emotions, they were running out of control that day!-she dared to ask.

“Who?”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Of all the people in the world the only person she would’ve expected less than Adrien’s friend Marinette was that brat of Chloé Bourgeois. But, still, that was too much! Marinette was Adrien’s oblivious crush! The girl who, although didn’t seem as bad as Lila or Chloé, she still didn’t trust! Why her?!

“I know you don’t necessarily have to get along with Marinette, but believe me when I say, out of her whole class, she’s the only other person who’s well aware of Lila’s deceitful nature. Actually, Miss Show Off already sees her as her enemy, so I doubt she’s got anything to lose.”

Kagami actually took the time to consider, even though they weren’t on the best of terms and although it certainly pained her to admit it, Marinette had to be something else to have Adrien so enamored with her. The way he spoke about her when they had their first real conversation after she had been turned into Riposte certainly showed a level of fondness she wish anyone would use to refer to her. Maybe...Just maybe, she could give her a chance.

While she kept on pondering her options, Ladybug stood up, catching her attention.

“Well, we should probably go, today has been quite an eventful day and I’m certain we could both use a rest. Just promise me you’ll think on the Marinette thing, okay?” She said as she gave her her hand to shake.

This girl was something else indeed. She was someone to admire. So mysterious yet caring and welcoming, but at the same time fierce and determined. She was exactly what Kagami had always hoped to become. But there was much more about her. She had this presence, a powerful presence, that made her both someone entirely new and different from what the young fencer had met before and, at the same time, she was oddly familiar. Something about that hair, her smile and, oh God, those eyes. The Japanese girl found herself blushing and incapable of turning her down.

“I will.” She promised, taking her hand to shake.

And just like that, the superheroine disappeared as fast as she had appeared and Kagami strangely found herself looking forward to interact with Marinette and getting to know her once more.

[starwarshyperdrive]

I’m concerned about the Star Wars canon

I’ve always been a huge Star Wars fan but didn't follow the old EU (extended universe) because it was too convoluted and well.. a bunch of gobbledygook (granted there were some good bits in it, who doesn’t love the Thrawn trilogy even though he is pretty much a different character now), so I actually welcomed the new canon. Start over with a clean slate and make sure everything is connected, makes sense and feels Star Warsy. So far the story group has done a decent job, even though there were some questionable bits and pieces. As hardcore Star Wars fan and apologist I can force myself to get behind a lot of things and I was cool with the Bendu somehow, but the Clone Wars Mortis arc, as well as space whales and the world between worlds really rubbed me the wrong way. A lot of people are celebrating Dave Filoni as savior of the true Star Wars spirit and he is certainly an inspired artist and nice guy but I once again have to wonder whether or not some of the comic bookish stuff REALLY fits the Star Wars universe. Yeah I know ‘it’s a huge universe bla bla’ but do we really have to accept everything?

Someone recently described hardcore fans (such as myself) as a ‘cult’ and Star Wars Celebration to a religious ceremony and if I’m being honest and self-reflective I can’t really argue against it, but that’s also why you always need to check yourself and not just ‘swallow’ everything without questioning it. Keep a critical eye. Things like time travel and other super hero stuff ( I haven’t seen any of the recent Marvel or DC movies) have no place in Star Wars. Of course Star Wars is for everyone, but does that then also mean we need a Star Wars romcom, a Star Wars coming of age movie ..or ..?  I don’t know..porn? Leave that to fan fiction. 

Star Wars was always more about mythology, some sort of buddhist Excalibur and I am seriously concerned that at some point the ‘people in charge’ will forget that and it will become a shallow bubble gum entertainment focus on ‘what is selling at the moment’. A good example are - again - all the super hero movies picking up on trends. I don’t want a Thor Ragnarok Star Wars movie with a Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack. Don’t make everything the same. Keep Star Wars unique. Keep ‘that Star Wars tone’.

‘XY doesn’t UNDERSTAND Star Wars’ is an overused and abused phrase and in so many ways pointless as there are many facets to Star Wars especially now that we have generations of fans who grew up with the prequels, the Clone Wars, Rebels or even Resistance - I should point out that I actually liked Resistance because it’s not tempering with the mythology - but the lore has been laid out in the original trilogy and everything needs to acknowledge that. We cannot have some Terminator-franchise kind of disaster a la ‘Ezra traveled back in time and actually was there with Yoda on Dagobah’ or what not. 

By now it’s common knowledge that - despite what they say - there has been no overall plan for the sequel trilogy, which is quite concerning and feeding into my concerns that it’s all downhill from here (after The Rise of Skywalker and the Mandalorian or course). I know a lot of people who vehemently defended The Last Jedi when it came out, mostly as a reaction to all the stupid hate it got for the wrong reasons and I am one of them myself, but most of them are admitting now that there is something off about the movie. It is written into a corner and not picking up on the clues given in The Force Awakens. It has some amazing scenes and I will keep defending it, but there are some scenes that just don’t feel right and leave a bad aftertaste. I frequently rewatch all the movies and besides Attack of the Clones it’s the only one where I think ‘Now I have to endure THAT bit again’. I go to a lot of Q&A and it’s interesting to see how people who have worked on the movie feel the same. Even if you 100% loved it and it’s your favorite movie ever, let’s be honest - the humor is completely out of place. Fart jokes in The Phantom Menace > Your Mom jokes. And it’s just too long. Of course we all want MORE Star Wars, but where does it end. Would you go and see a 6h movie? If you are a good filmmaker you should be able to say what you want to say in the same about of time as the other movies. But that’s just my personal 2 cents. It just felt like someone who was hellbent on doing his own thing for the sake of doing his own thing and not for the sake of the story. Don’t get me wrong. It was a great idea to (spoiler alert) kill off Snoke that casually, so the movie has redeeming qualities that save it for me. Then again, as a Star Wars fan I WANT to like it. I still watched it 13 times or so. I was in the room for the trailer reveal at SWCO. I want to take ownership and be part of the hardcore fan community, but they shouldn't bank too much on it. I still want a good movie. I’m not gonna be meek and mild about something contradicting the core mythology. Ryan Johnson is allegedly still doing his trilogy and then there is the Benioff and Weiss trilogy. They didn’t exactly do a great job wrapping up Game of Thrones and left fans in awe about how the show ended and have not really proven that they can handle a franchise well either. Will all off them have free rein and just go to town on a Star Wars story as they please? Am I the only one who finds this a bit odd?!

I trust JJ Abrams to do the right thing and I hope my trust is not misplaced. I think the allegations of The Force Awakens being a A New Hope reboot are misplaced as there are also a lot of similarities to The Phantom Menace, so.. if you’re a fan you know what comes next.. ‘it rhymes, it’s like poetry’. So it makes sense. So I think ‘he gets it’..

My main concern in the new canon overall. I made an effort to get all the publications of the new canon, but the books and comics already started to get weird again. Star Wars always had a slight alien but yet familiar vibe and some stories feature people smoking cigars, drinking coffee in the morning and doing other stuff never depicted in Star Wars before. How long until someone gets a Star Wars burger at Star Wars McDonalds or orders Star Wars pizza while watching Star Wars HoloNetflix. I’m sorry. That’s ridiculous. It’s not automatically Star Wars just because you use Star Wars terminology like death sticks or Nerf steaks. Watch the movies and make an effort.

 And now the novelizations of the movies are apparently not considered ‘hard canon’ anymore because the authors didn’t know the direction the next movies are going, so the clues and hints may be completely useless. So why do I force myself through some really not very good books then (others are great, no generalization here)? That’s quite alarming. Wasn’t the entire reason they got a story group to avoid that? What’s with all the loose ends?  That's also why I think they will shy away from using canon characters in the movies (for the most part). Its easier to have a self contained canon universe where you can introduce Purge Troopers in a comic and then have them in a video game. I once read an interview with one of the Star Wars authors who invented a character and then got told ‘give him that name / make him this person’ instead of having this particular character in mind from the start. This is how you lose consistency. I’m well aware that over hundreds and thousands of years that’s EXACTLY how ancient history was written, which is why there are flood legends all over the world and why Jesus and Mithras are pretty much the same person, but they DID NOT HAVE A STORY GROUP and ancient mythology hasn’t been written over a course of a few years.

At the same time it’s interesting how there seem to be purists who are very determined to bring that original Star Wars vibe back. Like Jon Favreau with The Mandalorian. And like I said earlier about Resistance. Its so much easier to do that if you stay away from the mythology. It’s really tricky and so much could go wrong. The stuff introduced in Rogue One like Guardians of the Whills and the temple of Kyber is a perfect example how it’s done. Some of the stuff in the Clone Wars and Rebels is the complete opposite, so I’m really curious to see how Dave Filonis involvement in The Mandalorian pans out. He is really great with stuff like Mandalorians, Clones and I even came to accept Ashoka after reading the book and seeing her all grown up as Fulcrum, but I’m very skeptical when it comes to his ‘mystical side of the force’ interpretations.

In conclusion I know that I sound like a preacher and George Lucas repeatedly stated it’s ‘just for 10 year old kids’ but tell that to all the dead Bothans.

Please just don’t ruin Star Wars.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 4: a samurai, an alleged witch, and a convicted murderer walks into the courtroom. He’s the prosecutor. 

I spent an entire month hung up on this chapter. Take it. Take it. 

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

--

“I’m Apollo Justice and I’m fine!”

“I’m – I’m Athena Cykes and I’m fine! — Hey, that does help!”

“And I’m your boss and probably paying your fines for disturbing the peace.”

The question at the ready, Mr Wright what are you doing here, sputters out on Apollo’s tongue. Phoenix looks like someone else entirely, or maybe who he always should have been, like a lawyer, in a blue suit (iconic, almost) and a lighter blue vest, the jacket folded over his arm. He looks good, like there's something alive again behind his eyes. "What's with the suit?" Apollo blurts instead, and he doesn't know if it's rude to point out that he's never seen him look like he belongs anywhere in a courthouse except the defendant's chair. 

But Phoenix laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly just as uncomfortable with being here. Apollo tries to imagine how he must feel and can't. How many people must still think him corrupt, a forger and a liar? The place on his lapel where a badge should be is almost conspicuous. "Oh, this? I'm – well, I'm planning on retaking the Bar soon."

"Yes!" Athena crows, jumping up and punching the air. Her wide grin is accentuated by a whoop from Widget, whose simplistic expression matches Athena’s face. "I knew you would!"

"Why now?" Apollo asks. It's been half a year since his name was cleared, and he hadn't seemed exactly eager to put himself back behind the bench then. 

"Let's just say I've been given the feeling that I'm going to be needed back here again."

"That sounds ominous," Apollo says.

"Yeah, I've been told I have that vibe even when I don't mean to," Phoenix says with another awkward laugh. "What I do mean to sound ominous is, I didn't tell you about the prosecutor yesterday because I didn't want to psych you out too far in advance."

Oh. So he's aware of the shitshow happening at that office. "The one who's a convicted murderer?" Apollo asks. The grin still plastered on Athena’s face vanishes.

“You’ve heard of him?” Phoenix asks. “I guess me putting off mentioning that was pointless, then.”

“The detective in charge yesterday warned us,” Apollo says. He doesn’t even have the energy to be mad that once again, Phoenix made the assumption that holding back information was the best call, without consulting Apollo, without taking into account everything else he’s already faced. “That, and something about him and psychology? Can you tell us anything else?”

“Back before,” Phoenix says, with a wave of his hand that implies everything it needs to, “he was very good at extracting confessions from even the most reluctant witnesses. Power of suggestion, manipulation – very tricky, so I’ve heard.”

“And probably scary now,” Apollo says. “Considering – prison inmate.”

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix says. “The rumors about him – they say he’ll cut you down if you talk too much.”

Suddenly, the distance between the benches doesn’t seem like anything at all, and Apollo expects when they step through the doors that he’ll find himself face-to-face with a monster. The courtroom has taken the shape of a gladiatorial arena in his mind, him unarmed, and the prosecution with a blade. “That’s, uh, that’s – some kind of metaphor, right?” he asks. “I knew this was gonna be bad but that’s – right?”

Phoenix winces in sympathy. “I’m not sure it is,” he says, “considering the other rumors. They say he’s a witch.”

“No!” Apollo yelps, and it’s a purely instinctive reaction before the words really sink in, and if he had himself pulled together he would have responded any other way instead. He’s supposed to be the one who Athena can rely on, who Phoenix can trust to be competent at his job, not the one shrieking at shadows and rumors. “You’re joking! Mr Wright, please tell me you’re joking.”

The expression written on his features is uncharacteristically readable, and uncharacteristically solemn. “I’ve never met him – I can’t confirm or deny any rumors yet. But I’d say to be concise and pick your words carefully, just in case.”

“Um, Mr Wright?” Athena is fidgeting again, tapping her earring and searching vainly for something to do with her hands. Apollo almost passes her his file of case information out of pity, even though she has all of it scanned into Widget already. “What – what does it mean if someone’s a witch?” She shifts her weight from side to side, foot to foot, her ponytail swinging as her balance changes. 

“Technically, it refers to a human who has an ongoing contract with a patron for power,” Phoenix explains. “Realistically, it—”

“A patron?” Athena interrupts. Apollo feels an overwhelming pang of sympathy for her. Her first trial as a full-fledged attorney, and she has to deal with this for the prosecution. If last year he had been standing here having a conversation with Mr Gavin about this – well, he’s not sure what he would have done. 

(Who was the prosecutor on that trial, anyway? Apollo has no recollection of a face or a name. He thinks maybe he’s tried to remember before.)

“One of the fae,” Phoenix says. “A fae patron.” Athena’s eyes narrow in something like confusion or suspicion. “Realistically, though, ‘witch’ ends up being a catch-all for anyone vaguely magic; could be one of the fae themselves, or someone with magic from a different source, or a blessing with noticeable effect, or hell, someone who’s totally normal but has the wrong vibe. Hell, I’ve been called a witch plenty of times before.”

“Oh.” Athena’s eyebrows relax a little, but the nervous energy is still obviously coursing through her veins. “So he might not actually be anything at all!”

“We can hope,” Phoenix replies lightly. Athena squints at him, like she doesn’t actually believe he has any hope for the situation. “I’ve not met him, but I’ll be up in the gallery, so we can debrief when it’s over.”

“That would be really helpful,” Apollo says, trying not to sound as surprised as he feels and probably failing, as if he could hide anything from Athena anyway. A debrief, an explanation, answers, would have been just as, if not more, helpful a year ago. Maybe Phoenix is revising his strategies after the past year. 

“You’ve just gotta survive Prosecutor Blackquill, first,” Phoenix says with a small chuckle. “Good luck!”

And he’s gone, leaving the two of them to step into the ring. Athena slaps her fist into her palm. “Alright!” she says. “Let’s do this!” Her new smile looks a little forced, not that Apollo can blame her. But yesterday she threw a grown man about ten feet, so unless Trucy has been hiding the fact that her Magic Panties could swallow a man whole when threatened, Athena is the person that Apollo wants at his side to deal with this prosecutor. 

(Though he really, really hopes it wouldn’t come to a physical fight. They’ll be having several problems if that’s what it comes to.)

“It does not appear the prosecution is ready,” the judge says, frowning at the empty bench. “Is the defense?”

“The defense team is ready, Your Honor!” Apollo calls. Readier than the prosecution, and glad to have a moment to breathe inside the courtroom, too.

“Ah, Mr Justice, it’s good to hear from you again,” the judge says. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m afraid I don’t recognize the young lady with you, though.”

“I’m Athena Cykes!” she says brightly, bouncing on her heels to be a little taller. “Mr Justice’s junior partner, just out of law school, and ready to go!”

“Excellent, excellent,” the judge replies. “It’s always good to see new faces behind these old benches here. Sometimes I worry about our perspectives becoming stale with the same people arguing cases – which I suppose must include me, for however long I’ve been here – how long have I been here? – so I’ll never protest having someone new to shake up any complacency that’s developed.”

Athena nods several times, a lost, desperate look in her eyes as she glances at Apollo. “He likes to talk,” Apollo whispers. “And go on tangents.”

“Sorry about the wait!” 

They both jump; Athena nearly backhands him in the face, her flinch reflex more like lashing out. Fulbright, loud as ever, plants himself behind the witness stand. “We’ve got to bring Prosecutor Blackquill over from prison, of course, and the scheduling for it hasn’t gotten itself aligned just yet! We’ll try to get the timing right going forward so he’s not late again!”

Again. Not a promising word to hear in this context: how many times is Blackquill due to stand in court? What point is supposed to be proven with this farce? “Ah, I had almost forgotten,” the judge says lightly, like it’s a simple matter of having misplaced his keys or leaving something off the grocery list. “Prosecutor Blackquill is an inmate, isn’t he?”

Apollo considers screaming. 

(“This is not fine!” seems like a good refrain for the situation, would he not blow out Athena’s eardrums and then get held in contempt of court.)

The double doors behind the witness stand swing wide and two guards enter, each at the elbow of a man who can only be Prosecutor Blackquill. If there's one thing Apollo has learned from the last year, it's that appearances can be deceiving through his own human eyes, but even with those lessons he wouldn't hesitate to agree that this man is a witch. He towers above his escorts, even with his head bowed, and his long black hair and black clothes set against his skin make him look even paler and gaunter, like a skeleton, like a ghost, like a shadow of something that once was more substantive. With each step, the shackles around his wrists clink.

Iron, surely. Hopefully. If magic is the only thing that makes him dangerous, then maybe there's a way through this – but the chain between the cuffs is long enough to give some freedom of movement, and he's still physically imposing, enough that Fulbright's assurances of yesterday, that he is here to provide protection, seem hollow.

"That's..." Apollo's mouth dries out before he can get to a second word.

"Prosecutor Blackquill." Athena folds her arms tightly across her chest. "I'm certain."

He's softer-spoken than Apollo expects, his words rigid and carefully articulated and absolutely none of them promising anything but boredom and disdain for every single person in the courtroom, including and perhaps especially, the judge. That the judge makes the opening statement for him is barely even manipulation, but blatant uncooperation and insult, with just a smattering enough of flattery that – well, maybe that is manipulation, of the crudest sort that probably wouldn't work on anyone but the judge. It reminds Apollo of a sharper, crueler version of Athena getting information from Fulbright, quick words that scramble the situation to their advantage.

And Blackquill does have the advantage, right off the bat: having the judge repeat the charges against Mayor Tenma might already be swaying him toward the prosecution's argument, without any evidence yet being argued. Apollo has had this dream before, back when he was in law school, where the prosecution has the upper hand and then threatens to murder him for the sake of proving a point, but Blackquill is the waking nightmare, with a motion of the way one might draw a sword from a sheathe on the hip. His movement is truncated by the chain pulled taut, and even people willing to put a convicted murderer behind the prosecution's bench wouldn't let said man have a sword, but Apollo's heart is still pulsing wildly in his throat. 

Tell me those shackles are made of iron and would stop him casting a spell, if that's what he's trying. 

It takes another surge of willpower for him not to look up into the gallery and find Phoenix, glean from him some indication of whether they're in danger. But his job is to get to the truth, no matter who he's up against, fae or witch or convict, and they need to start this cross-examination before Blackquill can smear the mayor and influence the judge further.

Nightmare remains an apt descriptor, the shadow of the yokai hanging over everything, the charms on Mayor Tenma's head and the rumor that he wishes to release Tenma Taro, the charm in Apollo's pocket and the rowan on his wrist and iron on his finger, Blackquill's laughing dismissal of yokai as figments of the imagination. Nothing signifies his statement as a lie; but wouldn't a witch believe in yokai? Maybe he isn't a witch – or maybe he knows something more than even Phoenix does. Apollo doesn't even have the mental space to ponder that too. The contradictions he finds let him take one step forward and then two back as Blackquill sets him up to solve them and undercut his own arguments. Athena suggests that a monster was the killer and Apollo objects to his own co-counsel. And then Apollo accidentally suggests that there was a monster on the scene that only Jinxie, not Filch or L'Belle, saw.

The worst part is that it could be true. If Jinxie isn't just always imagining yokai – if she has the Sight in some form, but the others don't, then that's an easy contradiction to solve. Tenma Taro could have been in the foyer, easily. But the only evidence they have of its existence could have been faked, and all they have for testimony is the word of a terrified fifteen-year-old girl. 

Blackquill dryly acquiesces to have Filch testify, calling him "the tanuki", and dread wells back up within Apollo's chest. He can't hear animal comparisons as anything innocuous anymore. Anything, anyone, could be fae, a shapeshifter, not just a rabbit hole but a whole warren that he's lost within. 

Filch takes the stand with all the slimy flattery and shifty smiles that Apollo expects. "Y'ain't really asking me if I saw a monster go running by?" he asks. "Scary ol' witch drags me here, and you’re gonna waste yer time to ask about this yokai mumbo-jumbo? I sure don’t believe in that shit!” He pulses red, his hands, tugging at the ends of his spotted scarf. “Didn’t see nothing, and I was guarding the whole time!” Apollo sees red, again; lies, right from the start of the testimony, easier to hone in on.

“Mr Filch,” he says. “Can you repeat that last bit for me – you say that you were watching the foyer the whole time and saw nothing?”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Filch snaps, laughably indignant over the implication that he is a liar. “I ain’t ever—”

But the entire world lights up this time, not just spots on or an aura around Filch, not just an isolated tic again. The courtroom swims in shades of red, twisting around Filch, Blackquill, Athena, the judge – and patterned across the witness stand, the benches, a funhouse mirror distortion of what Apollo should see, a shimmering desert mirage overlaid over everything, paint spilled outside of the dark lines. He claps a hand over his eye and the red recedes, fading down to spots splattered across his vision like flecks of blood. 

The shriek in his new blind spot he thinks must be Athena, but she is on the other side of him – he can see yellow and her red hair swinging – and she yelps too, a different sound. Lowering his hand from his eye makes the red return, shimmering like a distant desert mirage, the sunlight off the sand at the horizon, distorting and filtering everything, including the bird of prey that dives down toward him with wide wings and outstretched talons.

He cracks his head against the wall behind him when he springs back, squinting his one eye closed to return the world to mostly its usual colors. “What the—”

He looks to Athena. Her hands are clenched in fists, a fierce glare leveled on the hawk – he thinks it’s a hawk, though he doesn’t know much of anything about birds beyond the doves that Trucy sometimes conjures out of her Magic Panties – and that is a small assurance that it isn’t something like Vongole, near invisible to everyone else. And Blackquill shakes his head back and laughs, laughs, and the hawk, with one powerful flap of its wings that buffets Apollo’s face with cold stirrings of air, launches itself back into the air. It wheels about near the ceiling and dips down towards Filch, making him squeak and duck his face into the witness stand; with a little shriek that might be a laugh in bird, it rises again and settles on Blackquill’s shoulder.

“Allow me to introduce my trusty cohort, Taka,” he says, reaching up to scratch it under its chin with one finger. Apollo wouldn’t want his hands that close to its beak, or his neck to those talons, but the bird’s piercing yellow eyes blink shut with some level of contentment. 

“And,” he continues, turning his dark eyes back to Apollo, “my darling Taka simply loathes magic tricks like yours, boy.” Apollo can’t blink the red out of his vision, can barely tell that Blackquill’s eyes don’t turn blue. “Stand on your own feet with some evidence instead of letting someone else’s eye do the work for you.”

“But I’m not—” Apollo swallows his objection, and a scream, when Taka launches itself like a bullet back across the courtroom. He throws his arms up in front of his face to make sure it won’t simply try to claw out his eye, and everything that he can see while shielding himself is tinted red again. (Rose-colored glasses, there are not.) “This isn’t a trick! It’s just me!” 

“Apollo, what’s wrong?” Athena has him by the shoulder with one hand, the other swatting at Taka. He fears she will be bitten or clawed, but the bird, or Blackquill, seems to decide they have been harassed enough in this moment and returns to the other bench. “Did it claw you? Are you bleeding?”

He thinks he should be, from the way the world looks, splattered and drowning in red, but there’s no physical pain, nothing on the surface, nothing but a headache brewing. “You know I explained to you yesterday how I can see lies?” Apollo asks. Athena nods. The red across her face doesn’t look like a filtered light, but again like a spray, spattered across her skin, like it has a real physical presence, dripping from her, over her eyes. “Well, Blackquill’s doing something to do it. My vision’s all haywire and I don’t – I don’t understand—”

All he knows is that this probably isn’t supposed to happen, that all of Klavier’s glamours and Phoenix’s other tricks never once interfered, but Blackquill, whatever the hell he is, is stopping Apollo from plainly seeing Truth.

Cold snakes its way up his spine and wraps itself tight. Can he request a quick recess now, race up into the gallery, and ask Phoenix what the hell they’re up against? How someone can stonewall a blessing, bleed the world red like everything or nothing is a lie?

“No animals in the courtroom!” The judge strikes his gavel several times. “Prosecutor Blackquill, if you would please—”

He can’t finish his request (though it’s easy to guess what it would be) owing to Taka taking to wing and perching, delicately, on the judge’s bald head. Apollo winces. Those talons, no matter how light they rest, must still hurt, and the threat of them is a certain kind of paralyzing terror. Blackquill has an iron grasp on the courtroom proceedings and the outcome is not favorable.

“You’d be hard-pressed to get him out of here,” Blackquill says. “But he’s simply having a bit of sport; he won’t harm you save if he’s truly famished.”

The judge’s eyes nearly roll back into his head peering up at the hawk. “Then keep him well fed, I beg of you,” he says. The hawk balances on one leg and scratches its head.

Blackquill: two. Every ordinary rule of the courtroom Apollo thought he knew: zero.

“Back to cross-examinations and looking for contradictions, huh, then,” Athena says. She isn’t looking at Apollo now but leans out over the bench, glaring across at Blackquill like she can bore a hole through his head. He, as he has done for almost all of this entire trial, resolutely ignores her.

“We’re fine,” Apollo says. Athena looks sharply at him. Were he with anyone else, he thinks he did a good job at hiding the trembling threatening to make its way into his voice, but Athena’s super-hearing cuts right through him. “We can do it the old-fashioned way.”

So they do.

A thin, battered consolation, an offering like the universe wants Apollo to keep his sanity but doesn’t really have much energy to devote to it, is that Blackquill’s hawk doesn’t take sides. It chases Filch off the witness stand when his perjury undermines Blackquill’s case, and as the bailiffs race after their fleeing witness, who may have been dismissed by a hawk but not the judge, it loops about the air, keening proudly. Its performance is almost distracting enough that Apollo doesn’t notice Blackquill, still silent after the judge asked him if he had any objections, testing the length of the chain holding his arms together, tugging his wrists apart and making it go taut. 

But Apollo certainly does notice it when Blackquill raises his arms, hands curled into fists, and slams them down on the bench. And Apollo doesn’t need Athena’s ears to hear the chain links clatter, broken, to the bench.

Apollo yelps; Athena is the one to this time smack her head against the wall. For a moment, everything is swallowed up in red, and then it returns clear for a moment. Blackquill’s lips twitch. He lowers his head like a charging bull, makes a motion again as though to draw a sword, and this time he raises his hand the whole way out and up, draws a slash through the air with his finger, and Apollo feels it across his cheek, a slice like a papercut with ice imbedded, and he reaches up and feels for a scratch, feels nothing instead. But the sensation lined up so perfectly with Blackquill’s movements, and the smirk he’s giving Apollo is one smug and knowing. Again, he is surrounded by a red aura that doesn’t touch him but shoots tendrils off into the rest of the courtroom, and again, the others are painted with it. 

Witch, whispers a voice in his skull. Witch or fae, and what’s the worse: that Blackquill is his own monster, or that there’s something out there strong or tricky enough to shackle him, the convict prosecutor, the twisted samurai, in a different kind of chains? 

(Aren’t those shackles supposed to be iron? Iron to stop magic, to prevent defendants and prisoners from trying to kill the attorneys?)

But Blackquill leans against the bench, back to the rest of the court and, over the clamor, says dryly, “I’m not in the habit of cutting down unarmed cowards.” 

He’d like to object, but Apollo is scared enough that he can’t actually protest at being called a coward; certainly he isn’t about to mention that as a convicted murderer, Blackquill probably did cut someone down unarmed, unfair, too soon before their time. (He doesn’t want to be next and he’s not sure what Fulbright plans to do if Blackquill turns truly hostile.)

Jinxie’s testimony is going to make or break the defense of her father: what, exactly, did she first see? She’s visibly shaking when the bailiff escorts her to the witness stand, shuffling a stack of warding charms in her hands like they’re playing cards and she the dealer. She eyes the bailiff, and Fulbright to the side, suspiciously, but when the judge clears his throat she shrieks and sinks down behind the witness stand, slapping another charm to her own forehead for protection from the leader of the demon army or whatever she claims the judge is. Apollo can’t keep track of all of these yokai on top of his usual fae problems.

“Now, now, little scamp,” Blackquill says, folding his arms and giving an amused chuckle that doesn’t make him look any less like a demon, either. “Let’s see your face, and I presume you must know why you are here.”

Jinxie raises herself up slowly so that her chin is level with the top of the stand. "Bags," she says.

"Bags – ah, the tanuki." Blackquill's attempt at figuring out what Jinxie means is quicker than Apollo's would be. "He'll be captured again shortly, I am sure, but yes, you are here to corroborate his testimony."

Jinxie shakes her head and stands up straighter, her palms flat on the stand, her shoulders squared. She looks that much braver even staring down Blackquill. "No, your bags," she says. "The ones under your eyes. You must have trouble sleeping." She steps away from the stand and approaches the prosecution's bench – Apollo wants to lunge forward and pull her back away – holding out one of her paper charms. "Here. This will keep Azukiarai away."

Blackquill's eyebrows disappear beneath his messy bangs. "The yokai that washes azuki beans?"

Of course the man pretending to be a samurai would know right off the bat which yokai Jinxie is referencing. "Yes," she says, stretching her arm out further. "It's a very distracting sound. He keeps people awake at night a lot, but if you stick this on your forehead you won't hear him anymore."

Blackquill blinks. "Well," he says stiffly. Then he slowly reaches out and pulls the slip of paper out of Jinxie's fingers. "W-well. Thank you."

Satisfied, Jinxie returns to the witness stand. Athena's eyes, flickering red like Jinxie is now, are darting between her and Blackquill and her incredulous gaze next turns to Apollo. "Huh," she says. "Prosecutor Blackquill got more than he bargained for."

"Mm." As Apollo watches, Blackquill turns the charm over in his fingers and then slips it into his pocket. When he looks up he meets Apollo's eyes. His glare could split rock. Apollo turns his attention back to Jinxie, hoping that Blackquill can understand the message: I didn't see anything.

Then Jinxie says that the Fox Chamber was positively filled with yokai and Apollo has other things to worry about, like his case, and the fact that what Jinxie is saying makes no sense with it, and that Blackquill is ready to throw her off the stand right from the start. Athena next to him is scrambling to keep up with Jinxie, tapping out inputs on Widget's projected screen, pulling up images of the yokai she mentions and piling them around the scan of the crime scene. "Your Honor!" she calls, lifting her head and without her eyes on it continuing to plug away at her screen. "I think her memory is simply confused by fear! But I should be able to help set her mind at ease with a quick therapy session – with your permission, of course."

"Are you sure about this?" Apollo asks. Her definition of therapy, in the middle of a trial, aside, there's an ever-growing part of him afraid of what they'll find if they keep digging. And they have to, for the sake of the truth, for the sake of their client, they have to, but anxiety knots itself up tighter and tighter in his chest. He doesn't have a plan for if they find out the yokai are real. He doesn't have a plan for if they find out they're nothing but a figment of Jinxie's imagination, either. He doesn't have a plan, period, and that's nothing new, but he wishes that it would change one of these days.

"Absolutely!" Athena's grin is big and white and the most confidence he's seen from her the entire morning, enough confidence and certainty to set him half at ease despite himself. "I know how to do this."

"I think that's an excellent idea, Ms Cykes," the judge says. "Any objections, Prosecutor Blackquill?"

Blackquill is the black eye in the center of a hurricane of red, Apollo's scrambled vision that he’s soldiering on through because he's going to look like an idiot if he goes through this entire trial squinting one eye shut, and Apollo waits for his sharp objection, waits for the hawk to strike at Athena this time. Magic tricks – Athena's said nothing to the court about her ears, the integral part that hearing emotions plays in her psychological approach, but if Blackquill noticed Apollo right from the outset then shouldn't he know there is something about Athena, as well? If he warped Apollo's perspective, wouldn't let him get away with using that blessing, then what leeway will he grant Athena to do anything when she might pull out a trick too?

But he isn't even staring straight at Athena; his eyes are fixed somewhere past her, half vacant, and when he speaks each word is a labored, pained drawl. "It makes no difference to me." If Apollo had Athena's ears, her ability to pick up the subtlest emotions, what would he hear from Blackquill? All he sees is red, everywhere, too much to know if it is or isn't a lie. Maybe her ability isn't magic; maybe it is just naturally good hearing, honed through the years, the exceptional edge of mundane. Maybe there's nothing about her that Blackquill can See to object to. "Though I doubt we shall find anything useful from it."

"Oh, you'll see," Athena mutters darkly. "I'll show you!" She swipes aside the display and pulls up a new screen that shows Jinxie's testimony and some simplistic emoticon-esque faces in the corners. The distressed-looking blue face is pulsing out of control, causing a pained buzzing noise to emanate from Widget. "So what I think is happening," she says, "is Jinxie's fear – it's causing this overflow error we're getting, basically – has her reimagining ordinary objects as yokai in her mind." She taps the new screen several times to produce a flat mock-up of the crime scene, covered in the yokai Jinxie named, burying the bodies and most of the furniture. The screens cut a clear path through Apollo’s red vision and he’s grateful for it, whether it’s just by chance or Blackquill is granting him a reprieve to follow along with Athena’s tech.

"You don't think she saw any yokai?" Apollo asks.

Athena's gloved fingers twitch over the display. "You do?" she asks.

"I don't know," he admits. She fixes her attention on him fully now, raising her eyebrows. "It doesn't seem like a possibility we can entirely discount to say that she's – what, hallucinating?" Athena nods. He should tell her about Kristoph, watching him break down on the witness stand, watching the human flake off of him and leave madness and fae behind. She wouldn't be so able dismiss the thought of monsters then. 

"We won't get anywhere trying to straddle the line and say maybe either way," Athena says. "We’ve gotta commit to something – look, Mr Wright said he's never seen a yokai, right? Even though he’s been there several times. What are the odds that Jinxie would see a bunch of them all in the same place at the same time?”

“You have a point.” Are yokai pack animals? Are they territorial? Are these ridiculous questions to be asking of creatures that might not even be real?

“We’ll adjust course if we glean something new,” Athena says. “For now let’s start with the yokai Jinxie seems most afraid of.” She pushes the projected screens to either side of her so that she can lean over the bench and better make eye contact with Jinxie. “Jinxie,” she says, her voice raised, “can you tell us a little about the cat yokai on the ring of fire?” 

Apollo leans back to look past Athena to her mockup of the yokai-infested scene. The cat in question hovers near the ceiling, over where the table and the mayor’s body would be. “That’s a kasha,” Jinxie says. “They steal the bodies of the recently deceased! It was there for the alderman!” She speaks now with the same fervor as when she and Trucy were chattering about wrestling, her shyness abandoned, but the wild look in her eyes is of terror and not excitement. 

“That would actually make sense,” Apollo says. 

Athena frowns. “It does,” she says. “That’s exactly how it works, though; that her mind is filling in something that makes sense, to her, in place of the reality. Now.” She frowns and taps her earring, sending the crescent moon swinging back and forth. “If she’s mistaking something for a kasha, what do you suppose it could be?”

Reaching again toward the image of the crime scene, she has barely started to enlarge it before Apollo thinks he has something. “Jinxie!” he calls. “Do you think the kasha you saw could have been the light fixture here?” He gestures to the image. Jinxie’s eyes go wide. “It’s circular, with the flame design—”

“Oh?” She flinches, several of the charms slipping from her fingers and drifting to the floor. “Oh! The – the light!” For a moment more she looks dazed, and then her shoulders square toward Athena, though her voice drops to a mumble. “The light.”

“That sounds promising,” Athena says quietly. Then, louder, “What about this wall-like monster on the side?”

“Nurikabe!” Jinxie’s confident posture slumps forward, her arms around herself, protecting herself, again, her warding charms clutched tight over her heart. “It’s a wall monster! It’ll block you or lead you astray!” 

“It’s a folding screen right there, see?” Apollo points to the left side of the crime scene, the folding screen with foxes detailed on it. Jinxie’s eyes widen again. She doesn’t react like Apollo expects someone being told they’re seeing things would; maybe she knows or expected, in some sense already, and needed someone to help her pick through it. He hopes that she isn’t being bowled over by Athena’s interpretation of the situation, that if she doesn’t agree she’ll stand up for herself. 

He’s reassured, a little, that Athena might be right, of Jinxie’s grasp of the situation, when as they piece together the rest of the “yokai”, she pushes back about the raccoon-dog. “It wasn’t just one,” Jinxie says, and Athena begins immediately updating Widget’s display. “There were two tanuki.”

“Weren’t there two statues?” Apollo asks.

“No, one was broken,” Athena says, spinning the angle of the scene recreation about to show the doors and swiping it over in front of Apollo. “There was just the one intact.” Her frown deepens and her eyes narrow. “Was Filch there? Could he have been there?”

“The statue might’ve been broken after Jinxie left,” Apollo says. If they’re pursuing Athena’s psychological route, then what she said is right and they should commit to the mundane explanation, so that’s what he’s going to do.

“The Fox Chamber doors are very heavy,” Jinxie says. “And if you’re not careful they’ll bang up the walls behind them.”

“Filch has been acting very suspicious, though,” Athena says. “And he already looks a bit like a raccoon, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for Jinxie there to be remembering him as one.”

“Wait,” Apollo says. “You aren’t saying that Filch is a shapeshifter and was on the scene as a tanuki, just that Jinxie was imagining him as one—?”

“Yeah,” Athena says. “That seems more likely of the two, doesn’t it, than him actually turning into one?”

Oh. So she was looking at it from the mundane perspective anyway. Apollo’s head starts to spin. They’ll have to ask Phoenix about Filch, too, and the matter of his precise level of humanity. He should have been writing down what he needs to ask Phoenix. He’s not sure he’ll be able to recall most of the thoughts he’s having in the middle of this Blackquill-induced, migraine-inducing storm.

“It doesn’t matter,” Blackquill says. He looks bored; Athena might be the lawyer in this trial who is high-school aged, but Blackquill has all of a high schooler’s disdain for a boring class, his elbows on the bench, head slumped over and chin propped up on his fists, eyebrows raised and eyes half-closed. At least he’s bothering to face them this time. Taka has relocated back to the judge’s head.

Athena slams her palm down on the bench. Every time she does that, the proximity of the sound is jarring, because for all that Trucy acted almost as a lawyer, she never picked up her father’s mannerisms, and Apollo is used to being the only one at this bench doing the hitting. “What doesn’t matter?” she asks, her voice clipped and sharp on every word. 

“Everything you’re doing,” Blackquill replies. His mouth curls at one side. “But if you must know your specific faults for today, now, surely it did not slip past those ears of yours that our shifty tanuki does have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

“Oh.” Athena visibly deflates.

“He was with Mr L’Belle, remember?” Apollo says. Truth be told, the matter had slipped his mind as well, with all the talk of tanukis, and he wonders if it’s possible that Blackquill set them up to trip over that matter by emphasizing that particular moniker for the man. Like no matter where they run, they’ll just stumble into traps that Blackquill has laid elsewhere on the road. 

“And furthermore,” Blackquill continues, now fully grinning, “as you’ve wasted this time deciding whether what the little scamp saw is or isn’t real, I suppose even you must have realized by now that she has, neither as real nor hallucination, named Tenma Taro as present in that room.”

And it’s Apollo, this time, feeling the ground plummeting from beneath his feet. “Uh, Jinxie?” he says. “So, now that we cleared up the other yokai, do you remember now if Tenma Taro was also there?”

Jinxie blanches. Her answer is clear from that alone, that she knows what the better answer for her father’s sake is, but can’t truthfully speak to it. “No,” she says. “I didn’t see any Tenma Taro in the Fox Chamber.”

And Blackquill laughs, and it doesn’t sound like Kristoph’s laugh, like spiders down the back of his neck, but it’s still ice in the air, something dark and wicked coursing through the echo. Apollo slumps onto the bench. Fine, he thinks, fine fine fine, so the entire presumption of our case has fallen apart, fine, fine—

“Apollo!” Athena smacks not just her hand but her entire wrist – that must hurt – down on the bench next to him. He jumps, snapping his head back up and staring at her. Widget around her neck has turned red with fury; so have the backgrounds of its screens. It isn’t just his twisted vision making them that color. “We’re not sunk yet! There’s still some other discord in Jinxie’s voice.”

“What’s that mean?”

“She still hasn’t remembered everything! We need to hear her testimony again! What happened when she first went into the Fox Chamber!”

But what Jinxie remembers, the key she took from the chamber, just sinks them further. It leaves Athena dragged under by the lifeline she tried to toss to their case, leaves her snarling her frustrations wordlessly, loud enough that even the judge remarks on it, and Apollo only feels more sympathy for her. He didn’t start on a case like this; when his back was against the wall, it was because he was trying to duck out of the way of the barbs that Phoenix and Kristoph were throwing at each other. It never felt like this in this way, this hopeless to their client with the prosecution just chuckling at their plight. 

(He really can’t remember the prosecutor on that case.)

“Athena, are you all right?”

“No!” Her face twists in a snarl, her hands curl to fists, but there are tears in her eyes she can’t blink away. “I know Mayor Tenma is innocent, but nothing we say helps! We don’t have enough to make them listen!”

Blackquill watches them silently for a few moments, out of his heavy-lidded eyes, and what he’s thinking Apollo couldn’t begin to guess. He can’t even be certain that it would be disdain. “Cykes-dono,” he says curtly, still nothing more behind his eyes than a corpse. “Allow me to put you out of your misery.”

“Erm.” She lifts her ponytail away from her neck and fans her skin. Her mouth twists. Blackquill’s words are a threat, but his tone – some of the least inflection Apollo has heard from him – isn’t, and with her ears if there’s more to ponder, she must be pondering it. “No thank you?”

That smug smirk crawls its way back onto Blackquill’s lips, and the red that spins throughout the courtroom, the background radiation of today’s trial, forces its way back to the foreground, twisting so brightly and so quickly that Apollo thinks he might be sick. He closes his eyes to the liar’s red bleeding into the air and hears chains clink, hope that movement isn’t a precursor to another attack of paper-sharp wind. “Abandon your client and your misplaced faith in him,” Blackquill says. “Let the relief of a clear head and clean conscience finally greet you. The man before you is nothing more than a murderer, no trace of a withered blackened soul left to save. Give it up. Let it go. This will make the inevitable guilty verdict far easier to accept.”

He’s not even trying to do his job; he’s trying to win by convincing the defense to give up on their jobs. “Don’t listen to him,” Apollo says. His eyelids are heavy, hard to blink open. Everything feels weighted. “He’s just twisted.”

Just is a bit of an understatement, and even more of one when he sees that Athena’s determination, her confidence, has fallen away, replaced by a perplexed daze, her head frozen tilted to the side. Is Blackquill able to deliberately mess with her ears, or is she just picking up on the undertones anyone else would give her, trying to psychoanalyze the prosecution, understand what the hell is happening down that dark and winding road. “Athena?”

“I’m – I’m fine!” She shakes her head wildly, her hair flying, trying to shake herself out of a stupor. “Just – just could use a lap around the courthouse. I’ll be back!” 

Apollo slams his fist on the bench. “Objection!”

-

The verdict isn’t declared, not today, but they don’t get a chance to talk to their client in the lobby, immediately whisked away by officers and bailiffs as he is for claiming to be Tenma Taro possessing Mayor Tenma; and so Apollo, fleeing the courtroom as quickly as he can in the hopes that his vision stops tormenting him, still feels that they lost today.

[penguinsnoot]

Self-Care Tips from Someone Who Sucks at Self-Care (Part 1)

Part 2

I’m lazy, anxious, forgetful, and generally unmotivated. Basically, I’m the worst person to be making a post on self-care, because I can barely take care of myself. However, I have made it my 2019 goal to start taking better care of myself, even if it’s just relaxing a bit on days when school is bogging me down or following a semi-regular skincare routine. Another goal, which I technically didn’t make until a few days ago, is to journal every other day. My journal tonight happens to be a list of self-care/relaxation ideas, and I thought, “Hey, I know I’m not the only one who struggles with this whole ‘taking care of myself like a proper damn adult’ thing, so why not post a ‘suggestion guide’ of sorts for other clueless individuals?” So, here you go!

Skincare Routine | Keeping a regular skincare routine is the most important step in clearing acne. Of course, there are other issues outside of acne, and keeping a routine will most likely help with those problems as well, but it’s up to you to figure out what your skin needs and how you should approach caring for it. A skincare routine can be simple or complex, and if you ever feel like you need aid in figuring out what you should do, seeing a dermatologist could prove to be very helpful. My personal skincare routine is somewhat lengthy, since I follow the Korean Skincare Routine (Oil cleanser, Water/Foam cleanser, Exfoliate, Toner, Essence, Serum, Face Mask, Eye Cream, Moisturizer) [full routine varies on day and skin needs], but has proven to be effective in my journey toward somewhat balanced and acne-free skin. I have come to accept that my skin will never be perfect, and that’s okay, because everyone has some kind of skin “problem” that may never permanently go away.

Moisturize | Not only should you moisturize your face, but you should also moisturize your body, especially in the winter to battle dry and/or irritated skin. If you have sensitive skin, it would be best to avoid a lotion with added fragrance, but if you are someone who can use all the fancy smelly lotions, get something with one of your favorite scents so that whenever you get a whiff of your skin, you can go, “Mm, delicious flesh smell!” Seriously though, moisturizing your body, whether you shave or not, is good for your skin and you should probably do it. Once you get in the habit of doing it, it doesn’t take long at all. 

Brush and Floss Teeth | This one should be obvious, but you’d be surprised at just how many people don’t floss along with their brushing. As someone who totally flosses every single day, I can say that it really is good for your teeth. Flossing helps prevent tartar and plaque buildup, gum disease, and bad breath.  It’s a given that we should brush our teeth at least twice a day (I hope that’s a given. . .), but far too many of us shirk over our flossing duties. It can be a pain, but it truly is an important step in oral care, so just do it!

Exercise Regularly | Ugh, physical activity. The bane of every non-health related blog owner’s existence. Yes, exercise can be a pain, especially if you are someone who is unmotivated, lazy, deals with depression, etc., but exercise helps lower your risk for certain diseases, including type 2 diabetes and high blood pressure, strengthens your heart, and releases endorphins, which are feel-good hormones that lower pain perception and give you positive vibes. It’s suggested to have at least three workouts per week, but if doing something rigorous and time-consuming is daunting to you, just start off small by doing a few simple exercises, such as jogging in place, squatting and planking, in your bedroom every day until you get to a point where you feel you can step up your game, so to speak. 

Eat Healthily | Believe me when I say that I love junk food just as much as the next person, but eating it on a regular basis makes me feel like absolute crap. Now, disclaimer: This is not me trying to shove some kind of moral/food agenda down your throat, but I will say that ever since going vegan last February, I have noticed that I feel a lot more comfortable after eating than I ever did when eating meat or being on a vegetarian “diet” for four years. The way we eat significantly impacts our mood. For example, people who eat mostly healthy foods such as fruits and vegetables typically feel less sad and aggressive on a daily basis in comparison to people who mostly eat junk foods such as burgers and sugary candy. The way we eat also affects our weight, digestion, and overall nourishment. I’m not saying to completely give up junk food, as it’s unrealistic in our day and age to expect everyone to do that (hell, I’ll admit it: I’m guilty of eating pints of coconut ice-cream and bags of potato chips all on my own), but cutting back on junk food, even just a little, will definitely improve your mood and general health. Just give it a try, okay? Don’t go crazy with counting calories, carbs and whatever else though, or else you might get obsessive with weight goals and barely eat 500 calories a day (again, guilty). 

Drink Plenty of Water | I can proudly say that I drink more than enough water every day, but not so much that I’m over-drinking water, which can be just as bad as not drinking enough. It is recommended that you drink eight 8 oz. glasses of water a day in order to stay properly hydrated. Whereas I was a bit lenient with doing things “perfectly” on a couple other things on this list, I’m going to tell you right now that you need to do this. Drinking water helps your body perform basic functions, such as create saliva, aid in digestion, flush out toxins, etc. If you do nothing else on this list regularly, or even at all (please brush your teeth), at the very least drink plenty of water. Trust me when I say that you’ll regret not staying hydrated when you nearly pass out and have a migraine for the rest of the day, or possibly actually pass out and end up in the hospital hooked up to an IV giving you fluids.

Sleep | Plain and simple, get some sleep. I know first hand that it’s not that easy for some people. Getting only three to four hours of sleep each night, if even that, is torture. However, staying up watching Netflix or playing games on your phone at eleven o’clock at night is not helping anything. The light emitted from screens can delay the brain’s release of melatonin, which is the hormone that lets your body know it’s time for sleep. Also, staying up late doing work or making plans or whatever the hell you’re doing at one in the morning is obviously going to throw your sleep schedule off-balance. You might hate doing it, but laying down at a set time every night and setting an alarm in the morning with enough time in between to get 7-10 hours of sleep can really help you have plenty of energy to get through the day, because you’ve given your body time to rest and prepare itself for the next time you’re up and moving around. Getting enough sleep helps prevent extreme weight fluctuations, reduce stress, lower risk for serious health problems (ex. heart disease), improve immune system functions, etc. It’s important, so if you’re having serious trouble sleeping, talk with a professional and see what kind of medicine or routine you can start on to hopefully get an adequate amount of sleep each night.

Now get off your phone and go to bed. It’s late. 

[howsmyhairlook]

Texts From Last Night Writing Prompt:

•Brand hosted events. When a baby influencer gets the invite to their first ever event, with all the swag and monogrammed gifts, that was when you knew your clout was climbing in the right direction. All those over-staged flat lays and maintaining the grid aesthetic had finally proven worth the effort.

My first brand hosted event was in NYC. I’d been invited to a few, but I still had some dignity, and took my desire to be a well respected influencer seriously, and so I had declined the ones that simply didn’t make sense for what I was trying to accomplish with my account. I was no sell out, Mr. Mhmm was not an easy buy bitch willing to promote shit I didn’t actually like. Flat tummy tea? Pfft. Hair gummies? Please. My locks were natural and salon maintained like they should be. I didn’t mess with the work of my stylist. He’d cut my ears off if I did.

I knew holding out on accepting events that didn’t necessarily match my vibe would delay the instant gratification everyone craved, but I actually wanted to stay true to what I had been building. It was a slow process and one that wasn’t without blood, sweat (ew) and a few tears. So when an up and coming clothing brand, owned by someone who was out and proudly queer invited me to a fashion show during Pride, I RSVP’d faster than I could deny the squeal of delight upon reading their email.

Attending an event like this was not just a fun weekend away, it was also work. Having my flight, hotel and of course all the food and drinks when I attended their events paid for wasn’t exactly “free”, I was expected to in return post no less than twenty stories highlighting the goings on through the weekend. At the time, I thought it was an easy price to pay. My insta was going to be a three day weekend promo. I had it all planned out, I’d be the best attendee they had ever extended an invite to.

The night was going perfectly. The food was delicious, drinks were flowing, and the first of three fashion shows scheduled for the weekend had me doing multiple double takes in the best possible way. I made sure to snap a photo of each piece I loved and gushed appropriately about it on my feed. My followers were loving it, and the brand had shared my stories on their stories. It felt like the perfect execution of how an influencer and a brand could collaborate together.

The second night was an early evening show that delved into menswear and BOY was I feeling it. This particular fashion show had the models mingling among the crowd allowing everyone to get a more up close look at the clothing. Let’s be honest, though, the man candy was where my eyes were landing. And, because I’m me, I dressed to impress.

Once or twice I was confused for being part of the show. It was quite the ego boost. Not to mention a compliment to the designer that my vintage Gucci suit jacket fit into the vibe well enough to have me being confused for a model. The only difference was that instead of wearing any kind of slacks like the models had on, I was wearing tailored shorts to show off my argyle socks which were being held up by leather garters. I never skipped an opportunity to show off such an underrated accessory.

I also didn’t skip an opportunity to enjoy the free drinks each time one of the waitstaff would pass by with a tray. Selfies were being taken, numbers were given out. People were telling others to slide into their DMs. I’d given my number to more than a handful of people I’d had conversations with. It was exactly as you’d imagine a gathering of tipsy people might progress.

When the evening seemed to be winding down and the room had thinned out, I decided it was time to head back to my suite for the night, grateful the fashion show had been held in the same hotel the brand had booked my room. As I waited for the elevator to arrive, my phone, which had been buzzing most of the night buzzed again, only this time, it vibrated in my pocket to indicate I’d received a text from an unknown number.

Swiping it open with my thumb I smiled upon reading the words.•

(870) It was great chatting with you tonight. Too bad you decided to leave…

•I’d spoken with so many people this evening, and given my number out to the majority of them, I had no idea who was on the other side. My response was a polite thank you before asking who it was. The speech bubble popped up, then disappeared for a couple of seconds before another text came through.•

(870) Also, wanted to tell you, I really liked those socks you were wearing.

•An odd compliment but I was happy to take it because I loved my socks. Then, another text came before I could reply to the still nameless person.•

(870) There’s something sensual about taking off a pair of socks.

•Um.

What?

The elevator had arrived but I ignored it, instead turning around and looking throughout the lobby to see if anyone had followed me. I wasn’t lucky enough to find my mystery texter giving me the obvious sock lover vibes so I replied again to ask who it was. Instead of an answer, another text came through.•

(870) A bunch of us have headed to the club down the road, you should join. I’ll tell you who I am if you show.

•I hesitated, but not for very long. The mystery was too much, I HAD to know. My reply was quick, telling them I was on my way. I kept my eyes on my phone as I made my way through the hotel lobby, but my unnamed texter left me on read. Tempting me even further to get there as quickly as I could. I didn’t even know the gender of the person I was going to meet, not that it mattered to me.

Maybe I was being foolish going out on my own to meet some person at a club in a city I didn’t really know that well, but my fearlessness was fuelled by alcohol and I’d most likely realize the error in judgement in the morning. For now, I was hailing a cab to take me a mere couple of blocks just so I could meet this person sooner, walking would only delay the reveal of what I was anticipating to be an Ah Ha moment. Any amount of patience I normally possessed had vacated my faculties quicker than my followers had liked my posts from the show earlier in the evening.

My arrival at the club was anti-climatic.

Nobody was waiting outside for me. Rude. Then again, I wasn’t some Pretty in Pink girl who was coming of age, I was a grown ass man following the request of a semi-weird text just to learn who the sender was. For the record, though, I could totally rock the colour pink, if I wanted. I wasn’t biased when it came to colours I’d wear.

By some kind of luck. No, actually, it was by the grace of New York clubbing standards, it was still early despite the actual time, and there was no line to get in. I found myself taking in the atmosphere and sounds while eyeballing every group of people I passed on my way to the bar, staring a little too hard at their faces, hoping one might strike as familiar. They didn’t.

I placed my request for a drink with the bartender, my buzz was fading and with it, my gusto to see this through. His smile was easy and friendly as he spoke.• “One Last Word for the dapper dresser.”

•He winked and I slid him some cash with one hand while the other lifted the glass so I could down the entire drink in a couple of gulps. The gin flowed effortlessly down my throat, and I tapped my fingers on the bartop, trying to decide if I wanted a second. As I was deciding, a deep raspy voice sounded from behind me.• “I’ll take a Pussyfoot, please and another here for Mr. Mhmm.”

•I froze. His voice. Oh my Gucci. My body had a visceral reaction to it as I felt the rumble along with the sound of it. I wanted to hear more, I didn’t even care that he had ordered the strangest sounding drink I’d ever heard. He moved to stand next to me, and I turned to get a look at who I assumed was my mystery texter.

He had been at the event earlier in the night, and we had spoken, though I didn’t recall giving him my number. My eyes scanned over his body and I could feel them growing wider the further they travelled. Long gone was his suit and tie. He’d made a costume change, and was now in full leather gear. Where his hair had been artfully tousled, it was now slicked back. More than all of that, which was QUITE the sight to behold on its own, from the lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows, I realized he was at least twenty-five years older than me. He chuckled deeply at my reaction and didn’t that sound just hit me right in the groin. I shifted from foot to foot, trying to shake off the reaction my body was having. It didn’t work.

I was TRULY speechless and this leather daddy was letting me suffer. He said nothing until our drinks had been made and delivered. I wanted to ask what was in his, but I was pretty sure I’d caught a glimpse of an egg yolk being dropped into his glass so I took my own and swallowed half before I could get my tongue to form proper words.•

I don’t remember giving you my number. Also, thank you for the drink. How did you get it?

•He grinned at my jumbled thoughts but seemed to make perfect sense of what I was trying to say. He took his time sipping at his drink before speaking, and I got the distinct impression he enjoyed making others squirm. The silence was killer but I resisted the urge to fill the space, willing to wait to hear his voice again. He didn’t disappoint.• “You’re welcome. A friend of mine passed your number on to me after I wouldn’t shut up about your garters.”

•The reminder of my beloved accessory had me looking down at them, and I laughed as I realized they were leather, no wonder he liked them so much.• Oh yes. Nobody likes slouchy socks, right?

•I snapped my mouth closed when his grin turned slow and lecherous. I’d said his magic words, apparently, and most likely reminded him of his text about how sensual sock removal could be. I held my breath waiting again for him to deem enough time had passed before he was ready to speak some more.• “I prefer them to be pulled as high as they can go so I can take my time removing them.”

•Yep. Definitely my mystery texter. But now what?!• What do you want with me? What’s your name? Do you have some kind of sock fetish? I’m not judging if you do, honest. I just can’t seem to shut my mouth up, this kind of thing has never happened to me.

•Instead of answering my twenty questions, he nudged my drink closer to me, picking up his own and then stepped away from the bar. When I grabbed the glass, he nodded his head for me to follow. OF COURSE, I was hot on his heels. I wanted all the answers. For how much he had no problem doing all the speaking during the text exchange, he was unsettlingly silent.

And yet, I followed him all the way to a curtained off area that was entirely private. There was a small table that sat low to the floor in front of a leather sofa. He sat down first, the leather of his pants creaking against the sofa. Then, he placed his drink on the table before tapping the spot beside him. I moved to sit, leaving some space between us. He grinned, not seeming to mind that I hadn’t landed my ass right where his hand had indicated I should be. Once I was seated did he decide to speak, answering only the questions he wanted to.•

“My name is Charles. You can call me Charlie. Or Daddy if you prefer.” •He winked at me before allowing his eyes to sweep over my body the way I had done to him at the bar. His eyes stayed on my socks as he continued.• “I really do love your socks. Can I see them closer?”

•My head tilted in confusion, first because I was not the type of person to call anyone daddy regardless of my wide open sexuality. Second because I was not really sure how much closer he wanted my socks to get when we were already only a couple of feet apart. He took my silence as hesitation and reached down to grab one of my feet, putting it in his lap and holding it there until he was certain I wasn’t going to pull my foot away.

Charlie began to run his hand up my shin, his fingers were light and gentle, tracing over the different coloured shapes. When he got to the top of the sock, his index finger dipped below the elastic, pulling it away from my skin and allowing it to lightly snap against my leg. Such an innocent act felt obscene and dirty.

I didn’t know whether or not I was turned on or off. I did know I wanted to see where he was going with this. Next his fingers moved to the garter at the top of my calf, he traced over it the same way he did my sock. Taking his time, studying the details. I took his low grunt as approval. I knew the leather was soft and supple, not to mention high quality and by the sound he had made, he knew it, too.

His other hand had moved to the lace on my shoe, pulling the bow loose and grabbing ahold of the heel to slip my shoe off completely. I thought maybe I might be getting lucky with a foot rub...

I was wrong.

SO very, very wrong.

I found myself full of shock when he leaned forward and put his mouth on my foot. Not a kiss, or anything sweet and simple, but completely wrapped his lips around my toes and filled his mouth with my foot. I felt his tongue through my sock trying to push between my toes, the fabric growing wet with his efforts. He moaned around my foot and I felt the vibrations all the way across my sole.

That was the moment I decided any chances of being turned on were long gone. Not even alcohol could help me be okay with this. I was not into this the way Charlie very clearly was. I pulled my foot back and sputtered as I shook my head.• Nope. No way. No. I’m sorry but no matter how hot you are, and how much my dick loves the sound of your voice, can I get on board with toe sucking.

•I stood, and stepped backward, abandoning my unfinished drink. He seemed to be expecting my reaction and I watched in horror as he grabbed my shoe and began to smell the inside of it. That definitively answered the fetish question he had ignored.

If anyone noticed I was all but running to the exit, they didn’t say anything, thankfully. I probably could have walked at a normal speed but I was not looking to find myself a new hook up or have any more drinks, and I certainly was not going to wait around for Charlie to finish enjoying himself with my shoe. Absolutely not.

As I settled into the cab, and gave the name of my hotel to the driver, I decided the separation of such an amazing pair of shoes was worth the loss just to bring the entire foot blowjob experience to an end. This was what I deserved for attempting to mix a working weekend with someone else’s pleasure. With a relieved sigh, I resigned myself that next time I received a mystery text, I was going to ignore it the way I had ignored all the signs Charlie had been giving me to indicate he had a foot fetish.•

[vakariansmonocle]

To my friends

Tl;dr: im a big gay and i love all my friends so much and they have and do help me daily. I am richer for having known you.

This is an extremely long post to my friends tho. It’s pretty heavy at the beginning & end, discussing some more existential things and loss of loved ones. & how i’ve been dealing ( poorly ) with that. But, this is extremely important to me and I would tell them all these things privately, but I want this sort of immortalized on the internet, so everyone knows and can refer to this if they ever doubt themselves, or the love i have for them. if you wanna skip the heavier shit, just look for the divider & the big ol ‘so.’ <3

  The past few weeks have been something of a blur ngl. Its been emotionally taxing and its sorted of sucked. But within the last week, i sort started thinking heavily about my friendships and how much they matter. In the past month i have seen multiple posts from people who recently lost their friends and loved ones. I have seen lives taken at a young age and friendships that’ll be cherished as long as those left behind remember. Multiple times within the last month the explicit message of “Tell the people you love how much they matter to you because you don’t know when you won’t be able to again” has come around. Its a message i know well. I’ve seen my fair share of death; Countless family members passing on from old age. Other students i wanted to see grow. Friends i never got to talk to again. But that last ones always gets me the most.  

  So the past month, I have been dealing with this weight of watching people lose their loved ones left and right and always, always, taken too soon. And i watched how heavily it hung on the shoulders of those left behind. The ever present weight of a void where once there was the bright light of a person whom you loved. And it sort of tugged on my own weight in my chest. It hit that nerve that reminded me of those I’ve lost. And it, in the simplest of terms, scared me. 

Because the truth is, we don’t know when we’ll go. Or when those we love will leave us. We don’t know if one day they’ll have the courage to leave us behind, or whether they’ll leave us naturally. We don’t know who we’ll lose or when. But god i hope its never too soon. I hope to every single god and goddess and being of power that you all get to live long and joyous lives that, with or without me, are the best adventures you have. Preferably with me though, really. Being boring without each other, lets be honest.

So

 its been a month of me wanting to desperately say how much i love you all. Its been me debating if i should liam O'Brien it and make a heartfelt but weird as heck one shot for us to run just so i can tell you all you mean so very much to me, and that i am, and always will be, richer for knowing you. Though that’s still on the table really. But for now I’m writing this. To my friends. To all my friends that i have lost. To all my friends that i will make; I love you.

  To  Neah ( @therifaerie ) a constant source of good. Who has made me laugh, unknowingly, in some of my worst of times. Whom i have only known a short time, but have loved every moment of it. Who i am constantly proud of, and whose parents i would gladly fight in a dennys parking lot any day. Trust me when i say this: you’re gonna be great. You’re art is wonderful and it honestly makes me wanna draw every time i see it, and i can’t wait to see how it looks years from now. You’re gonna do great, and be great, honey. So don’t give up on that, alright? It can only get better, I promise. You deserve so much good, and you’re always a light in our lives, i love you.

 To Lucas ( @scriptuurient ) who has somehow become my other half in most things i do & just in general, really. Who means so much to me, its honestly overwhelming most days. Who i want to live with and see the world with, so we can avoid bad vibe places and count the stars together and talk about rocks when we’re tired or always.  i never thought you would stick to my lame nonsense self, because you met me in a pretty shitty place in the last year, but you’ve proven to me every day you are a light and a hand to hold when things get bad. Who i owe so many laughs to, and so much of my ability to hope to. I am so happy i know you, and I am so excited how far you go, whether it’s on earth or looking up at the sky and knowing you’re up there, literally in space on mars. You’re gonna do wonderful. Never forget to believe in yourself, or at the least, we all believe in you. I love you so much and i am so very proud of you, every day.

  To Dom ( @queerquarian ), my little brother. My best friend. The hand that has clasped my wrist to drag me back so many a time I’ve lost count. The one who has given me love and shown me kindness when i needed most. The one who i think of always as my friend, but more importantly, my family. Who has given me so much, given the world so much, and remains so bright and ever burning light to many even when they themselves are fighting off their own darkness. A constant in my life that I am so happy for, because you always bring this level of comfort i can’t explain. you are my little brother, through and through, and maybe its that love & trust i have for you that makes it so easy and comfortable to talk with you about everything and anything. I unno what it is, but god, it’s great. I’m so excited for you to grow and learn everything you want. I’m so happy i’ve gotten to see you come so far, but it’s not over yet, yea? I love you so much.

  To Michaela ( @myopicmickey​ ), the one who i fucked up with and yet still loves me, even if its just as a friend now. Who has gone through their own journey, and doesn’t know how proud i am of them every day. Who doesn’t know how grateful i am that they let me back in. Who is absolutely one of the only people allowed to punch me directly in the face because im an asshole. The one that’s been there for me multiple times, and the one who knows me probably the best. But the one i wish the most gets to see me grow and live, & that i get to see grow. In a different life, we worked out better. But I don’t regret anything with you, except fucking up of course. I hope there’s forgiveness in your heart for me, hon. You deserve better than me, deserve the world and so much more than I could ever hope to explain.  To the one i love greatly,  who is forever and always my best friend.   

And, To Rachel ( @inuyasha-amv ) the cornerstone of my day to day. Who i CONSTANTLY give shit because what else are friends for than to fuck with each other. Who has been there for me so many times when i needed someone most. Who has shown me so much kindness and love that its hard to comprehend how she does it. One of the few people who have heard me crack and crumble and fall to pieces and stayed by my side through the worst of it. The one who i owe the most to. Because without rachel, i wouldn’t know three of my best friends and i wouldn’t have more budding friendships I’m grateful for. And who i am so excited to watch grow up and finish school so she can make a difference in the world, one day at a time. The one who is constantly giving, and teaching us all to be kind ( and in general random things. ) You’re going to be great, and you know that’s what I believe. & I am so grateful to have you in my life. Just remember, I  hate you, you’re the absolute worst you dingus. Nah, i care about you a lot and don’t you ever forget it ya fucker.

  So. To my friends, my family. Who have given me so much hope and love and laughter and joy. Even if i haven’t known two of you very long, it has felt like ages. I love you all so much. And i am so proud of each and every one of you. I know for a fact i wouldn’t be here without each of you because no matter how little you think you help, you all are the foundation of why i keep going why i hold on so dearly. Because of you, i am alive and living. Maybe its not some peoples definition of living, but it is for me. You all have given me bits of hope and love and kindness that have undeniably helped with healing wounds, old and new. You all are the hands i hold, mentally of course, when i need to grab on. Every i love you and every bit of kindness you have shown me is a very loud, and very bright, double bird fuck you to the depressive thoughts that ever make me doubt it. Because i know that without this wonderful and loving family i have with you all, life would be boring, and really, not worth it. Maybe it would be just to meet another family. But i doubt i would have gotten that far or enjoy that other one nearly as much. Because you all made me realize my own worth, and gave me the support system I needed to feel like it’s worth seeing through.

  To my friends. My misfit family, found in some of my hardest years. The loves of my life. Never forget or doubt that i love you more than you can possibly ever imagine. Never forget that i am proud of you for how far you’ve all made it. Nor how excited i am to fill in chapters of my life with you all in them, how excited i am to watch your stories grow. Never forget that you all are important and mean the world to me, even in the darkest of times, i love you and i care about you. I will always be there for you, & i’ll never stray too far. Because you are never alone, for i am always with you.

[misssophiachase]

One Summer, three best friends, a fortune teller and a mysterious new arrival in town.

I Can See Clearly Now

“I can see clearly now the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way.”

June 19 - Virginia

Looking back, Caroline blamed her unexpected discovery on boredom that summer. The temperature had hit a stifling 103 degrees mainly due to low cloud cover containing the heat and the girls piled into the car headed for the cool sanctuary of the movie theatre to catch the latest Nicholas Sparks adaption. 

Well, that’s what Bonnie and Caroline wanted to see. Katherine on the other hand preferred a lot less mush, as she liked to put it, and a lot more violence. Knowing her dogged determination, Caroline knew this was going to be a difficult argument to win.

They’d been best friends since they were six. Class bully Jimmy Johnson had been teasing Bonnie mercilessly and one day went too far, earning himself a smack from both Caroline and Katherine. The girls still maintained that their ‘time out’ punishment was more than worth it to see him return to school with two very attractive, black eyes. After that he’d never messed with Bonnie again.

Now here they were about to embark on their Senior Year of High School. All Caroline had ever wanted was to leave Mystic Falls but even now she was beginning to feel nostalgic for the only place she’d ever called home. Not to mention her best friends. They’d chosen not to discuss their plans for the following year, too scared to contemplate separating.

“Um, last time I checked the cinema is in that direction, Katherine,” Bonnie gestured behind them.

“Who needs GPS when I have Bonnie Bennett barking directions at me from the backseat.”

“Well, she does have a point, Kat,” Caroline chimed into the conversation. “Surely the prospect of Nicholas Sparks isn’t bad enough to make you drive in the complete opposite direction.”

“Ah yeah he is, that Notebook movie you guys made me watch has scarred me for life.”

“It’s okay, we promised not to tell anyone you cried,” Bonnie mused.

“There was something in my eye, I told you that,” she shot back. “Anyway, I just thought we could do something a little different today. You know given it will be our last high school summer and all.” The dread lingered between them for a while, each girl feeling the overwhelming sadness that came with that very fact.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Bonnie murmured, finally breaking the silence.

“You’ll love it, trust me.”

“The last time she said that I ended up dancing on the bar at the Mystic Grill in a tequila fuelled haze,” Caroline recalled.

“And look how much fun you had. Well, you know after the hangover subsided.”

“And the subsequent grounding from the Sheriff. Katherine, she was this close to pressing charges against her own daughter for public drunkenness.”

“Yeah those were good times,” Caroline drawled, raising her eyebrows. “Please tell me this little surprise doesn’t involve illegal activity of any kind?”

“You two really are boring,” she muttered, checking out her appearance in the rearview mirror. “But no this isn’t illegal, well not that I know of anyway. If I’m being honest, I’m not completely across the laws in Maryland.” The girls were rendered speechless just as the 'Thank you for visiting Mystic Falls’ sign rushed past their windows.

3 and half hours later - Maryland

“You brought us all the way to Maryland for this?” Caroline scoffed, throwing open the car door and stepping out before slamming it shut with a bang. “Some fortune teller called Madame Ophelia? I mean as if that’s even her real name.”

“More like Madame needs a new marketing image,” Bonnie murmured, taking in the run down, brick house with the makeshift wooden sign outside that looked as if it was going to topple over at any moment.

“Mock all you like but Madame Ophelia is considered one of the best mediums in North America. According to Psychic Weekly her predictions have proven to be eerily correct time and time again. Her services are highly sought after but I managed to get us appointments. You can thank me later, ladies.”

“Well, you’d think with all that talent she could afford to fix that rickety, front path and tame that unruly wilderness over there that kind of resembles a garden.”

“Come on, live a little,” Katherine pleaded, making her way up the path.

“I am not going in there,” Bonnie baulked. “I’d rather not live out a real life rendition of Hansel and Gretel.”

“Yeah especially without the enticing gingerbread house for added inducement,” Caroline joked just as a loud crack of thunder sounded out and fat drops of water began to fall from the sky. Usually the rain would provide some relief but given the temperature was still so high it only made the conditions more humid. “Just great.”

“If this isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is, Katherine,” Bonnie squealed, just as the rain began to fall in sheets. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“You can but I’m going in and last time I checked I was the one holding the keys to the locked car, so it’s your choice to either get extremely soaked or come with me,” she teased, dangling the keys in front of them teasingly. Bonnie and Caroline regarded each other seriously knowing they didn’t have much choice and followed her inside out of the pouring rain.

“You like to be in control,” Madame Ophelia said to Caroline a half hour later.

It was more like a statement than a question and Caroline was entirely too dubious to properly reply. The inside of her house had been just as run down as the outside and there seemed to be a severe shortage of lighting except for the unmistakable glow emanating from her crystal ball as she peered at Caroline. Her dark grey hair was piled on top of her head in a bun, a coloured scarf wrapped over the top.

“I didn’t think crystal balls were real,” she scoffed, by way of response. “Much like this whole facade you’ve created here.”

“They aren’t, same as this ridiculous outfit. I just use these elements to add a little bit of theatre, people apparently like that sort of thing. I’m guessing you’re not one of them.”

“No offence but I just don’t believe in this whole thing.”

“I’m getting that vibe from you.” Her heavy set wrinkles even more so pronounced as she said it. “Katherine is very much a believer although I’m not entirely sure she agreed with my assessment of her future.”

“Don’t take it personally, she’s high maintenance,” Caroline snorted.

“Bonnie is very closed off although I think that had more to do with the fact she was so scared.”

“Well, you might want to look at improving your customer service then. Redecorating this place might be a good start, Madame Ophelia. You know, if that’s your real name.”

“It’s Gertrude but I didn’t think it had the same ring to it,” she smirked, playfully. “You could never be frightened, Caroline,” she smiled, knowingly. “In fact, your inner energy is extremely powerful. You’re very different to your friends.”

“Different how?” Now Madame Ophelia had her attention.

“You know what you want and aren’t afraid to follow your dreams,” she added. “I have no doubt you will be a successful journalist, in fact Brown University will be very lucky to have you in their class next year.”

She felt the breath hitch in her throat. Her lifelong dream had been journalism and Brown was at the top of the list. How did she know that? Maybe this psychic thing wasn’t so bad, as long as she was telling the truth of course. Before Caroline could ask about future job possibilities she continued. “But that’s not the most pressing future event I can see.”

“Excuse me?” What could be more important than her future career?

“I can see him.”

“Him?” She squeaked. Was she referring to a possible love interest? Caroline had always placed romance at the very bottom of her cluttered list of life goals.

“He’s foreign. Dark, blonde curls, blue eyes and lips the colour of deep crimson.” Caroline couldn’t respond mainly because she didn’t know what to say or what this all meant. “You’ve both been looking for each other without really knowing it.”

“Who is he?”

“Your soulmate.”

“I don’t believe in soulmates,” she uttered.

“You will,” she smiled, knowingly. “Now, I believe our time is up.”

“But,” before she could argue further, Madame Ophelia was gone. Caroline wasn’t sure whether it was an optical illusion she’d employed to add to the theatrics or whether she’d been wrong about her. The skeptic in her wanted to believe the former but something was telling Caroline not to discount her abilities.

Three hours later - Maryland/Virginia border

“Obviously Madame Ophelia knows nothing about me,” Katherine ranted. Caroline rolled her eyes from the backseat wondering when she was going to finally stop whining. This thing was her whole idea in the first place after all. “And when the hell is this damn rain going to stop!” The summer storm had been relenting and the water was beating heavily against the windshield as the sun was beginning to set lazily on the horizon.

“She said you were highly ambitious and were going to be an extremely successful Harvard trained lawyer. I’d say she knows you pretty well,” Bonnie offered.

“Harvard has been your dream ever since I’ve known you, Kat,” Caroline added, trying to ignore Madame Ophelia’s prediction about her mystery soulmate. She figured no one could get everything right. Brown was what she wanted not some unnamed blonde.

“That I can handle,” she growled, looking into the mirror at her friend briefly. “But she obviously doesn’t know my taste in men. Apparently I’m going to meet some serious, thoughtful and protective brunette who is going to change my perception of things.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“Well Bonnie, serious isn’t really my type. You realise serious is just another word for boring, right?”

“Last time I checked it isn’t,” Caroline shot back.

“Only you would have memorised the thesaurus,” she groaned. “Whatever the case, Katherine Pierce is not interested in someone like that.”

“Woah, she’s referring to herself in the third person, this must be serious,” Bonnie joked from the passenger seat. “Oh sorry, pardon the pun.”

“It’s so easy to joke when you find out that not only architecture at Stanford is a sure thing but so too a cheeky, brunette that challenges everything you’ve ever believed. Maybe we should swap future, mystery men?”

“I don’t think our destinies are interchangeable.”

“Come on you guys,” Caroline interrupted. “Do you really believe in all of this stuff?”

“And what exactly was your reading, Care?” Katherine asked, slowing down as they entered the main street of one of the smaller towns on their route. “You’ve been reluctant to share so far.”

“It’s not important,” she murmured, eyes downcast all of a sudden. For some reason she’d been too afraid to relay the details given it would make it all the more real and Caroline wasn’t ready to entertain some guy who may or may not be her soulmate.

“Oh come on, that’s not fair,” Katherine argued, turning around briefly to send her a dirty look.

“Katherine, look out!” Bonnie cried, just as her car ran straight into the back of a black SUV. The jolt from the impact was immediate and Caroline felt herself repelled forward into the back of the driver’s seat.

“Ouch,” she moaned, finally coming to from the initial shock. “This is why I don’t like driving with you, Pierce.” The girls emerged from the car slowly to inspect the damage. Funnily enough the rain had all but stopped as they did. 

“It’s not my fault that driver was going like ten miles an hour which is like thirty-five below the speed limit in this area,” Katherine growled, rubbing her forehead. “I bet snails could drive faster than this grandpa.”

“Grandpa?” A stern voice exclaimed. “Not only do you run into me but you have the audacity to insult me too?" 

Although shaken, Caroline had to admit the stranger was extremely good looking with his English accent and in that fitted, dark suit. She was slightly relieved he was a brunette given Madame Ophelia’s earlier prediction about her supposed, blonde foreigner.

"Well,” she began. Bonnie and Caroline knew she was about to erupt in true Katherine Pierce fashion if they didn’t intervene and given the accident was clearly her fault they didn’t want to exacerbate the situation any further.

“How about we all talk about this calmly,” Bonnie interrupted, before jumping in fright. Another attractive brunette had approached flashing a cheeky smile in their direction.

“Grandpa is extremely appropriate, trust me,” he smirked, raising his eyebrows at Bonnie. “I have to drive with the guy.”

“Really, Kol?” He drawled. “Your immaturity never fails to amaze me. Could you maybe wait in the car while I organise the insurance details?”

“I was bored,” he pouted. “Anyone like to get a drink? I know this town is tiny but I’m sure we could find a beer somewhere.”

“There’s been an accident little brother,” another accented voice chimed into the conversation. “This isn’t an excuse to blatantly and desperately pick up women.”

Caroline’s blue eyes immediately flickered to its source. 

Dark, blonde curls, blue eyes and deep crimson lips curved into a knowing grin. Madame Ophelia certainly had impeccable timing and Caroline knew she could possibly be in trouble. His eyes searched hers before glancing at his brother lazily. “Can we move this along and just get to Mystery Falls already.”

“It’s called Mystic Falls,” Caroline corrected him tersely, trying to ignore the way those dark jeans and navy henley fitted him way too snugly

She’d only just met the guy but he was already wearing on her last nerve. She wasn’t sure if it was because he couldn’t get the name of her hometown right or whether it was the fact he could be her soulmate. Either way it looked like she wasn’t going to be rid of him anytime soon.

TBC?

[knightofbalance-13]

http://dudeblade.tumblr.com/post/158821156544/rant-on-yangs-nonexistent-recovery-arc

I wanna preface this before I begin: I really do think yang needed more screentime this Volume. She got shafted in Volume 1 and 2 and here it was a souring experience to see her sidelined. Now I am not blaming Jaune: That guy had about a third of the screen time to himself than Yang. If I were to blame someone in the series, I’d blame Blake for hogging an entire episode to herself or Tyrian for taking up ending time that could have been used for Yang. But my honest opinion? I’m optimistic: If the writers show that Yang ahsn’t gotten over the PTSD in latter Volumes I will actually be very happy. Nothing is more insulting than underplaying the lasting effects of a mental illness, making it seem easy to get over. I didn’t get that vibe from Yang considering she had to be depressed for around nine months considering it was fall when we saw her after Beacon, it was winter after that and a minimum of six months have passed since that point. It’s entirely possible for Yang to recover in that span of time, especially if Volume 4 was told out of order.

I am saying this now to put what I am about do in context: I am a Yang fan, my main complaint with V4 was that she got too little screentime and I have an aversion to mental illnesses being downplayed. By all rights, I should agree with @Dudebblade right?

Well...

IF YOU WERE TO USE THE SAME TECHNIQUES SHOWN IN RWBY ON A PTSD VICTIM, YOU WOULD BE CALLED OUT ON YOUR INSENSITIVITY!

This isn highly hypocritical as Dudeblade has in the past said that Taiyang was wrong for breaking down after Summer’s death....his team leader...and the mother of his second daughter and caretaker of his first...after losing Raven, his first love and mother of Yang...all in about four years time...leaving him a single widower of two, a job meant for to people at minimum. It’s hard raising a kid I know, I’ve been hearing my mom state the hardships for years. And quite frankly, I wasn’t that hard of a kid I didn’t go around challenging demonic wolves or attacking bars and as much as I love my mom, Taiyang is a better parent than both of them and suffered even more than her. And Dudeblade calls this insensitive but not a widower. Yeah, he’s not allowed to talk.

I don’t give a shit if the arc was “Too hard” to write. You set yourself up to make a recovery arc. You should deliver. If it wasn’t as easy as you thought it was, then you should tough it out, and do it. Otherwise you failed to deliver on something that you promised.

You promised to be my friend and then betrayed me three times. Again, Hypocriticial.

It’s like if the RWBY writers promised that there would be LGBT representation, but refuses to point them out… Oh wait… That’s actually what’s happening right now.

You now, I have an LGBT friend named @mageknight14 and he’s just as sick of this as I am. I am starting to think they SHOULDN’T have an LGBT character if you keep bitching. You don’t hear me bitching for Asperger’s representation even though Autism is synonomous with “Brain damamged” in the world and the closest thing I have to a representitive is Sheldon Cooper.

Alright, something I’m going to have to do, is to compare this show’s PTSD recovery arc, with another show’s recovery arc. Not to be a dick or anything, but the only other well-known show that did a PTSD recovery arc well, was Legend of Korra. Not to compare RWBY to a show that has had an entire team of writers, professional animators, a previous series that was well-received, and an epic premise to undermine it or anything, but hey. Miles did say that the Season three of LoK missed the line by an inch, and found it “Meh” (Yep. Bringing that one back.)

Oh so people’s personal opinion is something you are allowed to judge them on? Okay then, you like Raven ergo anything you have to say about parental characters ever is disregarded. And unlike you who has stated their opinion as fact, Miles stated his opinion as ONLY that. And if you’re gonna pull that, how about I start comparing your DB chronicals to Miles’ writing? Let’s see: Pandering to LGBT demographic with Tifa and Yang, crappy reasoning for not using Goku or Superman which hasn’t been addressed, under usage of the Villians, under suage of Vegeta, directly copying and pasting Godzilla Vs. Gamera ect. Doesn’t feel to good huh? Maybe next time you could learn some empathy?

Hey, if Miles wants to criticize a show, and claim that “missing the mark by an inch” makes the finale “Meh”, then I can say that missing an entire plot by a light year is INFURIATING.

And I can point out the bullshit in your crap without an inch of regret or remorse. Funny how that works.

It’s almost as if it was the most insulting piece of shit that I have had to watch since reading poorly written fanfics that were clearly meant to troll people.

You emna like basic pandering, random and lazy fourth wall breaks, expecting us that Deadpool would be friends with you, under using 90% of your cast, making some deity look after you and making Yang and Guts look similar when they share like three basic things together? Or how about yang remembering Carolina ahs Pyrrha’s voice but the snarky AI in her suit that sounds like her father? Nope, nothing to see there. Also, TYang knows RT but doesn’t know a single person from RvB because...plot?

I’m getting off-topic here. Legend of Korra Book 4 handled PTSD with an ENORMOUS amount of seriousness, respect, and time. Not only was this a case of a timeskip being used in a manner that was actually the right way of using it, but they showed that Korra was struggling. While she could always blame it on the mercury poisoning, it showed that Korra wasn’t merely “moping” (I will never let that line go), it showed that she was terrified. She wanted to get better, but she had to go at her own pace.

Yeah and tehw riters of Korra had a shit ton more experience, payment and less pressure considering they could coast off of the original’s success. Which they kind of did seeing as I have heard a shit ton of non-LGBT people call bull on Korrasami.

Okay then, I will never let anything yousay go then as well. Have fun with that: My specialty is turning one’s words against them.

In fact, she had to be the one to decide to get the mercury out of her system. She wasn’t guilt-tripped into doing it, she did it because she was ready. It had nothing to do with someone calling her a burden. It was because it was at that moment, that she had recovered. There’s a reason why this episode stands out from most. It was because, through the help of Toph, Korra managed to overcome her fears and doubts, and remove the mercury herself.

Okay...is Yang Korra? No? Then they will NOT handle this situation the same way. Unless they are carbon copies of each other or at least have the same basic experiences, your point DOES NOT stand. And since you just expect us to take your wrd for it after insulting Taiyang, Miles and later on you will use Shane and Monty to attack RT, I have no good will.

Hm, let’s go through this again shall we?

Terrified...Guess that Adam dream or the PTSD flash never happened...

Choose to get the Mercury out of her system...Not how the body works...And taiyang didn’t stitch it on neither did Yang have to deal with her fault at letting her sister be in danger. Yeah, If Taiyang is a bad father for breaking down, Yang is a worse sister because she broke down longer, with no one to help Ruby, over less pain and had support all unlike taiyang.

And is RWBY over yet? ... No? Then I’d bet you’ll be eating your words sooner than latter.

RWBY just rushed it. Yang wasn’t given time to actually decide to put the arm on, her father heavily implied that she was a burden, she overheard it, and felt guilty (Seriously, how did she hear that? Is she some kind of rare half-breed or something?).

Like all children are: it’s a fact of life get use to it. Whether or not the child or parent think that way, iyt is a fact. Just as well: We only have your word on that. You, who have proven you are projecting your own parental problems onto Taiyang. yeah, you are the definition of Unreliable Narrator.

But hey, let’s take a look at Berserk. Let’s see what would happen if we were to use RWBY’s techniques on Casca. Hey, Casca! I know you got assaulted by the man you used to love romantically and everything, and that he violated you in ways that we probably couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but how about you get over it? - And now, I have been bifurcated by Guts for saying something like that. Why? Because Casca from Berserk has PTSD! She’s not going to magically get better by getting some heals or shit like that! She has PTS FUCKING D! You either treat it with respect, or don’t set yourself up to write it out to begin with.

Pardonnez-moi, mais vous n'avez aucune idée de ce que vous dites.

Okay then, let’s use your method of parenting on Guts shall we?

HEY GUTS! DUDEBLADE SAID YOU’RE A TERRIBLE FATHER FOR BREAKING DOWN AFTER TEH ECLIPSE AND CASCA’S RAPE, THAT YOU DESERVE EVERYTHING THAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU, THAT YOU ARE NEVER GOING TO BE CONSIDERED GOOD AGAIN AND THAT YOU ARE WORSE THAN YOUR OWN FATHER AND GRIFFITH!

Oh look, he’s pretty pissed. Hope you enjoy having a crossbow shoved up your neither regions.

Also: Is Yang and Casca the same person? Have they faced the same troubles? Do they even share one event in the past? NO. So how about you stop using stupid examples and I might stop Guts from shoving his sword up your uretha?

Then Tai said, “Looks like you lost some brain cells along with that arm of yours.” Keep in mind that both Port and Oobleck were shocked at this. It shows that Tai crossed a line there, and in all honesty, if Yang hadn’t laughed, they would have been scared shitless for Yang’s mental health. Something that they didn’t really consider. These are supposed to be her teachers and parents, but they don’t do anything to actually help Yang get better mentally. Not to mention that Miles and Kerry said that writing the PTSD recovery arc was “too hard.” is rather insulting considering NOTHING HAPPENED! I don’t give a shit about that. I don’t give a single shit if it was “Too hard.” or not. You have to do it in a respectful manner, or you become one of the most insensitive people ever. to the point where I think that this becomes appropriate:

Oh so you’re insensitive for telling one joke but not for directly insulting someone when they are trying to help you? Because Yang did EXACTLY that! remember this line?

“I lost a part of me, it’s gone and it’s never coming back. You can’t possibly understand how that feels.”

She says this to man who lost both of his lovers, lost his team, nearly lost his kids twice with one comatose and the other depressed and hurting him for trying to help, had to wake up every day for six months wondering if his brother in law, daughter and friends were all dead. It’s like bitching about a hangnail in front of Guts: Not comparable in the slightest. If I were Taiyang I would have walked up to her, got in her face and recounted everything that I have lost to her and make her see just how much she actually lost.

Not enough? How about Ruby, her younger sister who lost more than her, was comatose for it and preserved still? Or Qrow, who lives with misfortune over his head 24/7? By far: Yang is the BEST one off so by your logic, she has no right to complain and neither do you!

Yeah. People who treat PTSD as insensitively as the writers did should be fired from breathing.

... You are telling them to die over a fictional character...

You know what is even more insulting dudeblade? Using suicide baiting right in front of a formerly suicidal person. Fuck you in every sense of the word.

Before anyone says any bullshit about how Red vs. Blue had the character ripping on each other, so that this is “okay.” - I’d like to point out that in the scene where Doc’s split personality O’Mally, roasts Grif for having to take care of his sister because his father left, and his mother was in the circus. Nobody really laughed. And when Doc snapped out of it, he apologized. None of the Reds or Blues ever hit that close to home, and when it did happen, they treated it seriously. It wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t a punchline, it was an actual serious thing.

Yes itw as a joke. It’s called Black humor and the narrative treated it as  afailed attempt at Doc’s peace which was the real punchline. And the same guy also insulted his own sister several times throughout the BGC.

And what about getting shot by a tank, being told you’re worthless, being said you won’ta mount to anything, being forced off to die several times and take the blame for everything? That’s the entirety of the BGC’s thing.

And it was treated seriously as a way to break the ice and unlike Grif, YANG WAS OKAY WITH IT. And unlike Doc, Taiyang KNOWS YANG. HE RAISED HER! How convenient for you to not mention these factors huh?

The really infuriating part was the fact that it started off so well. Yang nearly had a panic attack when she dropped the glass, she was having nightmares about Adam, she openly said that she felt as if “A part of her was missing, and it wasn’t coming back.”, she had gotten used to using only one arm- It was going so well! At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if the current writing team for RWBY would be unable to write a respectful, and realistic PTSD Recovery arc to save their lives. The writing’s become shit since they booted Monty’s wife, Sheena and Shane off the team. I’m sure they REALLY appreciate it.

(Growls deeply)

You wanna know what is really fucking sick, as in, I can NEVER forgive, that I have deemed people horrible for, that has truly made me hate them?

Using a person’s death or mental illness for their own gain, usually attacking friends and family with it.

Like you have done with Monty and Shane.

I hoep you’re happy because you have crossed so many lines. I hope you’re happy being hateful and pessimistic because you know what? You are no better than those people at Yang Haters Haven for threatening Ben and Chad’s lives. In fact, you are WORSE than them. You are essentially digging up Monty’s corpse to beat his friends, his grieving friends who shared so much with, with it. Congratulations, you are what you hate. Except they can always say “I never used a dead man for my own gains.”

I have no respect for you, no hope for you, no kindness for you.

You are worse than most people in the rwde tag and that is saying a lot considering their suicide baiting and death threats.

Enjoy the fucking hole you dug for yourself, I’ll be sure to fill it up and put you out of your misery never.

[theliterateape]

Hagatha the Dog Witch

By David Himmel

Hagatha was new in town. This was her third time moving in as many years. Most recently, she had been run out of Salem, Massachusetts for displaying characteristics held by women with an interest in the dark arts of magic. The people were right in accusing Hagatha of witchery because she was, in fact, a witch. She thought that Salem would have been a good place for a modern-day witch to reside in the way Germany was now perfectly safe for Jews to live. That Salem would be accepting to a fault in order to correct its terrible history of mistreating witches. Hagatha was very wrong.

Being in a new place is always hard. Hagatha was used to this difficult adjustment period but this time had proven to be far more trying than ever before. Hagatha, upon arriving in Chicago, had developed an allergy to cats. She tried Zyrtec, Claritin and Allegra, and all the potions and spells in her Witch Craft: Curses & Remedies book. Nothing helped. Her eyes watered, which made her face melt a little. Her nose ran constantly, and witch snot is essentially acid so she kept burning through her handkerchiefs and shirt sleeves. The only solution was to put her beloved cat, Gomez, whom she had had since she conjured him to life two centuries ago, up for adoption.

She took him to Paws. As she was walking out, tears melting her cheeks as they streamed down her face, she passed a volunteer finishing a walk with a terrier-hound mutt. He was only slightly bigger than Gomez. He was mostly black with brown markings on his feet and a tuft of white on his chest and neck. He looked playful and happy.

“Excuse me,” Hagatha said to the volunteer. “Is this dog available for adoption?”

“Yes, he is. Are you interested? And what’s happening to your face?”

“Oh, that.” She had forgotten about the whole water melts witches thing and that she’d been crying. She waved her hand over face and said quietly and quickly, “Restore, restore. Tears melt no more.” She responded to the volunteer, “Sorry about that. Yes, I’m interested.”

The adoption process went quickly thanks to a time lapse spell Hagatha cast. At home, she sat on her couch with her new pet sitting at her feet. Their eyes were locked.

“The mortals at Paws say your name is Sammy. That you’re about eight years old.” Sammy cocked his head a tad to the left and perked up his ears. “I don’t like that name. You’re more of a… Let’s see… What are you? Ah! Got it! Your name is now Gabriel.”

Hagatha waved her hands over the dog’s head and said, “Your name as you knew it is now gone. You will answer to Gabriel from now on.”

Hagatha often had trouble making friends. Mortals were put off by her strange appearance—she was a dead ringer for Stevie Nicks. And it was rare that she would find any other witches in town. If she did find someone like her, there was often resentment because those witches looked more like the evil queen in Snow White disguised as the old woman when she gives Snow the apple than a less obvious stereotype like that of Stevie Nicks. For all witches’ powers, there is a strict rule on transforming their Satan-given appearance permanently or for reasons of vanity. Hagatha was one of the lucky ones, if you’re into coked up rock stars. The only exception to this rule was healing yourself in the case you should have a run in with your own body’s watery fluids.

However, Chicago was different. Call it Midwestern politeness if you want, Hagatha found a group of friendly witches rather quickly. The Bucktown Athletic Club had a witches spin class. There were nine of them. They were all Bewitched witches so they looked like either Elizabeth Montgomery or Nicole Kidman. Hagatha signed up for the class right away. The Montgomerys and Kidmans took a quick liking to Hagatha and soon she was being included in more than just spin class.

“The meat is a variety of smoked and cured woodland creatures, and the cheese comes from the dairy bats and nefarious bovines of the eighth realm.”

 Morgana, a Montgomery witch the others looked to as the leader of the coven, invited everyone to her apartment for dinner and drinks after class one night.

“Martini Tuesday!” Morgana announced as the witches gathered their things after they all rebuilt their melted skin from all the sweating they had done in class. “Next Tuesday, my place. I’ll conjure up a scrumptious meal and we’ll have martinis to welcome our new friend, Hagatha! Please bring your pets! Our little furry friends should get to know her, too!”

A few days later, it was time for the dinner. Hagatha brought a bottle of Lamb’s Blood wine from New Zealand as a hostess gift. “Ooo! A 1736 vintage. That’s a great year,” Morgana said graciously. “Um, what’s that?”

“This is Gabriel. My dog.”

“Your dog!?”

“I’m allergic to cats.”

Morgana’s attitude changed immediately from welcoming to suspicious. “A witch who is allergic to cats? Whoever heard of such a thing?” She invited Hagatha in. The others were already there, drinks in hands, kitty cats—all black—resting on shoulders, rubbing against legs, and broom sticks leaning next to the well-stocked umbrella stand by the door. “Girls, this is Hagatha’s dog, Gabriel. She’s allergic to cats.”

The friendly party vibe instantly left the room. Hagatha tried to explain. “I wasn’t always allergic to cats. It happened shortly after I moved here. I love cats! I miss my cat every day. I mean, this may not even be a permanent thing.”

“Did you try taking Allegra?” asked Isobel, a Kidman witch.

“I tried everything,” Hagatha said. “Wow, Morgana, it smells amazing. What’s for dinner?”

“Change the subject. Good idea,” Isobel said.

“An old family recipe,” Morgana said as she snapped her fingers making a martini appear in Hagatha’s hand. “The first course is charcuterie and cheese. The meat is a variety of smoked and cured woodland creatures, and the cheese comes from the dairy bats and nefarious bovines of the eighth realm. Our main course is roast woodsman with a German-inspired Hansel and Gretel glaze. For dessert, ice cream sundaes.”

Hagatha could sense the others questioning her loyalty, her value to the spin coven. She did her best to remain calm. She forced an aloofness that she knew came across as awkward. Gabriel was a perfect canine. He sat at her feet and never once begged for any table scraps. The cats, however, would occasionally hiss at him from across the room.

“I dated a guy with a dog once,” Isobel said as Morgana used her magic to clean the dinner dishes and refill everyone’s martini glasses. “He was incredibly handsome. A doctor, so we often fought over the value of science versus magic. We were in love for a while there.”

“What happened to him?” Hagatha asked.

“I put a hex on him. Over the course of a week, he slowly turned into a dog. A werewolf, really. He came to me desperate. First he accused me of doing that to him, which I denied, of course. Then he begged me to cure him, to which I said, ‘No, James. Here’s your opportunity to prove to me that your fancy science is actually worth something. Go on and cure yourself.’ That’s when he went into a feral rage and tried to eat me. So I shot him through the heart with a silver bullet and fed his remains to Sacha here.” Isobel stroked her cat as it purred loudly on her lap.

“Why’d you put the hex on him in the first place?” Hagatha asked.

“Hags, weren’t you paying attention? He was a dog person. I mean, really.”

The others cackled.

“Dogs aren’t so bad,” Hagatha said.

“Tell that to Isobel,” said Morgana. One tried to eat her!”

They cackled again.

“Really, what’s so bad about dogs?”

“They’re so subservient,” Morgana said. “They’re so needy. Even in the wild. Wolves travel in packs. But a cat can thrive on its own—coming and going as it pleases, doing as it pleases. Cats are quiet and deadly hunters. And can you imagine riding a broom with a dog hanging its head off the bristles? And what in Lucifer’s name is with those pugs? Gross.”

More cackling.

Hagatha took a sip of her martini and scanned the room. It was clear that she had lost them. Being allergic to cats was one thing but being a dog person was apparently an unforgivable sin in the witch world. She thought she saw all of the cats begin to stalk toward her and Gabriel. Backs arched, teeth showing, hisses hissing. But she wasn’t sure since her allergies had made her so groggy and light headed. It didn’t help that she was six martinis in. Still, she recognized the threat. It was all too familiar. The witches' dinner party was beginning to feel like Salem all over again. She had to act. And fast.

"Fuck you. Dog witch."

Hagatha sprung from her seat on the chaise lounge. Her arms spread, wind began swirling around in Morgana’s Lincoln Park apartment. Hagatha’s flowy black dress moved in concert with the wind the same way Stevie Nick’s dresses moved with her while spinning in circles on stage with Fleetwood Mac. She levitated two feet above the floor, her raven-black hair turned to flames. Gabriel transformed into a hulking beast with eyes of solid onyx, three-inch long fangs and a tail of razors that sliced the chaise lounge in two.

The ten cats lunged at Gabriel. He fought them off with the demon’s talons in his large paws, piercing their backs and pulling their spines from their bodies. He whipped them with his razor tail shaving away at their pelts. Sacha, Isobel’s cat, attacked. Gabriel caught her in his giant jaws and chomped down liquefying the feline—her guts and fur spraying all over the room.

Before the other witches could make sense of what was happening, Hagatha cast her spell. “Here kitty kitty, so clever, so pretty. From friends who met on common grounds to pets of mine—eternal hounds!”

Lightning bolts erupted from the floor. Morgana and Isobel, and the others tried to scatter but the curse had been laid. One by one, the witches of Hagatha’s Bucktown spin class transformed into small, clumsy, adorable puppies. A golden retriever, a black lab, a huskie with one blue eye and one black, a miniature schnauzer, Spuds MacKenzie and so on.

Isobel defended herself with a force field of flames. Hagatha conjured a bathtub filled with water. She flicked her wrist and doused Isobel extinguishing her defense before turning her into a fluffy white Lhasa Apso with an adorable under bite.

“You bitch!” screamed Morgana who had transformed herself into sixty-foot long serpent with fangs of swords drenched in blood. She struck out at Hagatha. Still a beast, Gabriel deflected the blow and sunk his teeth into the serpentine scales. Morgana the serpent screamed in agony and fell limp to the floor. Hagatha hovered over her while Gabriel held her down. Black, bubbling sludge bled from her wound.

“We could have been such good friends,” Hagatha said.

“Fuck you. Dog witch.”

Hagatha tilted her head back and shrieked. The apartment exploded in dark red blood, the sound of children being tortured filled the streets before everything fell into silence and blackness.

Hagatha was standing again, her hair returned to normal—long, luxurious. The wind and lightning gone. The apartment exactly as it was when she arrived earlier that night except that instead of there being nine witches and their nine black cats, there were only eight puppies wrestling with each other and chasing each other around the main room. Gabriel had returned to his normal form and was playing with the puppies. Hagatha smiled at them. Then she turned to Morgana who was human again, a bloody hole in her stomach.

With an insulting wiggle of her nose, a la Elizabeth Montgomery in Bewitched, the strong, fierce, deadly Morgana was transformed by the great power of Hagatha into the most hideous and vile creation any witch could ever conjure: an old pug.

“Now then,” Hagatha said. “Who wants to go for a ride?”

And off they went into the night, each puppy on the broomstick it once owned in its human form. Hagatha rode with Gabriel hanging his head off the bristles. Morgana, the old pug, tried to howl at the moon but was unable to breathe properly and ended up popping her left eyeball from its socket.

Being a dog witch really wasn’t so bad. It certainly beat being a crazy cat lady. Hagatha needed to make friends, and no one likes the crazy cat lady.