#and i Do jump the gun a little. and i Will misinterpret something at first. i miss things as well HAVE PITY MY BRAIN WAS EVERYWHERE

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i had a cute little mildly edited version but i Somehow fucked that up severely, so! i'm just making the plain og video public. enjoy!

#also i was being a little coward and procrastinating posting it <3 but <3 whatever <3 #SORRY I CAN'T ENABLE THE LIVE CHAT REPLAY! OOPSIES! #homebogging #if you're watching this for the first time please keep in mind that i Can be a complete idiot about things #and i Do jump the gun a little. and i Will misinterpret something at first. i miss things as well HAVE PITY MY BRAIN WAS EVERYWHERE #splattered all over the walls...

[plethomacademia]

Beep beep beep coming in hot to ask about this short bit from c9 of You have always needed abundant assistance because it always sticks out for me:

A few days later, a letter arrived on the desk of Lord Enver Gortash. It contained a list of what to bring for a three day backpacking trip. He found the list amusing until he got near the bottom, where “tent” and “bedroll” were listed. He sent a reply:

“Maeve, I understand you have experience in this type of travel but if you send me something that condescending again, I will not be pleasant about it.”

He received a reply later that day: “I know you are thinking of bringing formal clothing as well. Do not do it. It is not worth the weight. Thorm can see your lovely coat when he gives us the runes for his teleportation circle.”

He crumpled up the page. This damn woman.

Omg yay I almost cut this part because I didn't know if people would catch why I wanted it! Answering for this

I wrote too much, jump jump

It should be no surprise based on the fact that I have somehow posted 40k words (wth why) that I love the idea of a being made of divine blood struggling to fulfill the purpose of their birth. She is a wretched thing not because she does objectively terrible things, but because she is always falling short of something she was made to do.

I always imagined that getting involved in the bigger Absolute plot would ramp these feelings up even more. She has finally figured out the temple stuff, she has a good handle on bringing blood to her altar, but now she has to do politics? She has to interact with other Chosen? She has to think outside of one city?

So when she finds out that her friend who knows so much more about all these things doesn't know about backpacking, she is so happy to be able to contribute that she writes him a little packing list and sends it over. She knows backpacking, she did it for years. She is helping!

Of course, their interactions are mostly the two of them needling each other, so Enver gets this letter and at first he sees it as Maeve messing with him. Like, he's a grown man. He can figure out what to bring in a backpack. But when he gets to "tent" and "bedroll," he does feel condescended to because obviously he would bring a bed. They are friends ("friends") at this point, so having her talk down to him stings a bit and he sends a cranky response.

Then we have Maeve getting this letter back and she is a bit hurt because she was helping her friend! For once she wasn't picking a fight and now he's started one. But this is how they interact, so she hits him back by making fun of his vanity. (And also deep down she does think he would try to find some way to bring an objectively too heavy thing on a backpacking trip, so still helping!)

It's a moment where one of them lets down their guard, the other misinterprets it, and then they are right back to sniping at each other.

I also really like pairing this scene with one in the chapter 10, where Enver is giving her advice on dealing with Thorm. In that scene, they manage to talk without fighting, but it's still guarded and shielded with teasing and humor. Even if Enver is blunt, Maeve does not misinterpret his intentions and they have a nice moment together.

They want to be soft for each other and sometimes they can (in their own way), but it takes nothing for one of them to misinterpret the other and then they are back at it, verbal guns blazing, trying to take the other out before they get hurt.

#bard urge #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK #i had enough time to repost that ask earlier and nothing else #now i get to ask people :D

[ruby-whistler]

There are three types of misinterpretation of c!Dream in my opinion; and by that I mean anyone's take ever, whether it's a c!Dream anti or a c!Dream apologist or a c!Dream enthusiast. That's right, I'm making an essay about how in my mind everyone is wrong. This is how I lead debates please don't unfollow me-

1. misunderstanding or overdramatizing evidence

c!Dream apologists; g-guys. I'm not saying he isn't traumatized, but look. I really used to believe he was just everyone's victim and hurt and mentally unstable, and I'm not saying he isn't at all, but I changed my mind because I feel like the evidence doesn't,, point that way at all. Your emotions are valid, but your takes are very removed from what the rest of the fandom thinks because you take little hints and try to make them into some big angsty point within canon.

The evidence we have proves he is more ruthless than anything; even the content creator says that. He doesn't say why he does progressively more ruthless things, and he does say it's for his ideals and out of good intentions, but he doesn't say anything about him being hurt into doing it.

I'm not saying he isn't hurt. But making analysis of an entire character based on something that is barely supported by canon isn't the way I roll and I feel like it's one of the reason why people assume all c!Dream apologist are going to woobify the character,, because some of them really do that.

I don't mind portraying him as hurt by what's happened in canon, because that is a completely safe conclusion, but jumping to the victim side of the scale seems a little bit like painting a completely different picture than what actual canon says. (Note: talking about pre-Pandora c!Dream here.)

There is tragedy in someone being driven by the environment, circumstances and themselves deeper and deeper into corruption, but it feels like by only considering that the entire character is limited to one side of the argument.

I like to also see the side of him that will hurt people because he thinks he has to, because he wants to succeed above all, the side that will ruthlessly murder and manipulate and be calculative and clever and even self-destructive about it because he believes that'll get him towards his ultimately selfless goal.

That's my morally complex bastard.

A lot of people seem to be mistaking or ignoring that for the sake of saying he is just... hurt and that that is an explanation of his actions, and even though they don't use it as an excuse, it feels a little cheap.

And here we come to the core of the problem: an emotional vs. rational explanation for the character's actions.

Because the thing is, with enough evidence, you will see that nearly (we'll get to that in a bit) everything he does can be explained rationally. Everything is connected, everything is the most logical and efficient and merciless route straight from point A to point B, because c!Dream is fascinatingly smart when you look deeper into it.

He knows what he's doing. He knows his actions are awful, and he doesn't care - not because he would be some evil person, but because his mindsets cause him to justify such things, and mindsets are more complicated than feelings.

There is a lot to explore in that direction of the character, but that is material for another essay.

In short, people seem to enjoy removing all of his agency in favor of explaining his actions emotionally rather than from a rational standpoint which results in inaccurate analysis.

Do I think it is completely understandable he attacked L'Manberg?

Absolutely.

Do I think c!Wilbur painted him as a villain to benefit his own power?

Yes.

Do I think he utilized the villain persona as an intimidation tactic and often went overkill with no regard for anything but accomplishing his goals and that he slowly became more and more willing to do bad things of his own accord because he became determined and distrusting of the world to the point of committing horrible actions?

100%.

Analysing that part of the character is the most interesting part, when you consider it - and an important one as well.

2. ignoring evidence

c!Dream antis; please. Stop saying he doesn't care or explaining his actions with obsession or assigning him personality traits or motives that he literally doesn't have in order to demonize him I beg of you.

It's so many basic and easily debunkable assumptions that can be explained with what we actually know of his motives. People will ignore both canon and the authors' words to paint him as some monster with no nuance, which he is not.

We only know so much about him, but people will ignore and deny even the little bit we have for the sake of making him the literal personification of evil and erasing the fact that he is a complex and human character. Just accept he can be accurately analysed beyond hate and let people do it if you don't want to do so yourself.

3. assuming the evidence we have is everything you need to determine a final approach and that nothing outside of the presented evidence exists when certain details prove otherwise

c!Dream enthusiasts; this was the only and biggest problem I've had since being introduced to much more rational interpretations of the character - which is emotions, and one of the biggest reasons why c!Dream gets dehumanized in the first place; the fact that we have little to no showcase or explanation of them in canon.

You see, c!Dream is a reserved character. He likes withholding his plans, withholding his feelings and information from the world.

However, since all we can really get out of watching his actions alone is the rational side (and that is deliberate by both the writer and the character, narratively and personality-wise) people slowly begin to assume there is no emotional side to his actions at all.

Which I find,, untrue. Between the people who erase the rational side of the character and those who erase the emotional side, there is little middle ground, but I don't really find either of them right either.

Because neither would be an accurate representation; just because he doesn't actively showcase his feelings doesn't mean he doesn't have them, and the few inconsistencies that are too small a detail for us to put everything together show that he does have an inner emotional world beyond what we see.

The character does work beyond what we know, and expecting that everything can be explained purely by rationality because that's all we see of him seems a little bit jumping the gun.

It leads to a less person-like view of a character who in reality simply doesn't like showing people the way he feels, and I don't really find that fair to him. It is best to accept there are things we can't say for sure, or to say an emotional interpretation can also be valid at times.

It is both important not to deny him agency and not to deny him the ability to be genuinely hurt by others or changed by his environment.

Both of these can coexist, especially in

the correct interpretation

Ok this is a joke.

I have literally no idea. I'm just throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks - he confuses me beyond belief. The only person who knows about both the emotional and rational side of the character enough to have their interpretation unquestioned is cc!Dream - but when we do try to find answers, it is important for us as well that we do not ignore any aspects or possible aspects of the character, because that is the only way to get useful results out of our analysis.

Sorry this was crit of basically every take about the character I have ever seen but I needed to get my thoughts out.

#dream smp #c!dream #ask to tag as crit #long post #idk i'm big on the c!dream pos #but woobification & dehumanization & demonization are #all equally a problem in the fandom #with the character

[sunnys-rewatch-blog]

S2, E4

"Blind Dates"

I don't think my sudden lack of activity was super devastating to the Tumblr community, but nonetheless I feel I owe my regular readers an apology for my inactivity over the last few days. I got into writing on another project and wasn't watching episodes as fast. I wanted to make sure I got something up before my last day off this week ends. I hope it's worth the wait!

Where did Spencer get $2000 in one weekend?

At least with Ella moving back in I won't have to see Aria's parents' drama on my screen for a bit.

I want to like Ashley, I think the show wants me to like her, but she's such a weak person. I hate how her justification for everything she says or does when it comes to Hanna is "well, everyone else is doing it." That "herd mentality" is obviously lost on Hanna and going to therapy isn't just something you do because everyone else is doing it. I wonder if Ashley even understands why they're doing this, or if it was just the popular consensus and she didn't have the personal strength to dissent. For the record, I'm not saying it's the wrong decision, but kids/teens are going to catch on to things like that, Hanna knows the motive is "just to keep up appearances" and that's probably why she isn't taking it seriously. Not to mention that Ashley comes off so self-righteous and pushy, and knowing that her motive is so fucking weak just pisses me off. It's one thing to follow the herd by yourself because you don't want to stand out, but it grinds my gears to watch her try to force it on her kid- on someone who ultimately doesn't have a say in the matter. It's fucking gross.

I also really think the therapist did herself a disservice by making this dramatic a suggestion so early into it, and by taking it to their parents without posing it to them, first. I wouldn't be going out of my way to schedule appointments with a professional who did this, either. These girls already felt like being sent to therapy was punitive, or at least were doing it more as "damage control." Then, after only one full session, she's talking to their parents behind their backs about something she never brought up with them to see if they might do it of their own free will. A treatment plan isn't supposed to be something that's done to you without you at least having an opportunity to understand and consent. I think it would have been more helpful to develop rapport with the girls and then bring it up to see if they might agree to it voluntarily. Going about it this way just makes it more punitive, and frankly, I wouldn't feel safe talking to a therapist who's conspiring with my parents to make things worse. It also allows for too much room to misinterpret what's being said to take your treatment plan to a third party to have them decide on it, which I'll talk more about later.

Not that it matters, but I wonder if "A" actually secured Emily's scholarship.

A double date doesn't sound bad. Not like Hanna has anything else to do.

Wren casually confirming that Ian's still alive. Wtf.

Besides jumping the gun on these teenagers, though, I do like this therapist. She's kind of out of my age range, but she's hot. And something about the way she talks and carries herself makes me wanna spill my guts to her. Either this actress nailed her role or I'm extremely suggestible, and tbh I always feel a little uncomfortable in therapy. The way she talks and generally doesn't seem too pressed about the girls meeting up makes me think her suggestion wasn't meant to be as serious as the parents made it, which is another reason she should have at least tried to run it by them first. There would have been less room for misinterpretation and more of an opportunity for them to ask their questions and get answers directly.

I know some of the anti-Ezria viewers were big Jaria shippers. I think I casually ship it. It's hard to be all-in on it, although that's probably by design. Jason did some weirder shit than drugs that was never explained and seeing the two of them on screen together still isn't much more interesting than seeing Ezria on screen. There is a nostalgia angle with them that I like and I think maybe Jason having a history of knowing Aria for as long as he did could have helped characterize her better, even if it was on a platonic level.

Maybe a weird observation, but Samara has some similarities to the therapist in terms of personality. They never explored this in a satisfying way, so if I want answers then I'm gonna have to do it, I wonder if that's one of the things Emily liked about Alison. She was intuitive and seems to know how to ask leading questions. It's likely that Emily might not be able to articulate this.

Why does this "take care of your sister" note on the Hastings' door remind me of that episode of Victorious when Trina got her wisdom teeth out and Tori had to take care of her while the Vega parents left for the weekend?

So, Danielle is bi, too, I guess.

Emily might have drafted that letter, but she had absolutely nothing to do with all the Danby merch and stuff that got sent to her house.

Is this "interaction" with Alison legit, or is this just Hanna's inner-mind theater?

#anti ezria #pretty little liars #pll rewatch #pll spoilers #aria montgomery #alison dilaurentis #emily fields #hannah marin #jaria #jason dilaurentis #ezria #melissa hastings #wren kingston #ian thomas

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 55: Movie Night

Lots of quotes from the movie Lilo & Stitch ahead! Fewer quotes, but some, from Trolls and Frozen.

Bold italics are trollish, ~tildes~ indicate goblin.

Content warnings for this chapter: Swearing. Here we reach the story's first F-bomb.

Also, there is some talk between characters about the harshness of life in the Darklands, how Changelings are treated by the Gumm-Gumms, and mentions of cannibalism.

This was supposed to be a light-happy chapter that got feels-y at the end, but then it went and got all dark on me.

Oh, also-also, (Not) Enrique finds out Claire flirted with Jim a while ago and misinterprets what exactly happened between them, but that gets cleared up fast.

Becoming The Mask

Once again, Javier and Ophelia Nuñez were out for the evening, leaving Claire in charge of Enrique. Claire had gotten permission to invite "some friends" over to watch movies. Jim and Toby arrived to find Mary and Darci already there – Jim suspected, like the time he'd 'babysat', that Claire had purposefully asked him to arrive after she knew her parents would be gone.

They set up piles of cushions and blankets on the floor between the couch and the TV. Jim propped the Amulet up on the coffee table they'd pushed to one side. Maybe some of the ghost Trollhunters would be interested in human movies.

"Finally get your fill of the touchy-feelies?" Enrique teased Jim, seeing how they were all seated separately. Jim snorted.

"Not hardly." He pulled the smaller Changeling in for a hug. "Humans just have different rules about casual touching, is all. Freezing to death's not really a concern in this climate."

"Wait, what?" said Toby, dropping the pillow he'd been holding. Jim looked up to see all the humans staring at him.

"Darklands thing," said Enrique easily. "Gets cold there."

"We'd sleep in piles," Jim explained. "I had a bit of a reputation for being … clingy."

"If you weren't good at finding food and soft stuff, we'd never've put up with ya." Enrique proved himself a liar by climbing onto Jim's shoulders instead of jumping back to the floor. He fluffed the hair on Jim's scalp. "Jimmy-boy got his first nickname for that."

"Shut up," said Jim playfully. "Anyway, humans get weird about touching around puberty. I can still hug Mom whenever I want, but Toby gets embarrassed if I hug him around other people, and Claire, Mary, and Darci haven't given me permission to touch them casually yet."

"… Did you … want permission?" asked Claire. "You, kinda, said you were uncomfortable with that, I thought."

"No, it was more wondering if you were flirting with me that felt weird," Jim assured her. "After that conversation I felt like it'd be awkward to bring up that I was open to hugging and such."

Jim thought he felt Enrique growl, to quietly to properly hear. His hand, still in Jim's hair, changed position so the tips of Enrique's claws were on Jim's scalp.

"When exactly did this happen?" Enrique asked.

"Claire kissed Jim on the cheek on his birthday and then Jim said he wasn't interested in dating her," said Mary.

"Also that I realized she might not have meant it in a flirty way and if I was misinterpreting things she could ignore what I was saying," Jim added. The claws retreated.

Claire looked away. "So what movie did we want to start with?"

"Lilo & Stitch!" exclaimed Darci, looking through the shelves. "I haven't watched this in forever!"

"That's a good one." Jim tilted his head to get Enrique back in his peripheral vision. "Enrique, have you seen it yet?"

"… Yeah."

"Isn't that the one that always makes you cry?" asked Toby.

"It's beautiful. Of course I cry."

Stitch was a constructed 'abomination', who shapeshifted to blend in, and his adopted family found out what he truly was and still wanted him. How could Jim be expected to keep his composure in the face of that?

"So, quick question," said Jim. "Is talking during the movie a crime, or is commentary what makes it a group activity?"

"Commentary," said all three girls together.

"Okay, good." Jim and Toby usually talked during movies, unless one or both of them were seeing it for the first time. Sometimes even then.

+=+

"Not guilty! My experiments are only theoretical, and completely within legal boundaries."

"We believe you actually created something."

"Created something? Ha! But that would be irresponsible, and, unethical. I would never, ever – make more than one."

"What is that monstrosity?"

"Monstrosity?! What you see before you is the first of a new species!"

"You have to wonder if she and Merlin ever had a talk like this," Enrique muttered in Jim's ear. Jim snickered.

"And as for that abomination … it is the flawed product of a deranged mind. It has no place among us."

Jim stopped laughing and cringed. He loved this movie a lot, but some of it stung.

+=+

"A quiet capture would require an understanding of 626 that we do not possess! Who, then, Mr Pleakley, would you send for his extraction?"

"… Does he have a brother? Close grandmother, perhaps?"

"Fun fact," said Darci, "in early drafts Stitch was a career criminal and Jumba was an old accomplice."

"Friendly cousin? Neighbour with a beard?"

+=+

"Surely the teacher won't notice I was late if he doesn't see me come in!" Claire narrated sarcastically.

+=+

"I'm sorry, Scrump!" Mary wailed, as Lilo ran back to retrieve the doll she'd angrily thrown aside.

+=+

"Let me illuminate to you the precarious situation in which you have found yourself. I am the one they call when things go wrong. And things have indeed gone wrong."

"As a cook, that kitchen horrifies me," said Jim.

+=+

"If you promise not to fight anymore, I promise not to yell at you – except on special occasions."

"Tuesdays and bank holidays would be good."

The entire group cracked up.

"How does kid Lilo's age even know what a bank holiday is?" said Claire. "I don't even know what a bank holiday is!"

"Maybe she saw it printed on a calendar?" said Toby.

+=+

A raindrop fell on Stitch's head. He fired his ray gun into the sky. It started raining, hard.

"Oh, no, I broke the sky!" Darci cried.

+=+

"Does it have to be this dog?"

"He survived getting hit by a truck, how much more sturdy and not-gonna-die do you want?" asked Jim.

"Yes. He's good. I can tell."

+=+

"I'm sorry I bit you. And pulled your hair. And punched you in the face."

Mary nudged Claire. "Remind you of anyone?"

Like sunflowers, everyone else popped up and turned towards them.

Claire blushed. "We got into a fight in first grade and for like two days we decided we didn't want to be friends anymore, then our moms made us say sorry."

"He will be irresistibly drawn to large cities, where he will back up sewers, reverse street signs, and steal everyone's left shoe."

"It's weird they get in trouble for everything but this," commented Enrique. "Human grown ups might not believe a dog stole a trike, but wouldn't they think Lilo did it? She's fought the other kid before."

"It's nice to live on an island with no large cities."

+=+

"It's not an angel, Lilo, I don't even think it's a dog!"

"Isn't that the rolling thing Draal can do?" said Toby.

"Yeah, more or less," said Jim. "I mean, I don't think Draal bites his feet – but maybe that's the trick."

"At least with those stick legs you've got," said Enrique. He curled into a ball and rolled in a circle around the group. "Face it, you're out of proportion for this move."

+=+

"626 was designed to be a monster. But now, there is nothing to destroy. You see, I never gave him a greater purpose. What must it be like, to have nothing? Not even memories to visit, in the middle of the night?"

"Now, this next bit I don't care for," said Jim. "The Ugly Duckling is a messed-up story."

"What've you got against The Ugly Duckling?" asked Mary.

"The blatant segregationist propaganda? 'A swan will never fit in with ducks and everyone is better off sticking with their own kind'. You don't even have to read it as a race metaphor. Between that and The Little Mermaid, I thought for while that Hans Christian Anderson was a Changeling writing cautionary tales about why we shouldn't get attached to humans."

"… Was he?" asked Claire.

"Probably not. I couldn't find any real evidence and the rest of his work doesn't match the pattern."

"Counterpoint," said Darci. "The Ugly Duckling is pro-integration. Everyone thought he was an ugly duckling because they didn't know what swans look like. If he'd grown up with ducks and swans around, they could've judged him for what he was instead of what he couldn't measure up to, and he might've had a happy childhood instead of only finding a community that accepted him as an adult."

Jim considered this, and nodded. "I guess I can see that, too."

+=+

"Heard you lost your job."

"Well, uh, actually, I just quit. That job. Because, you know, the hours are just not conducive to the challenges of raising a child –"

"Nani, no!" Jim begged. "I know almost nothing about Social Services but I'm pretty sure choosing to leave your only source of income looks worse to them than just losing it!"

"Thus far you have been adrift in the sheltered harbour of my patience; but I cannot ignore you being jobless. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly."

"And next time I see this dog, I expect it to be a model citizen. Capiche?"

"Uh … yes?"

"New job. Model citizen. Good day."

+=+

"So, we saw Cobra on the beach after all the tourists got scared off … D'you think he was just standing there watching them the whole time?" Mary wondered out loud after the surfing sequence.

+=+

"Until we meet again …"

Lilo was about to tell Stitch about her parents. Without thinking, Jim grabbed the remote – on the coffee table, next to the amulet – to fast forward.

"What are you doing?" Darci cried. "This is one of the big emotional turning points of the film!"

Jim paused it. "Sorry. Uh … Tobes and I usually skip this scene."

"I think I can handle it," Toby assured Jim. To the girls and Enrique, he explained, "My parents died in a storm when I was two. A cruise ship, not a car accident. I got kind of upset the first time we watched this as kids, and, we got in the habit fast forwarding this part. I think I'm okay with it now."

"You're sure?" asked Jim.

"I'm sure."

"Okay …" He rewound to the point where he'd started fast forwarding.

"That's us before. It was rainy, and they went for a drive. What happened to yours?"

Jim watched Toby more than the movie for the next few minutes.

"I'll remember you, though. I remember everyone that leaves."

"Do you remember them?" Claire asked quietly.

"Only the stuff Nana tells me." Toby shrugged, and readjusted the cushions he'd propped up his arms on. "I've seen lots of pictures. A couple home movies."

+=+

"Don't run. Don't make me shoot you. You were expensive. Yes, yes, that's it, come quietly."

"I'm … waiting."

"For what?"

"Family."

"Ah. You don't have one. I made you."

"Maybe … I could –"

"You were built to destroy. You can never belong."

Jim blinked fast to keep the tears back. He sniffed, and pulled the blankets more tightly around him.

+=+

"Okay, talk! I know you had something to do with this, now where's Lilo? Talk! I know you can."

"Claire?" said Mary. "You okay?"

Jim looked over. Claire's jaw was clenched, and her hands were tight on the blanket, and her eyes were huge and fixed on the screen, and she was shaking.

"Ah … maybe the little sib getting snatched by otherworldly forces wasn't the best movie choice," Enrique said. He reached out like he was about to go to Claire, then pulled back his hand and hunkered down where he was.

"LILO! She's a little girl this big, she has black hair and brown eyes, and she hangs around with that THING!"

"I'm. Fine," Claire insisted.

"You're sure?"

"We can just fast forward."

"I said I'm fine!"

"Okay …"

Mary and Darci each scooted their blanket and cushion piles closer to Claire's, bracketing her on either side. Jim tactfully retreated to the Nuñezes kitchen to microwave a few more bags of popcorn. Enrique went with him. They could still hear the TV.

"What? After all you put me through, you expect me to help you just like that? Just like that?!"

"Ih."

"Fine."

"Fine? You're doing what he says?"

"Ah, he is very persuasive."

"Is it normal to feel bad for her?" Enrique asked.

"I think so? It's an awkward situation for both of you." Jim selected the white cheddar flavour. "But it's not like there's an alternative. You're not a polymorph. And really, the only reason she's upset is because she found out."

The Nuñezes had the same microwave as the Lakes. Jim didn't find the popcorn setting especially useful for this brand of popcorn – it tended to burn a third of the kernels– so he used the timer instead.

"I never apologized to you for that, did I?" Jim asked.

"It wasn't all your fault."

"Still, I'm sorry for my part in getting you caught."

The Changelings got back to the living room in time to see the unfortunate tourist lose his ice cream for the third time.

+=+

"Does Stitch have to go in the ship?"

"Yes."

"Can Stitch say goodbye?"

"… Yes."

Like he always did during this scene, Jim cried. He let himself do it this time.

+=+

"Wait, how is Little Mermaid a cautionary tale?" asked Enrique during the credits. The camera panned over a photo of Stitch reading to a flock of ducklings. "For getting attached, I mean. I thought the moral of that one was to control yer temper and be careful who you made deals with?"

"Sure, the Disney version," said Jim. "They adapted it to make a more dramatic, less depressing story. And give the characters names. In the older version, the sea witch is actually a neutral character. The terms of the mermaid's transformation are that she's traded her tongue for legs, but walking on land hurts, and she'll become fully human if the prince marries her, but if he marries anybody else, she'll die."

"That doesn't sound neutral."

"Wait for it. The prince gets engaged to a human princess, so the mermaid's older sisters trade their hair to the sea witch for a magic knife and a loophole; if the little mermaid kills the prince before the wedding, she can turn back into a mermaid and survive."

"Kay, I see it now."

"Except she doesn't go through with the kill, so she dies, and because she wasn't really human, she doesn't have a proper soul, so her spirit's not allowed to go to Heaven."

"… Whoa."

"I know, right?"

"I mean," Mary commented, "not murdering somebody is kind of a low bar for moral decency. It's not as if the prince owed her anything just because she was attracted to him."

"No, no, whether the prince deserved to die or not is irrelevant," said Jim. "The point is that the mermaid had a chance to, objectively, trade one life for another, and because she was attached to the particular person she'd have to kill, she didn't prioritize her own survival, and therefore suffered."

"Wouldn't the guilt of murder have caused suffering anyway?" Toby pointed out.

"Not if she wasn't attached," Jim insisted. How were they not getting this? "If she could've just cut the throat of any random human, she'd've been fine. The moral of the story is that caring about people causes pain. That's what makes it depressing."

"Do you like any fairy tales?" asked Darci.

"Sure. Just not most of Anderson's work."

"What should we watch next?" said Claire hospitably. "If we're on a 'sister movies' theme, I've got Frozen."

"Isn't that one also based on an Anderson fairy tale?" said Mary.

"Not really," said Jim. "The Snow Queen was more 'inspiration' than 'source material'. Elsa never kidnaps anyone, and they left out the broken enchanted mirror. Plus it's fun to see all the different ways humans think trolls are like."

"We also have the Trolls movie," said Claire. "I haven't watched it yet. My dad got it for Mom's birthday because she used to collect the dolls."

"I haven't seen that one yet, either," Darci commented.

"Should we?" said Mary. "Any other votes?"

"I'm game for whatever," said Toby. "This one's a musical, right? Those are always fun."

Jim squirmed.

He hadn't watched this movie despite his curiosity, after an online clip of the opening had explained the premise. Getting eaten alive was his greatest fear. Did he want to watch a movie about trolls narrowly avoiding being eaten? Did he want to explain why he didn't want to watch it?

While he debated, the movie got put in.

"Once upon a time, in a happy forest, in the happiest tree, lived the happiest creatures the world has ever known: the trolls. They loved nothing more than to sing, and dance, and hug, and dance and hug and sing and dance and sing and hug –"

Enrique started laughing.

Oh, shit, Jim hadn't warned him.

"Uh, Enrique –"

"Ssh! This is ridiculous. I mean, the huggy bit's kind of like you, but the rest of it – ha!"

"But then one day, the trolls were discovered by – a Bergen!"

"The trolls are gonna –"

"Ji-im! Spoilers!" Toby hissed.

"They were the most miserable creatures in all the land."

Jim grabbed Enrique and covered his eyes. The smaller Changeling yelped and squirmed. Jim switched forms so his fingers wouldn't bleed from the clawing.

Enrique got his eyes uncovered just in time to see the Bergen flick a troll into its mouth.

The onscreen troll's exclamation of "Oh my god!" was drowned out by Enrique's much more lurid cursing.

"What the –?" The girls and Toby all turned to stare. Claire pointed at Enrique accusingly. "I knew that didn't mean 'I'm sorry'!"

"The hell kinda movie is this?! Why would you watch this?!" He twisted to look at Jim, who let go of him rather than risk yanking his scruff by accident. "You knew?!"

"I saw a bit of it on the internet when it first came out. That's why I froze up when Claire suggested it."

That … that was the wrong thing to say. Enrique rounded on Claire. A techno-rock cover of In The Hall Of The Mountain King boomed from the movie soundtrack.

"Why in FUCK'S NAME would you think we'd WANT to watch trolls get EATEN? Is this some kind of threat?"

"How the fuck would it be a threat?" Claire shot back, stealing some cushions from Mary to prop herself up taller without getting out of her blanket cocoon.

"Most Changelings –" Jim started to say.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I'VE ALMOST BEEN EATEN?" Enrique roared. "I DON'T! CAUSE IT'S A LOT!"

"We've all had close calls," Jim finished. "Nyarlagroths, Hellheetis, goblins if you catch them in the wrong mood, Gruesomes if you're already hurt, Stalklings, and it's a … popular threat from Gumm-Gumms."

"You forgot the sloorbeasts," said Enrique bitterly.

"Nobody's gotten lichen patches that bad." At least, they hadn't when Jim got out. "Have they?"

"Still counts."

"Uh, excuse me." Toby raised his hand. "I think I speak for us all when I say, what?"

"The Darklands are a hostile environment with predators and scavengers," explained Jim. "That's the other reason we slept in groups."

"Bigger targets, but we could have lookouts."

"Okay, that's its own kind of horrifying, but I was more reacting to the cannibalism?"

"Changelings don't count as real trolls," Enrique said sarcastically. "We're Impure."

He left out the part where they'd eaten their own dead. Jim didn't add it.

(It wasn't like they'd hunted each other for food. Sometimes a Changeling just died, somehow, in a way that didn't get them eaten by something else, and … well, food was scarce in the Darklands. They couldn't afford to be picky.

It also paid to keep watch over the sentry posts. Gunmar occasionally used the Decimaar Blade to post a sentry and then forgot to order them to rest and eat. Once they died, the average adult Gumm-Gumm was a meal for twenty Changelings, easily, if they could get to the body before the Gruesomes did.)

"Okay, we're switching to Frozen." Mary made the executive decision. "Wait," she said, while exchanging the disks. "If Changelings aren't trolls, how does Jim's adoption work?"

Because of course this was the perfect moment to tell Enrique about that, right in the middle of a squabble with his adopted sister.

"For one thing, most of Trollmarket still thinks I'm human." Jim switched back to human shape to illustrate the point.

"You got adopted?"

"AAARRRGGHH and Blinky thought I should have legal standing in Trollmarket outside of my job."

Enrique stared at him. Green diamond-shaped ears were pinned back. Buggy, slit-pupil eyes were wide and hurt.

"You get everything," he grumbled. "Two nicknames, and the goblins liked you, and you could always find food, and here you're the boss's favourite even when you're a traitor, and your human family still likes you, and now you get a troll family too? S'not fair."

"Hey, the goblins liked you, too." Jim was fully aware that wasn't much comfort compared to all the rest of it. "They gave you your nickname, remember?"

"They gave you one, too."

"Yeah, but you got yours first."

They probably weren't supposed to hear Darci when she muttered, "I feel like we're missing a lot of context."

"Shit," Claire muttered back. "Not Enrique told me a bit of the name part. They don't remember their names from before they were Changelings, and they don't get real names until they have Familiars, so they use nicknames instead. From each other or from goblins, he said."

"They don't get names?" Darci's voice went squeaky at the end of that.

"We're trying to come up with something other than 'Enrique' for him."

"You're trying," Enrique corrected. Darci squeaked again.

"Can we maybe circle back to the cannibalism thing?" said Toby. "That feels like the kind of trauma that should get unpacked at some point."

"I would rather leave it packed," said Jim.

"The way you blurted it out like that feels like you need to talk about it."

"Not all psychology is Freudian, Tobes."

"Do your parents still have baby name books from when they were picking Enrique's name?" Mary asked Claire. "Real Enrique, I mean."

"They didn't use one. He was named after our abuelo."

"Okay, so what about your other grandfather? What was his name?"

"Jose María." Defensively, "It's gender neutral in Spanish."

On the television screen, the movie menu finished another loop and started again.

"I tried spelling my name like it sounds, en are ee kay, but Claire said it spelled 'Nrek'. You get why I couldn't use that."

Jim laughed.

"What's funny?" asked Toby. "Is that an insult or something?"

"No, it's goblin, in English it means 'bottle'," Jim translated. "Or possibly 'container of food'." The only bottles he's seen them use held formula for the Familiars, and the word hadn't come up on the surface, so the distinction was unclear. "It's either a silly name or a really morbid one."

"Aaand we're back to the cannibalism."

"No we are not!"

"Na na na heyana, Hahiyaha naha …"

Either somebody had decided to start the movie, or the DVD had that feature where it automatically began playing if nothing was selected after a few loops of the menu.

The conversation went in circles a couple more times, then faded out.

+=+

"And who's the funky-looking donkey over there?"

"That's Sven."

"Uh-huh; and who's the reindeer?"

"… Sven."

"Oh, they're – ? Oh! Okay! Makes things easier for me."

"~Riot~," said Enrique.

"Huh?"

"My nickname. Before. It meant 'riot'."

What are you doing? Jim wanted to demand. Was Enrique just – just giving up on a real name?

"You can call me that for now. Till we work out a for-real one. Better than 'Not Enrique'."

Jim stuffed some burnt popcorn kernels into his mouth to keep from protesting. He couldn't undermine Enrique's – Riot's – chosen name, right in front of a bunch of humans, when he'd been arguing with them about how rude that was for weeks now.

"Oh. Okay." Claire half-smiled. "Riot."

Jim shut his eyes to hide the flaring glow.

+=+

Previous Chapter (Angor Rot gets treated much better, and more sensibly, than in canon, and is correspondingly less vengeful)

Table of Contents 

Next Chapter (Featuring either Otto or Gatto)

A quick thank you to Taycin on AO3 for providing some name-gender context when this chapter first went up.

#Becoming The Mask chapters #Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Changeling Jim #My Fanfiction #Not Enrique #Claire Nuñez #Tobias Domzalski #Mary Wang #Darci Scott #hug #Monday is fanfic day! #caution: contains swearing #tw: cannibalism #Changelings #backstory #names #movies #Lilo and Stitch #Trolls (movie) #frozen

[be-dazzled]

It Won’t Hurt

Writer’s Corner: So, I know everyone has seen the latest FT 100 Yr Quest chapter, right? And there was Juvia Day too! It is really a good year to be alive! Anyways, we always see Gray protecting Juvia, right? So why don’t we put a little spin to that? And because we are having a bad case of writer’s block.

Part 2: Sore Loser (Miraxus)

---

“It’s not gonna hurt, is it?”

“I promise, it won’t.”

“You lying son of a b----!”

The woman fell on the ground. She put pressure on her left forearm, writhing in pain.

“Sorry, baby. But I gotta win this one.”

Then, shoot. The man standing over the lying woman pulled the trigger, hitting the figure on the ground at the right of her abdomen. No mercy. No regrets as he grabbed the red flag five steps ahead of where the woman fell.

“Target secured.” He said into his mouth piece, waving the red flaglet over his head. He then removed his protective head gear and tousled his own raven-colored hair.

“Nice one, Gray.” The voice poured through the small intercom attached to his ear. “Now, pick up your girlfriend.”

---

Gray maneuvered the freeway like it was the thing he was born to do. He was in a hurry to claim his prize, so to speak. But the prize was sending him dagger looks. No. No. Not only dagger looks. Her blue eyes were ready to swallow him whole. And then more.

Gray focused his attention on the road. It wasn’t safe to be so distracted especially when he was driving. So, he could feel, rather than see, the deathly glare his girlfriend threw his way.

“What kind of boyfriend would shoot his girlfriend to death?”

“Juvia, for the hundredth time, its just paintball. You’re not really dead.”

Since after the declaration of the guys triumph in the ‘Girls vs Guys Paintball Game’, Juvia Lockser has been berating her so-called boyfriend, throwing his love for her and their entire relationship in question. Apparently, shooting your girlfriend on the forearm with a paintball gun meant you didn’t love her at all.

“And you said it won’t hurt. It hurts like hell, Gray-sama!” There was a pout in her voice and Gray couldn’t help but chuckle. She could really be such a baby sometimes. “Why are you laughing at Juvia?”

“Didn’t I put that protective sleeve on you?”

“And Juvia told you it was hot so she took them off.”

Gray could only puff a breath. There was certainly no winning with this woman.

“Look, babe.” He glanced at the woman still pouting. Two angry oceans boring a hole on him. “With Erza and Mira on your side,” He peeked on the side mirror and the other side of the road, securing first that the coast was clear before overtaking the slow vehicle in front of them. “we couldn’t stand a chance.”

“So, you made Juvia a sacrifice?”

“I was easy on you, wasn’t I?”

There was an outraged gasp. Apparently, what he just said was such ridiculous a notion because Juvia was practically screaming murder at him.

“You hit Juvia on the stomach and that’s after Juvia fell on the ground.” She huffed. “That’s Gray-sama going easy on Juvia?!”

Gray sighed in exasperation. He didn’t have to see to know that Juvia was rolling her eyes on him. She had every right to do so. But he had to take the opportunity because Erza and Mira were monsters on the field. There was no chance they’d ever allow the guys near their flag. After the beating and embarrassment he received in last year’s paintball game, having Juvia tied his hands behind his back and whipping him in front of the entire town as per Erza’s instruction, he wasn’t going to let those evil monsters do that to him again. This year, the guys swore they were going to secure the win and subject the women into the same penalty. So, when he saw one half of the monster duo leave Juvia in charge of the camp, he took his chance. He didn’t enjoy hitting Juvia with his paintball gun, especially when she fell on the ground from the pain because the woman removed her protective gear he put on her himself. He wanted to help her but Juvia was reaching out for her gun and he wasn’t going to give him any window of opportunity to turn the table on him. The moment he saw the red flag unguarded, so within reach, it was kill or be killed.

“Don’t worry. I’ll kiss the booboo away.” He winked at her, earning a scoff that he didn’t even know she was capable of making.

“Like Juvia would even let you touch her.”

“Hey, that’s no fair. We won that game fair and square.”

“How was that fair and square?”

Gray took a turn at the end of the block. “We won, you lost. So, you have to pay the price.” After a few muffled swear words under her breath, Gray finally pulled up at his garage. He cut his engine off and turned fully to the woman who still had her eyebrows knitted together, arms folded underneath her chest. She wasn’t glaring at him anymore but Juvia was still the angry little girlfriend questioning his devotion to her. Gray lovingly reached out to her, brushing her blue locks that covered her face. Juvia jerked away, refusing to cave in.

“Juvia, baby... I’m really sorry.”

But she didn’t budge. A simply apology wouldn’t make the cut. So, there was only one thing left to do.

“I don’t wanna be that guy…” He fished something out of his glove compartment. The sound of metal clanking pulled Juvia’s attention towards the blue furred handcuffs that Gray was dangling in his hand. “but a punishment is a punishment.”

Juvia’s blue eyes widened in surprise. Gray could even see her visibly gulp at the suggestion. She wasn’t horrified by the idea though; that, Gray was sure of because he’s seen that familiar glint in her eyes far too any times to misinterpret it.

“G-g-gray-sama is right.” She swallowed. “J-juvia s-s-should keep h-her end of t-the bargain.” She wasn’t stuttering because she was scared about what Gray wanted to do about those handcuffs. She couldn’t get her speech right because her heart has already jumped on her throat as she held out her wrists to Gray. Heat powdered her cheeks rosy as she averted her eyes and fell into her assigned role. “J-j-juvia deserves t-the punishment.”

And boy, Gray took his role quite seriously too.

#gray x juvia #gruvia #be-dazzled #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gruvia drabble #gruvia random

[connorandersons-blog]

“I’m right here, okay?” : convin Connor was scared of losing Gavin (dying or being with someone else) that he ended having nightmares about it. Gavin is there to comfort him

This turned out so cute!!!

--------

Connor was still rattled from the days events. They had been caught in a trap that three clever humans had laid for them and they walked right into it. 

Thankfully no one had died but there had been injuries. Connor's right optical unit had been broken beyond repair so he had to get a new one along with fixing multiple gunshot wounds. The humans may have been clever but they were terrible shots. 

Gavin had gotten a nasty cut along his arm that required stitches but it didn't hit anything major. He would have been shot if Connor hadn't jumped in the way and took it instead. 

He'd gotten scolded for that but it was worth it to keep Gavin alive. He would have done that for anyone but he would have jumped in front even if it was a 100% chance that it would kill him in the process. 

Hank was thankfully unharmed and he was tasked with staying to make sure everything was wrapped up while Gavin was tasked with making sure Connor wasn't an idiot (in Hank's words). 

Gavin drove Connor back to his apartment, and followed him in without a word. Connor half-expected Gavin to just drop him off, but no, he stayed. 

It was admittedly a bit awkward at first. Neither really knew what to do with the other around or how close they could get to each other. 

Connor watched Gavin as they sat and watched TV. Well, neither was really paying attention to what was on the screen, but whatever. 

Connor was on one end of the couch while Gavin was on the other. Which really wasn't saying much since the couch only had three seats and even then they were small. 

Connor had his knees pulled up to his chest and his oversized dpd hoodie pulled over his legs. Gavin was leaning against the corner of the couch where the back and armrest connected. It was a comfy couch all things considered but part of Connor wished it was small enough that they'd have to sit next to each other. 

He really shouldn't be having these thoughts while Gavin is literally sitting right there, but he can't stop himself. Gavin was this close to possibly being mortally wounded and it ate at him. 

What if he hadn't been fast enough? What if he hadn't noticed the gun or the blood soon enough. Everything could have gone so much worse, but they were lucky. 

"Ok, is there something on my face?" Gavin snaps. Connor pulls himself as small as he can, eyes wide. 

He hadn't meant to fully stare, just glance over every now and then. Apparently he failed at being discreet. And now he was failing at replying. Wonderful, now he probably looked like an idiot. 

"No! No, I um, I was just thinking." Yep, definitely an idiot. "You should change your bandages. I've got some in the bathroom, I'll go get it." He quickly stands, stumbling and banging his leg into the coffee table. "Ow, fuck." He yelps. 

Now he's a clumsy idiot. He quickly walks to the bathroom, face flushing a deep blue. How he could take on a whole SWAT time and then trip over his own feet ten minutes later was beyond him. 

He grabs the first aid kit (he had enough supplies to help an army) and takes a second to breathe. If he was human he'd splash cold water on his face. But, he's not human so he just stands there breathing slowly. 

Once he's completely cooled down he walks out of the room. Gavin is still sitting on the couch just like he was before. 

Connor puts the box down and sits beside Gavin. "Let me?" He asks. 

Gavin hesitates before pulling his shirt over his head. The long sleeves probably didn't feel good against his skin, so maybe after Connor can offer him a shirt. It'll be a bit big on Gavin but it would be better than that. 

Gavin offered his arm and Connor gingerly took it, slowly loosening the tape. Gavin didn't flinch away or even say anything as Connor checked on the injury. 

"I'm sorry about this. I should have seen this coming." Connor mumbles, putting the dirty bandages on the table to be disposed of later.

Gavin reaches out and puts his good hand over Connor's. "You saved my life, Connor. You don't have to be sorry about anything." 

Connor stared at their hands, Gavin's warmer than his own. "I still could have done better." He was never perfect, never fast enough even though he was built for this. If he couldn't accomplish the one goal he was made for then what good was he for? 

"Oh fucking well. We all can do better. I shouldn't have been such an ass to you. Hank shouldn't have drank as much. Everyone should have realized sooner that androids are alive whether we like it or not. You're alive and therefore you make mistakes. Then you have to deal with them but you can't forget about all the good you did too." Gavin squeezes his hand just slightly. "And if you can't remember then I'll remind you every day." 

Connor opened and closed his mouth a few times at a loss for words. It was incredibly rare that someone could make him completely speechless. 

"You still in there?" Gavin jokes, smiling just slightly. 

Connor chuckles and shakes his head. "You just stunned me, that's all. Thank you, it means a lot." 

Gavin nods and just stares at him. Connor is sure he's misinterpreting the looks Gavin is giving him. Gavin had come a long way but he doubted he'd come this far. 

So he pulls his hands away and grabs the new bandages. He slowly wraps the bandage around his arm as carefully but firmly as possible. He stares at the work he's doing instead of Gavin's eyes. If he stares at Gavin's eyes for too long he might do something stupid. 

Connor gives it a slight tug to make sure it's tight and Gavin winces just slightly. "Sorry." Connor mumbles, grabbing the medical tape. 

"It's fine, I've had worse." Gavin sighs out. Connor nods and let's his hands linger just a little bit longer than necessary. 

"Doesn't mean I'm not sorry. Alright, you should be set unless you have other injuries." Connor says, pulling his hands back to his lap. 

Gavin looks around before shifting slightly in his seat. "I never got to check my back, maybe there's something there." 

Connor nods and Gavin turns. There aren't any scrapes but there are a few bruises. He reaches out and let's his fingers brush against Gavin's skin. 

"Any lasting injuries?" Gavin mumbles, turning his head just slightly. 

Connor gently brushes over a small bruise before trailing his hand down Gavin's spine. "Nothing lasting but you'll definitely be sore." 

"That's alright then, I'm used to that too." Gavin says, leaning back towards Connor just slightly. 

Connor splays his hand against his back, trying to keep his touch light. "If there is anything I can do to help, you'll tell me?" 

Gavin nods slowly. "I will, thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?" He slowly turns back around and Connor's eyes scan him. Gavin was far too attractive for his own good. 

Connor does a quick analysis of himself, wanting there to be something for Gavin to fix. All he finds is low battery and emotional exhaustion. "I'm mostly just tired. It takes a lot of energy to repair myself." 

Gavin nods and slowly stands, offering a hand to Connor. He doesn't even have to think, he takes the hand and is pulled up. "The bedroom is that doorway right?" He asks, not letting Connor's hand go. 

Connor nods and then he's being pulled into his bedroom. Gavin looks around a bit before pulling him towards the bed. 

Connor climbs in, eyes a bit wide. "Are you…" he trails off not really sure what he was going to say. 

"I'll just sit on top of the blankets if that's ok? I can go back to the couch if you'd prefer that." Connor quickly reaches out. 

"No, no you can stay in here." He didn't want him to go, not yet. Gavin nods and moves to the other side of the bed, sitting on top of the blankets just like he said he would. 

Connor turns so he's facing Gavin, snuggling under his four blankets. He liked the weight of them and the warmth. He could feel temperature but only when they were strong. He didn't like the cold and warmth was comforting. He had found he often woke up with lower stress levels when he was warm. 

"Sleep well, Connor." Gavin says, leaning back against the headboard. 

"Thank you." He mumbles, closing his eyes. 

He slowly slips into stasis, letting his mind drift. No one understood why deviants dreamed or even how, but they still did. Sadly they weren't always pleasant. 

The scene from earlier that day plays, but Connor can't stop them before they walk into the trap. 

It's incredibly frustrating and he knew what would happen next. He'd see the gun, make the quick analysis then jump in front of Gavin, knocking them to the ground. 

But when the time comes his feet are stuck to the ground, his body frozen. The gun is raised and fired directly into Gavin's chest. 

Then his body is finally freed and he aims and fires. He quickly drops to the ground pressing down on Gavin's wound. 

"Why didn't you stop them?" Gavin gurgles around the blood dripping from his mouth. 

Connor shakes as he tries to keep the pressure on. "I couldn't. I couldn't, I'm so sorry." He mumbled. 

"Connor…" Gavin trails off, his eyes slipping closed. 

"No! No, Gavin come on. Stay with me. You'll be ok, just keep your eyes open. Gavin please!" He pleads, eyes going blurry from the tears. 

"Connor!" Then his eyes snap open and he's greeted with the dark room and Gavin leaning over him. 

He doesn't think, just quickly pushes Gavin into the bed, pressing down where the bullet whole would have been. 

Gavin let's him, just laying back on the bed panting slightly. He gently reaches out and touches his arms. "Connor, hey it's me. You're safe." 

Connor moves his hands to the side to see the skin is perfectly fine except for a scar. He's panting and shaking slightly as he runs his fingers against the soft skin. "I, the dream. You, you were-" he trails off. 

Only now does he notice he's incredibly close to Gavin and has his knee between Gavin's legs, his hands still on his chest. 

"I'm right here, ok? I'm ok and you're ok." Gavin keeps his hands on Connor's arms, not pushing him away but also not pulling him in closer. 

"I'm sorry. It was so real and then I couldn't move when I knew I had to and you got shot. I couldn't, I couldn't," he mumbles. He's still shaking but it helps to have Gavin there under his hands. To feel his fast but steady heartbeat. 

Gavin slides his hands up until he's cupping Connor's face between his hands. "Look at me," Gavin says and Connor instantly looks at his face. "I'm ok. You saved me and I'm ok. I'm not dying and neither are you." He speaks clearly and Connor nods slightly. 

"I'm sorry, I should have handled that better." Connor sighs, not moving away. His fingers trace random lines into his skin, looking between Gavin's eyes, lips and chest. 

"No, no it's fine. We all get nightmares. You're only alive." He says, smiling slightly, also not letting Connor go. "I'm here though. Even if I'm not actually here you can call me for any reason. I'll be here or I'll stay up and talk with you. You don't have to be alone." 

He knew he wasn't alone but knowing that he could go to Gavin for something as small as not being able to sleep or having a nightmare was incredibly comforting. "And I'll be here for you too." 

Gavin smiled, and leaned up just slightly, pressing their foreheads together. They were so close, it wouldn't take much to press their lips together. But he knows Gavin won't make the first move, not like this, not when Connor was so vulnerable. 

Connor doesn't push it. He'll definitely bring it up but for now he just wants to be close to Gavin. "Could I, um sleep next to you?" He asks, slowly opening his eyes. 

Instead of saying anything Gavin pulls him down so his head is resting against Gavin's chest. He rests his hand on him and lets himself be held tightly against Gavin. 

They both fall asleep and it's the best sleep either has gotten in a long time. 

#connor dbh #dbh ask blog #connor #dbh connor #dbh #rk800 #connor dbh fanfic #dbh fanfic #convin #deteoit become human #convin fic #convin dbh #dbh convin #connor rk800 #fic rec #gavin reed #reed800 #reed80 fic #dbh gavin #connor x gavin #gavin800 #dbh gavin reed #gavin reed x connor #connor x gavin reed #dbh ask #dbh fic blog #dbh fic #dbh fandom #connor anderson

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.5

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

-

“So are you in, Jimin?”

“I’m in,” he chuckles at your little proposal. His laugh retains its charm, even through the phone. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little jealous of that charming quality of his. “But can I ask you something, Snow?”

“Go for it.”

“Why me?”

“To prove a point,” you say. “You also have something to prove, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up at my concert that night despite being well aware of how the public and media would react.”

“Right… Sorry about that, by the way.” You hear the sorrow still beating him up in his lowered voice. It makes sense that he feels the need to blame himself for all the backlash you received, but he shouldn’t have to feel guilty when all he wanted was a little freedom as a normal human being and not as the perfect idol the world makes him out to be.

“It’s fine, Jimin. We may be glorified idols at the top of the industry, but there are a lot of things we have no control over.”

“True… Sometimes it seems like the only way to escape the judgment of the public eye is to hide behind a mask, huh.” Jimin sighs. “But we can’t always live like that either.”

“Exactly.”

After hanging up, you toss your phone aside and pick up your guitar.

-

On your way to class, you’ve made a habit of checking jk.seagull’s blog for any updates on Witch Hazel, and you’re delighted when you find this new text post:

“it’s not done yet, but I’m planning on posting a new chapter this afternoon after class!”

To celebrate the occasion, you stop by your local coffee shop to pick up a special mocha with extra whipped cream. You’re already late for class after failing to hear your five alarms this morning anyway. And besides, maybe you deserve a little pick-me-up after all the writing you’d done the night before. For once, you feel pretty good about the direction you’re headed in.

Not even a scolding by your professor could ruin your mood.

“Oh, Y/N. How nice of you to join us,” your professor motions for you to take your seat as soon as you step foot into the art room. “I was just talking about how certain students have not been taking this class seriously as of late.”

She glances directly at you, along with your tablemates, Taehyung and Jungkook. “Sorry,” you mouth with a lack of sincerity, before taking a long sip of your mocha.

“And because of that,” the professor continues, “I’ve decided to move up the due date of our portrait project to tomorrow.”

A collective groan fills the room from the entire class, with the exception of those few lucky bastards who’ve already completed their project early. Once the class is dismissed, the scramble to actually get shit done begins. Even Taehyung opts to stick around as opposed to his usual obligations, and that speaks volumes.

As soon as your team relocates to one of the empty art studios nearby, however, it’s apparent that no one is really vibing with this project.

“So… what’s the assignment again?” Taehyung scratches his head. As much as you’d love to scold the boy for his lack of awareness of anything happening in art class, you haven’t been in the proper mindset to give the project any thought either.

“Something about drawing ourselves based on how others perceive us?” Jungkook yawns. “Or was it drawing each other’s portrait?”

“The first one, I think,” you say. “It doesn’t really make a difference when Jungkook’s gonna end up drawing Taehyung’s portion anyway.”

“True,” the boys say together. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from your art class shenanigans, it’s that the more you get to know someone, the easier it is to understand them and their actions—even if they’re completely different from you like Taehyung.

“If that’s the case, let’s hurry up and let each other know how we perceive one another. I have a doubleheader later on that I’d really hate to miss,” Taehyung nods in satisfaction at his clever wording for what you presume to be back-to-back one night stands. “I’ll start: Y/N, there’s not much I know about you besides the fact that you’re unfriendly, but I think that’s intentional. Like you’re hiding a dark secret or something. Jungkook, if you weren’t so shy, I’m sure you’d get laid more often.”

“Let’s not sugarcoat anything,” you roll your eyes. “I would say you, Taehyung, abuse your charm to get what you want. You use sleeping around as an excuse to avoid responsibility. And you embrace it because you fear that that’s the only thing people will ever acknowledge you for.”

“I’m not usually a masochist, but I kind of like it when you roast me like that, Y/N,” Taehyung shrugs it off, though you know you’ve hit the mark. Everyone has a poker face, and Kim Taehyung is no exception. To take the attention off of himself, he throws an arm around his favorite art buddy. “Roast this guy next.”

You glance over at Jungkook who’s in the midst of adding to your roast on Taehyung. It’s interesting to see how differently he acts with Taehyung, with you, and with everyone else. The more he knows someone, the less he withholds. If he knew you more, you wonder what he’d tell you. “I agree that if Jungkook weren’t so shy, there’d be more potential for a lot of things, but-”

Buzz! Taehyung looks down at his phone. “Well, that’s my cue. Jungkook, Y/N, you know what to do~”

“Have fun at your doubleheader,” you wave off your incompetent teammate until he’s out of sight. “Should we be enabling him like this?”

“Probably not. But even I can’t say no to that charm of his.” Jungkook sighs as he pulls out a blank sheet of bristol paper. In what feels like an instant, several dots and lines transform into a general outline of Taehyung’s face. “I’m surprised you haven’t fallen for his charm yet… unless…?”

“Look, I get the appeal of a smoothtalker who walks with confidence, but Taehyung really isn’t my type,” you laugh.

“Still, I’m a little envious of him.” Jungkook draws Taehyung a nice and natural wink. “Because he isn’t afraid to chase after what he wants.”

You want to tell the boy that he should chase after whatever it is he wants, but you know that’s easier said than done. After all, you know exactly how it feels to take that leap of faith, only to fall short before reaching the dream you so desired. So all you can do is nod and start working on your own portrait.

For about five whole minutes, you try to sketch out a decent upside-down egg shape for your head, but it always comes out a little lopsided or rough around the edges. Once you’ve got a little mountain of eraser shaving piling up, you decide it’s time to sneak a peek at Jungkook’s sketch to get an idea of how a well-seasoned artist draws a proper face.

What you see instead, however, is the boy staring back at your mountain of eraser shavings. You swear you hear a little pft come out of his mouth. The nerve.

“Hold your pencil like this,” he says, holding his own pencil with his pinky sticking out.

You replicate his grip, wiggling the pinky. “Is this some sort of weird pinky promise that artists do?”

Before Jungkook can even respond, your pinky is already linked to his. Funny how his finger curled around yours as if it were the most normal thing to do, but his burning cheeks say otherwise. You might’ve jumped the gun on this one.

After blinking at the empty pinky promise for a good three seconds, the boy finally lets go. “Use that pinky to steady your hand as you sketch.”

“Oh… right…” You feel a wildfire spreading across your own cheeks. Your dumbass somehow misinterpreted a drawing technique for something as childish as a pinky promise! Whether it’s because you’re flustered or just shitty at art, you fumble around to get your pencil on the paper. “…How do I do it again?”

Rather than trying to explain or demonstrate it to you, Jungkook motions for you to come closer. So you do. He takes your hand and individually sets each finger onto your pencil like a guitar teacher helping their student find the right chord position.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how gentle his touch is. Rather than forcing your fingers to conform to the conventional ways of an artist, he gives them the little push they need to find their own place along the length of the pencil—wherever is most comfortable for you.

Once you’ve got a good grip, Jungkook guides your pencil back to the canvas with your pinky just barely touching the drawing surface. “Now try drawing the outline of your face again.”

You do as you’re told and see immediate results. Although it’s not a perfect egg, your lines are noticeably smoother as if your skin had just been cleared. Jungkook gives you and your improved egg a thumbs-up, which you return with a thumbs-up of your own.

As you both resume your portraits, you can’t help but wonder if it was the tiny adjustment of how you held your pencil that made the difference. Or if it was Jeon Jungkook himself. You suppose only time will tell.

Several hours later, Jungkook has finished Taehyung’s portrait, you still need to color yours in, and an announcement goes off through the intercom.

“Due to the art auction charity event tonight, this building will be closing in ten minutes. Thank you.”

You groan. This is the worst case scenario for your damn group project. Because if you’re kicked out of the studio, you won’t have access to all of the necessary art supplies.

Unless…?

You exchange glances with the most devoted artist you know.

-

Jungkook’s apartment is not exactly how you imagined a weeby Snow stan’s habitat to look. There’s not a trace of Snow, nor is there a hint of magic anime girls floating around. But the one thing you did correctly predict is the amount of art scattered across the boy’s room.

Everywhere you look, you’re blown away by something different from the last. A painted city landscape detailed enough to be mistaken for an actual photo, a busy abstract pattern that makes the little wheels in your head spin, the familiar animation booklet of the flower in the snow, and an interesting little doodle that doesn't seem to scream “college art project”.

You try to make sense of what appears to be the chaos that ensues when the worlds of mathematics and music collide. Half of the basic times tables chart is replaced with values represented by music notes. The math nerd in you laughs when you see that a sixteenth note is correctly placed where two quarter notes align. Similarly, the music sheet on the other side of the doodle has a time signature of “75%” aka ¾ time aka the rhythm of a waltz.

“How old were you when you drew this one?” You point to the artwork titled Math Musician written in tiny font at the bottom corner next to the boy’s initials.

Jungkook chuckles, probably out of embarrassment. “I think I was ten.”

“Imagine being a talented artist at age ten. Can’t relate,” you clown yourself as you pull out your unfinished portrait from your art bag. In addition to looking “unfriendly”, your drawn face is rather lifeless and more so demonic for some reason. Hopefully some color will bring more dimension and life back into your flesh.

Just then, you realize you’ve made a fatal mistake.

“Umm, Jungkook?” you continue to stare down at your mistake. “I forgot to factor in your opinion of me into my portrait and now I just look unfriendly like Taehyung said.”

Jungkook tilts his head to get a better look at your monstrosity. His reaction could go one of three ways: he could laugh and give you a hard time about it, he could help you find a solution, or he could do both.

“You definitely nailed the ‘unfriendly’ part,” he snickers. “The RBF is strong with this one.”

“So you agree that I’m unfriendly?” On one hand, that would be good because you won’t have to revise your portrait if Jungkook shares the same opinion as Taehyung. On the other hand, you don’t want Jungkook to have that opinion of you.

“Not necessarily,” he says. “I think if people looked beyond your unfriendly demeanor, they’d find someone very different.”

Before you can ask the boy to elaborate, he has already left and come back with the solution to your problem: fancy coloring markers.

“Since you already drew your appearance based on Taehyung’s opinion, you can color it in based on my opinion, if that makes it easier.” Jungkook hands you an assortment of markers, though a large portion of them are just different shades of one color in particular. Yellow.

Yellow was the last color you were expecting. You expected cooler and darker tones like blues or greys to match your ice queen personality. But yellow? Yellow, to you, has always meant bright and happy.

“Yellow is a happy color, isn’t it?” You start swatching each shade of yellow to see how they translate onto a white canvas. Your favorite shade out of the bunch is the soft pale one called Banana Milk, but that still doesn’t mean it suits you. To prove your point, you hold up your unfriendly demon portrait to your actual face and pout. “Do either of these faces look happy to you, Jungkook?”

“No, but they do look silly.” The boy cracks a smile at your humor. “In a good way.” The way he smiles so brightly plants a dangerous little seed in your head. Maybe the yellow is meant to represent not how he perceives your feelings, but rather, how he perceives his own feelings for you.

-

By the time evening comes, you’ve shaded in every inch of your canvas, completing your portion of the portrait project. You were right—the bright colors really did help bring life back into your face, and there’s less of a demonic aura about it now.

It also looks like one big contradiction: an unfriendly-looking face with a cheerful brightness around it. But that’s probably what Jungkook was referring to when he said you were very different beneath your unfriendly mask.

As you stretch out your arms and yawn, you peek over at the boy’s progress with his portrait. He stares down at his markers scattered across the floor, pushing his long locks out of his eyes, in search of his next color. From the small portion that he has colored so far, you notice a big difference between his portrait and yours. While your color scheme is bright and flashy like a star, Jungkook’s is soft and subtle to mimic his shy and lowkey personality.

“Use this,” you toss him the Banana Milk marker and pull a scrunchie off your wrist, “and this too.”

Jungkook places the pale yellow marker down right on the area he’ll color next. He doesn’t, however, know what to do with the foreign hair accessory in his palm. He just blinks at it.

With a dramatic sigh, you join the boy on the floor and take back the scrunchie. Like a puppy with long bangs poking its eyes, he lets you comb your fingers through his hair before tying a tiny sprout on top of his head.

“So this is what the world looks like,” he nods, as if his long hair had greatly hindered his view of the world in front of him. At the same time, he spots the finished product of your portrait. “Your self-portrait is a lot different from how I would draw you.”

“I would’ve appreciated a compliment for my hard work, but go ahead and insult me, Jeon.” You square up.

“Oh sorry. You did a phenomenal job, Y/N.” He doesn’t even try to put effort into masking his sarcasm as pity praise. But that’s expected in how he hasn’t missed a single opportunity to tease you and your shitty art. “It’s just interesting how differently others interpret us from how we interpret ourselves.”

Now you’re curious. “How would you draw me then?”

“You want to see?” Jungkook pushes his own portrait aside and starts digging around for a sketchbook with a blank page to spare. What possesses him to prioritize a drawing of you before his own portrait that’s due in less than 24 hours? You won’t allow that.

“I want to see it after our project is finished, please,” you pull his unfinished portrait back in front of him before making yourself comfy on the boy’s bed. “In the meantime, I’ll be reading you-know-what.”

“Smut?” The boy has a dirty mind, it seems.

“Unless Witch Hazel plans on getting a little smutty, no, I will not be reading smut.” With a hmph, you scroll through jk.seagull’s blog. “I wonder if the new chapter is posted yet.”

Jungkook, too, picks up his phone with wide eyes when he hears you say “new chapter”. Your hype and excitement around the fanfic must be rubbing off on him.

But unfortunately for you, there is no new post since the one you saw before class. You make a sad booboo face, but it isn’t the end of the world either. You’ll just have to reread the series from the beginning as you wait for either Witch Hazel to be updated or Jungkook to finish the project. Whichever happens first.

“Wait, I think the seagull guy just posted something.”

You’ve never jumped onto your phone so quick when Jungkook mentions the seagull guy. It isn’t a new chapter of Witch Hazel, but instead another small text post.

“sorry for not updating witch hazel today like i said i would!! i was bombarded with an unexpected art assignment;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;”

Your sad booboo face disappears. It seems you’re not the only one struggling to find balance between the arts and the need to satisfy others. “Isn’t it funny that he’s an art student too?”

“Haha, yeah…” Jungkook’s voice fades as he returns to his portrait.

“Maybe that’s why I like his work so much,” you say, clicking back to the very first chapter of Witch Hazel where Snow is helping out those who she had unintentionally scared away with her witchcraft. “He just gets it.”

“He gets what?”

With the biggest yawn, you shrug because you don’t really know how to put it into words. It just feels as though you and him think alike. And the thought of that is comforting enough to put you to rest until Jungkook finishes up the project.

“Y/N.” You hear things shuffling around in your half-asleep state. When you rise from mysterious pile of blankets on top of you, you see Jungkook putting his art supplies away and clearing space on the floor for him to camp out since you’ve apparently claimed his bed.

“Did you finish?” You check the time in the dimly lit room, and you’re shocked to see it’s past midnight.

“Yeah.” He pulls your scrunchie out of his hair and drops it into your palm. “Thank you for your service.”

“Keep it.” You slide the hair tie onto the boy’s wrist when you notice he looks a little different somehow. The hoodie he was wearing earlier is replaced with a plain white tee, and his torn jeans have become grey sweatpants. The unspoken reality of you stay over at the boy’s apartment is slowly becoming realized. “In exchange, I’d like to see how you’d draw me.”

“Already done,” he says, jogging to his desk and back to you with a page from his sketchbook in hand. “I drew you as a superhero.”

“What kind of superhero?” You kick the blankets off of you and reach for the drawing, but of fucking course, Jungkook pulls it back real quick just when you were about to snatch it. “Let me see!”

He keeps it hidden behind his back for a while until he gets a little too cocky and dangles it above where you’re sitting on the bed. It would be too predictable for you to reach for the hand with drawing in it, so you decide to aim for the other arm to trap him in.

But rather than latching onto his arm, you catch only a piece of the scrunchie around his wrist, causing you both to lose balance. Your back hits the soft bedding as you stare up into the eyes of the boy who just so happened to land on top of you. Aha, you finally figure out why he looked a little different after you woke up. No glasses, just his handsome brown eyes.

You’d give yourself a pat on the back for figuring that out if you weren’t distracted by the drawing of you as a “superhero”. You were expecting something tough like the Avengers or Sailor Moon or even Izuku Midoriya. But instead you see someone who looks very much like yourself with a guitar and yellow flower crown.

“That’s not a superhero,” you say quietly.

“There are people who would feel otherwise.” Jungkook plops down next to you on his stomach.

“Like who?”

“Like people you share your music with.”

You bite your lip before rolling off the bed to run and get something. When you hop back onto the bed, you drop a pencil into Jungkook’s hand make him hold it with his pinky out like he had shown you earlier. You do the same with another pencil and link your pinky to his once more.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #btsboulangerie #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook #bts #bangtan #witch hazel

[heartwoodventures]

If You Go Down to the Woods Today Pt. 2

Part 1 here!

In the utter silence of the forest glen Zorah's whisper seemed unnaturally loud. Several of their number craned their necks up to peer high above them. Nazyl slowly released his blade from its holster. Bird, demon, or whatever it was, he was ready for it. Aislinn slid a hand up to the grip of her gun and tensely waited, all the while stepping back to the relative shelter of the trees.

The group didn’t have to wait long. The sound of beating wings grew loud, and louder -- the closer it got, the easier it was to pick out a sort of ungainly, awkward gait to the flapping as though the creature was struggling -- the silence around them was abruptly shattered as something massive crashed through the canopy, and came in straight for the forest floor!

The three on the front-lines managed to scramble out of the way *just* in time; though no one could escape the smell. The overpowering, sweetly rancid scent of rot rolled through the clearing as the creature righted itself. Nazyl kicked away from the creature, putting distance between him and it to get a good look at it while Zorah managed to have the grace to step back when the creature fell into their view, her hands at her sides forming the aetheric discs she relied on in combat. Though both were able to miss being hit, that putrid smell was unbearable, causing the miqo’te to silently gag and cover her nose and mouth with the back of her hand.

"Seven Hells." Aislinn coughed as both she and Vanriri scrambled backward, but there was no reprieve from the choking smell. It was almost a certainty that scent was going to find its way into the hyur’s nightmares.

A sharply beaked head lowered to screech indignantly at the party that had dodged it -- or perhaps it was lamenting its own clumsiness. Empty sockets stare balefully at the gathered adventurers as it reared back, unfurling a massive pair of leathery wings.

Aiswyda answered the creature’s eyeless gaze with a mixed look of disgust, shock, and confusion. “Is this the guy? Ugh, this chicken is far too large.” she took a moment to shake out her fists and then, “Care-to-enlighten-us-on-what-this-oversized-bird-is?” she managed to get those words out with lightning speed -- to the point where it could be misinterpreted as a very strange and drawn out battle cry. Without a moment to lose, she dashed ahead and aimed a punch right at the creature’s beak.

With its head extended from its screech, Aiswyda’s fist connected easily with the creature, crunching bone and softened cartilage. It squawked in protest and reared its eyeless head back, shaking it as though to recover from the impact.

"I've not fought maneh o' these....livin' or dead." Nazyl wrinkled his nose at the scent. Undead beast. Great. Necromancy at work. While it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever smelled, it wasn't exactly pleasant either. 

N'yami turned her head to the side and a small crack was heard from her neck, her carbuncle made a noise that sounded as if to argue with the Seeker, clearly she was about to do something stupid. "Someone has to make sure it doesn't fly away." 

Bolting towards the weird bird-like creature, N'yami jumped up to grab it around the neck then held on for dear life. She was attempting to grapple the massive pteranodon's neck, but as she leapt up to grab it, its partially rotted flesh sloughed away under her grasp, sending her tumbling back to the ground nearby. With a very nasty prize. She slopped down to the ground with some very unpleasant.....flesh on her. 

"Well....I've had worse on me I suppose." She shook her hands to try and rid herself of the gore.

Nazyl wretched at N’yami’s failed attempt to keep the ptero held down, "Try its wings first, it's a scalekin. Or was." He took his holy blade in both hands and leapt up at the unfurled wings, cutting down at the arm in an attempt to sever, or at least break it. What was this creature even doing way out here?

His blade sliced straight through the undead pteranodon's joint like butter, the severed edges turning to ash where the sword had struck. The limb itself collapsed to the forest floor nearly on top of N'yami as the undead abomination reeled backwards, dragging its bloated carcass with rather surprising agility. Nevertheless, one faulty flap of its remaining wing reveals it was almost certainly grounded.

N'yami watched as the wing almost fell on top of her. "That would've been unpleasant." She said while rolling and pushing herself up into a standing position again. She was met with a whack to the back of her head from her carbuncle, trying to get her friend’s head back in the game. "I know I know."

Aiswyda gagged as flesh and wing rained down right in front of her. She was just, so upset. The smell. The everything about this.

While the others got in their attacks, Aislinn spared a moment to pull a bandana from her hip pouch and hastily wrapped it over the lower half of her face. The smell of death and decay was making her stomach churn and she had no desire to spill her dinner all over the forest floor. Too embarrassing. That done, now it was down to business. She yanked the handgonne from the holster at her back and leveled it at the creature. With a head full of calculations, she aimed for one of the empty eye sockets and fired off a round, her back heel digging into the dirt from the kickback.

The pteranodon swung its long neck about to screech with seeming indignation at its missing limb just as Aislinn fired off her shot; though it doesn't catch the eye socket directly as she'd intended, it does glance across its already charred and softened beak where Aiswyda had struck it earlier, taking out a chunk of what charred flesh remained and shattering bone.

Meanwhile, Vanriri remained almost plastered back against the tree; she had the sense to pull the quarterstaff from her back, but her hands were shaking where she held it. Swallowing, she tightened her grip on the staff and charged recklessly into the melee, swinging her staff at the other wing's vulnerable joint. It was a good hit. Her staff cracked against the elbow with considerable force, but the impact was mitigated somewhat by the layers of leathery, undead flesh that squelched uncomfortably beneath the blow.

With sudden and surprising agility, missing limb or no, the pteranodon swung its bulbous bulk around, jabbing its sharply beaked head down at the two lalafell while its lengthy tail snaked out to trip up the miqo’tes.

With a dancer’s agility, Zorah flexed her fingers, the aetheric discs sparking as the aether rose in the air around her.  It trailed along her feet and hands as she stepped back, out of the pteranodon’s reach, turning and moving with graceful, deliberate steps that lead into her hurling both discs toward the creature. The brief glow of aether lights up the area as they criss-crossed into the creature both into him from front and back, returning to her hands.

For her own part, N’yami wasn't quite as quick enough to dodge the tail that came slamming down, with an 'oof' she was sent back to the ground where she was before. "This bastard." With a groan she pushed herself back up to dust her coat off of any fleshy slime.

The pteranodon's maw closed on Vanriri like a bird plucking up a particularly juicy morsel, its teeth slicing easily through her leather armour as it proceeded to fling her back and into a nearby tree. She hit the trunk and slid down, unconscious or stunned, her staff falling from her hands halfway between her and the hulking undead creature. Losing no time, it swung its head around to Nazyl to do much the same -- though thankfully his armour largely prevented it from getting a good grip on him, and instead it settled for the satisfying crunch.

No one had bargained on the thing being so fast with so much of its flesh missing, but they should have, considering how fast some skeletons can move. Aiswyda watched in alarm as Vanriri soared through the air on impact while Aislinn could only curse under her breath as the lalafell hit the tree with an unnerving ‘thunk’. Nazyl moved quickly to stand between Vanriri and the beast, settling into a protective stance. He didn't need to watch someone die today. There was little more they could do in the moment. It did, however, give them a sense of urgency. The faster they could down the beast, the better.

Aiswyda continued to focus her punches at the creature’s head. One, because she thought it would do more damage, and two, because she didn’t really want to have her fist sink into the bird’s mushy torso. Her flaming fists succeeded in collapsing part of the pteranodon's skull, its motion began to seem a little more sluggish as the fire charred its flesh and blackened bone.

Back on her feet now, N’yami turned to her summon. "Whackara, ya wanna go for a little ride?" 

The carbuncle flicked her tails and already knew what was coming, with an excited squeak the summon prepared herself as N'yami held Whack like a ball in her hand. "And....go!" And with that the carbuncle went flying right through the pteranodon's body. The carbuncle made a whistling noise as she flew and like a boomerang came back to the Seeker to smack into her face....while covered in rotting flesh. 

"I hate you." the miqo’te muttered. 

As the carbuncle returned to N'yami there didn't really seem to be any effect at first, save that the pteranodon shifted slightly and began winding up for another tail swipe at the group. Then its midsection began to expand slightly, a flicker of aetherial light glowing from the slices Zorah had carved in the bulk of its middle earlier. It screeched once more -- a sound that is abruptly cut off as an impact ripples through the clearing from inside the beast -- and promptly splattered everything and everyone within a 10 fulm radius with gore as the aetherial bomb Whackara had left behind exploded.

Nazyl prepared himself for the inevitable attack, digging his boots into the dirt and raising his shield....only to me showered in a mess of rotting flesh and viscera. Gross. He exhaled slowly, staring at the ground some in quiet contemplation, before beginning to wipe the gore from his person, "Twelve, could ye a have killed it without...explodin' it?"

As the creature wavered, Aislinn saw her chance and rushed to the fallen lalafell to make a hurried assessment of her condition. Just as she had knelt at Vanriri’s side, however, the undead exploded and Aislinn simply hung her head in resignation as she was splattered in gore and rotten flesh. Yet another coat, ruined.

"To be fair that wasn't my plan." The carbuncle moved to the top of N’yami's head, each little foot squished through the flesh stuck to her. "I blame, Whackara, that was all her."

Aiswyda had been knocked over by the meaty impact, hidden under piles of miscellaneous viscera. From where she lay silent prayers leaked from her lips.

"Uh huh, blame the construct." Nazyl dryly replied. 

Vanriri was roused by the sound of the explosion; and as Aislinn approached it was clear she had some wounds that would need tending, but she seemed to be shaking off the worst of her trip. At least until she was suddenly and unceremoniously splattered with viscera which left her gaping in speechlessness. 

Surprisingly unfazed by the shower of gore, the highlander’s hands began to move as though writing in the air just above the lalafell's torso. As the arcane equation takes shape, Aislinn can feel the gemstone bracelets under her gloves heat as they release their aether, dulling the pain and redirecting blood from the injury site. It was a patch, at best. All she could do. 

She took in Vanriri's speechless face. "Surprisingly not the first time we've left a job like this." she says by way of explanation. 

“WHACKARAAAaa!” Aiswyda called out. A fist rose from the meat pile, followed by the rest of the Sea Wolf. She was covered head to toe in things that thankfully remain undescribed.

Vanriri relaxed just slightly as Aislinn's healing aether stemmed the worst of the bleeding, though she couldn’t immediately tell what was her blood, and what was the pteranodon's.

"Hey lass, ye alright? Ye took quite a hit there." Nazyl asked as he turned to Vanriri with a grimace, still wiping himself down.

"Mhm!" she squeaked immediately. She did not look alright.

"Right. Yer gettin' medical attention eithah way, in case that thing had some nasteh disease. I'll likeleh need a look too..."

Her expression said everything she didn’t as she looked at Nazyl, horrified at the idea he had just put in her head.

"It doesn't feel great either." N’yami pulled on the front of her coat as if to try and keep the flesh off her skin that had slid down with Whackara. "Someone throw me in the river."

“Nymeia's Blood, that's a good idea.” Aislinn murmured. 

Aiswyda lifted a hand and observed it. The limb is covered completely, stained red. The Roegadyn let out a sigh so long that it seemed to physically deflate her. “A river, right. We’re all going to need a good hosing off. Again!” She shook her head. “Again!”

Vanriri scrambled unsteadily to her feet, doing her best to ...not look traumatized. She looked traumatized. This was her first rodeo, guys.

Nazyl smirked in amusement, "Ye new ta this? Careful, wait too long n' ye might become a zombeh yerself!" He laughed, shaking his head, "I jest. Though, ye could get some nasteh infections if we don't get those wounds cleaned."

Vanriri did not look mollified by Nazyl humour. ".....Oh dear."

Aislinn nodded in agreement with Nazyl. She gave Vanriri a gentle look. "Could be worse. Let's get you back to the Company house."

"I'm gonna go home and shower, someone let Ma know injured are headin' to the clinic." N’yami said, still shaking out her coat. 

"Y-you have a qualified chirurgeon?" the petite lalafell asked plaintively.

Aislinn did her best not to show her amusement at the question. "With a group like ours? Indeed we do."

"Welcome ta me world." Nazyl snorted. "I deal with this daileh."

“And you never get used to it, unless your name starts with Naz and ends with ‘yl.’” Aiswyda gave Vanriri a tired, but amused look.

"I was...perhaps unprepared for this eventuality." Vanriri said, trying not to sound as anxious as she felt.

Nazyl smiled, more warmly than before, "I don't think anehone expected a bloodeh scalekin zombeh out here in the woods. I'm curious as ta why it was here in the first place..." He glanced back at the fleshless corpse, "Mayhaps we can research that latah. Fer now though, we've succeeded, n' the Shroud can sleep easiah."

Aislinn nodded and gestured to Nazyl. "As he said." she looked around at the others. "I'm going to head back and let G'lewra know you're coming."

Vanriri cleared her throat, nodding. "I--indeed. I will report the, ...success of the hunt to the Wailers on our way through Buscarrons that they might clean ...this... up before someone stumbles..." She trailed off, spying bits and pieces of what was perhaps the pteranodon's last meal in amongst a nearby pile of gore. "..."

She quickly averted her gaze up to Aislinn. "Thank you."

Aislinn gave a single nod in reply.

“Shh. Don’t think about it too much.” Aiswyda groaned, and began to make her way out of the clearing. Presumably back to Heartwood. Their job was done. The beast slain. More gil for the Company coffers. The Shroud a measure safer for those who lived within its boundaries. And, most important of all, every one of them had managed to walk away at the end of the fight. There wasn’t any better proof of success than that.

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #balmung rp #Heartwood plots #heartwood ventures #N'yami Synch #Zorah Velaceras #Aiswyda Nuthalwyn #Nazyl Tharazyl #Vanriri Vanri #Aislinn North #Explosions #carbuncle's fault

[whitehairedclea]

Red Roulette part VIII

Helena sat in her office remembering Chang's words from last night. “As if I didn't know about my intuition, if it wasn't for my intuition I wouldn't open casinos in the States or raise such amount of money, you idiot” she thought. Then, for a split second, she remembered his hands holding her hand and her waist. Gently, yet firm enough to keep her from talking any more. She lit a cigarette and tossed the lighter at the corner of the desk. She quickly dispelled her memories, returning to the issue of the diamond. From the words of Chang showed that the guy did it on behalf of someone, and so probably the diamond has already been transferred to the client.

"Sebastian!"

A seconds later he appeared in the office waiting for an order.

"Bring the Spider over here immediately, maybe he will know something today that will be helpful"

"Of course, I'll get him right away," he replied and left the office quickly.

If someone did order the theft of the diamond, there must have been some trace of it on the streets. So many informants were fooling around deceiving every single profitable handful of information that such a fact of handing over the diamond could not have escaped them.

“ Mrs. Roulette! How nice ... "Spider began as soon as he entered, but Helena quickly cut off his greeting. 

“Okay, finish this cirrus. Fast. Have you heard of any strange meeting last night? "

"Virtually every one in this city, as if you could be more precise"

“It's mainly about the diamond, so focus. Whatever you heard, whatever you know "

“Let's start 600,000,” he smiled.

She had no desire or time to bargain with him, so she just nodded, trying to trust her intuition that he was the only person who could move her search forward.

"I heard one guy brag about a huge amount of money earned for one thing, just one Job. Maybe not a diamond specifically, but quite a similarity"

"Well, who was it then?"

"One of the people coming to the Yellow Flag, long brown hair, possibly American, weird that’s why I remember and that's all I know."

This was more than she could figure out so far, so she thought she had found the lead. All she had to do was find this man and find out who told him to do the job. Time was running out and there was also a risk that someone would want to sell this diamond abroad. Probably worth more than all of Roanapur .

***

  Sebastian headed for the Yellow Flag, a dingy bar on the main street. Inside, it was swarming with suspicious curiosities - dealers, bounty hunters, dirty workmen, prostitutes who could be hired upstairs. In all this hive, he was looking for an American with long hair. 

"Hi Bao " greeted the owner "how's the deal?"

"So far so good, it's only been a week since the last damage, how r you ?"

"It's pretty good to say the casino is spinning somehow, little problems"

"Problems? What, boss has her period? " laughed, but after Sebastian's expression he retired to safer topics "so what problems?"

"I'm looking for a new stranger, he must have arrived here about two days ago, a long-haired brunette, an American, have you heard something about it?"

Bao rapped on the counter to indicate that nothing is for free. Sebastian took a bundle of money out of his pocket and asked for a mug of beer for that.

"My dear, if any connoisseur from Uncle Sam is going to roll through this town, he is sure to look into a lovely restored place like the Yellow Flag!" Bao moved closer to him so that no one would hear what he was saying "... how to tell you, the girls upstairs are definitely perfect"

Sebastian didn’t need more. He jumped up, throwing an additional tip to the bartender, and ran upstairs. Already on the stairs there were crowds of women who were Whiting for the client. Mixed voices of men and women came from everywhere. Every room felt occupied. Sebastian had to choose one to find the American.

One room caught his attention as there was no sound. He decided to try and blew the door open. Inside, a white man sat on the couch, counting quite a large mountain of money. It was obvious this guy was the one he was looking for.

In an instant, he took out the gun before he could react and pointed it at him.

"Dude what are you ?!"

"I would advise you to start talking before your brain will be on that wall over there!" he shouted.

The gun was now right at his temple.

"Who did you sell the diamond to?" Sebastian asked the distressed American.

"It's nothing personal man"

'I don't care, you stole my boss's diamond, who's not a very patient woman. If you want to get out of this, I advise you to talk, we will probably manage without you, but it will be faster,' he replied, unlocking the gun.

The American, feeling the barrel of the gun against his temple, understood how much he did not care about keeping the client's secret. He had money, keeping his life was a priority. Later he talked more than had to.

He was commissioned by an Italian named Dotti right after his arrival in Roanapur. He escaped from the Italian mafia and hid somewhere in the city, gathering his strength to take over the position of the then mafia boss. He couldn't announce his great comeback yet, so he decided to start marking his grounds with minor intimidations. Defecting Helena was to scare her and take over the casino as a new home. The plan might have worked if it had happened to someone else. Helena wasn't going to let go of such an insult, she would have pulled information about him from the city's canals to get him.

"THIS IS ALL I KNOW!" he shouted "really even the pasta makers don't know where he is. NOBODY knows, I got the money a moment ago together with the key to this room!"

There was nothing else to ask. He sheathed the gun and grabbed the bag of money, then threw them all out of the open window. Hundreds of dollars scattered across the crowded street. Seconds later, there were shouts of surprise and fights for every dollar.

"FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER WTF ?!"

'Enjoy you're alive. I'd rather blow your head off now" Sebastian replied and left.

He returned to the casino as soon as possible. It was the most important piece of information, the main puzzle to solve the whole case. They might have started working before it was too fast to spread around town that the Roulette casino could be brazenly robbed.

Sebastian shared with Helena all the clues he had obtained. Without a moment's thought, she rushed to the phone and started calling known informants if anyone had heard of Datti's location . Unfortunately, silence, no one knew him and no one heard of him since he hid from the Italian mafia.

"The little fish don't know anything or don't want to sprinkle ..." she said, looking out the window. Sebastian had the impression that she was running out of ideas on what to do next.

'Maybe actually wait for an intimidation attempt? There is a chance he'll reveal himself. ”Helena didn't let him finish, she held up a hand to silence him.

'I won't wait, Sebastian. It's a perfect night to spill some blood, "she said with a slight smile on her face, then added," If the little fish don't know anything, let's see what the shark says. "

'It means ?'

'We're going to talk to All-Knowing-Mr-Chang , I think it might be a good move.' her green eyes flashed.

Sebastian felt as if she was getting excited about this whole situation.

***

The private line telephone began to ring. Chang picked up "Cho , if they're Cubans again with cocaine in their veins, fire them, I won't play business with junkies," he dropped after a hard day. From this morning, one of the cartel people wants to sell him the idea of cracking down on cocaine in Japan. Like a drugged man, full of vision, he only wasted his time.

'Of course boss, it's just ... they're not Cubans. Red Roulette and Sebastian are here asking for a meeting'

Somewhere in the background you could hear Helena's voice, who didn't like the phrase 'ask'. She clearly tried to correct that she required this meeting.

'Let them in'

Chang began to believe that this evening was not going to be written off after all. "But there are still people in this town who can keep me entertained," he thought. A moment later he heard the clap of heels and a knock on his office door.

'Come in'

Cho entered first and signaled that they could enter. Helena straightened her red hair quickly and walked in with a serious look.

"Why do I owe such a great visit," he asked, comfortably leaning against the desk.

'I'll be short because I don't have time. I know who ordered the theft and it was Dotti , a former member of the Italian Mafia, but I have no idea where he is ' she came close enough to rest her hands on his desk. The red nails tapped gently impatiently. Her green eyes, full of fury, waited for his reply. It was only then that he noticed that there was a tiny mole on her face next to her left eye. Right at the tip , as if it was waiting to be spotted under the cover of red waves of hair. The long black dress sparkled softly in the light, and Chang wished she would take a few steps back to see her leg emerging from the slit. The louder tapping of her nails brought him back to reality. He wanted to laugh at wandering his mind, but quickly gathered his thoughts.

"Of course, I know where he is. Boss of the italian mafia still makes me laugh that he can’t find this Dotti guy. I'll help you with him, " he replied, standing to put on his jacket.

'You misunderstood me, Mr. Chang. I don't want you to help me deal with him. Just give me his location, I'll do the rest myself. '

It made the corner of his mouth turn into a devilish smile. The predator's gaze shone from behind his black glasses . 

'Sorry, I misinterpreted your intentions. Then let me accompany you on this journey ”he offered her a hand, lowering his head as if inviting her to dance.

He was eager to see this confrontation unfold. And most of all, what she can do. As a new fish in town, she had to show that she could do more than sell information, otherwise it would be difficult for her. She could slide quickly to the very bottom of that Roanapur abyss .

'In that case, let's dance tonight' she smiled malevolently.

#mine

[rosewvlf]

‘Tis Folly to Be Wise

Pairing: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler

Summary: The Doctor hides his feelings so well he doesn’t actually hide them at all. Or... Three Times Something Almost Probably (Not Really) Happened and One Time It Most Certainly Did

13.5k words - Jealousy, Pining, Mutual Pining, Meddling TARDIS, First Kiss, Love Confessions

Tagging @doctorroseprompts because, while I don’t remember what inspired this in the first place, I do know that I wrote it after browsing through your prompts hehe

Ao3

The first time it happened they were on a visit to the Powell estate. Rose was with Mickey and the pair had retreated farther into the flat to lounge in her room, leaving the Doctor to fend for himself in a conversation against her mum. 

In the face of Jackie’s relentless chatter and suspiciously in-depth gossip, the Doctor could actually feel himself physically deteriorating. His time sense was ridiculously revved-up, making every second that passed especially grating. He quietly mourned the loss of trillions of cells in his body, celebrated the birth of new ones, and contemplated how much more time it would take until the sheer domesticity of it all would force him into his next regeneration.

He was reaching the fragile, frayed edge of his patience when Jackie traded the inane chatter for something even worse: questions. Increasingly personal questions. Not insightful, curious questions about relevant and engaging things like the kind Rose usually provided during their adventures, but useless, baseless questions that weren’t really questions at all. Such as: “You wanna tell me what you get up to in that blue box of yours?” and “How alien are you really?” and “I know how you feel about my daughter, Doctor, I’m not blind—do you honestly think you can hide something like that from me?”

They were all questions that gave the Doctor embarrassingly red ears and a horrific need to run, and if he held on for any longer, he would just end up sprinting out of the flat at full speed. So, without answering a single question, he got up, striding from the living room at an impressive pace. Upon his disruption Jackie leapt from her perch on the couch and shot him one last inquiry—”Where are you going?!”—sounding very, very offended.

That one he had to answer. He could feel it in the ghost of a handprint on his cheek. 

Antsy, the Doctor just flashed her a grin and spit out an excuse about how he suddenly remembered having left the TARDIS oven on. He was leaving to get Rose because, for some odd reason, she was the only one able to turn it back off. And, oh, such a shame—TARDIS oven ordeals usually last a few days or so at the least. Imagine that!

“How convenient,” Jackie said, narrowing her eyes.

“You think?” the Doctor replied, feigning innocence. “Figured ‘inconvenient’ would’ve been the word.”

Jackie sighed, but she didn’t protest when he turned around for the second time. As he traveled the short distance over to Rose’s room, he could hear Jackie behind him, muttering something about rudeness and Martians from outer space. He didn’t comment because he knew she couldn’t possibly be talking about him.

The Doctor reached Rose’s room in no time and promptly burst through the door. It wasn’t locked, so he assumed he didn’t have anything to worry about.

He was wrong.

Laying on the bed, knees dangling off the edge, was Mickey, looking at the Doctor with a particularly harried and adequately startled expression. On top of him, straddling his sides with her hands wedged deep underneath his shirt, was Rose. She looked gorgeously flushed and her hair was slightly tousled, as if fresh from a physically demanding activity. Upon seeing the Doctor, the teasing smile that graced her lips slowly fell away.

He clearly caught them in the middle of something.

Distantly, the Doctor registered the odd sensation of his jaw dropping. Then his eyes locked on Rose’s and the atmosphere became super-charged, creating a catalyst that broke through their frozen states. The shock on Rose’s face rapidly dissolved into mortification.

“Doctor!” she cried, and her voice was panting, breathless. “We—me an’ Mickey, we were—”

The Doctor’s eyes fell from hers and rather obviously landed on her hands, still tucked underneath Mickey’s shirt and clutching at his bare skin. Rose followed the motion and blushed hotly, ripping her hands away before scooting back. Mickey, all of a sudden rather dazed, sat up, watching Rose and the Doctor with weary interest.

“It was just—” Rose began again, but the Doctor interrupted. This encounter was going places he really didn’t want it to.

“No, don’t. I… can… piece things together,” he said.

Her face went a shade almost as violently pink as her room. “It’s probably not what you think it is!”

“Never said anything, me. Sorry for, uh, interrupting.” The Doctor moved to close the door but Rose shot up from the bed and stopped him with a hand on the opposite doorknob and a very hard look.

“Really, Doctor. Not what you think, ” Rose swore.

Behind her, Mickey piped up, a smirk on his face. “Yeah, it might be worse.”

“No, don’t listen to him—”

“What? S’nothin’ to be ashamed of. And,” he added, biting his cheek to keep from laughing, “you looked like you were enjoyin’ it earlier.”

“Mickey!” she snapped. “Oh my god! Shut. It.”

He bristled. “Why? What do you care if he knows?”

“I don’t! I just—I just don’t like misunderstandings—”

“But why does this misunderstanding even matter?”

Rose’s grip on the doorknob tightened and she tore her eyes from Mickey to quickly glance at the Doctor. She opened her mouth to say something, but she hesitated for a second too long.

“Y’know what? Don’t answer that,” Mickey said, scowling. He flopped backwards onto the bed and stuck his arms behind his head, eyes fixed resolutely to the ceiling.

Rose deflated. “Mickey...” she sighed, trailing off.

The Doctor shifted in place. When he opened the door to Rose’s room, he had no intention of becoming the key to their little lover’s spat. It left him feeling itchy, with pinpricks of discomfort poking through his skin like little goosebumps. He placed a hand on Rose’s shoulder and leant in. 

“I’ll leave you two alone,” he said. Rose reacted quickly, and, just as he was pulling away, she grabbed a fistfull of his leather jacket.

“Come off it. You’re not leaving until you tell me what you came in here for.”

“Not important, sorry. Just pretend I was never here.”

“Too late for that,” Rose sighed. “You ever hear of knocking?”

The Doctor spared a glance in Mickey’s direction. “Didn’t think it would be necessary.”

“A young couple shut up all cozy in a bedroom, Doctor?” Mickey asked, piping up again. He was still staring at the ceiling. “Thought you were some sorta genius.”

Rose let out a groan and buried her face in her hands. The Doctor opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly instead. Sensing the bitter undercurrent in Mickey’s tone, something equally bitter sparked up inside him. He decided he really didn’t want to hear any more of this.

“Think I’ll leave you two alone,” he said. Rose quickly lifted her head. She moved to stop him from leaving again, but the Doctor spoke before she could protest. “Just… Get back to whatever it was you two were doing. I’ll wait in the TARDIS.”

Concern creased her brow, concern that the Doctor immediately misinterpreted. He told her not to worry. He could wait. “Take your time,” he said. Then he paused, glancing at Mickey for the slightest second. “Though, with a bloke like him… Might not need it,” he added, under his breath. 

Rose must have heard him. Her eyes widened and, just for a second, her grip on the door fell slack.

Later, the Doctor ignored Jackie’s questioning look when he stalked out of the flat without Rose in tow and ignored, much less successfully, his own churning thoughts. To keep from thinking about Rose, her idiot boyfriend, and why he, for some reason, loathed the thought of them in her bedroom alone, he settled in to tinker with the TARDIS.

He only had to wait a little over seven minutes before she met him in the console room, looking not the slightest bit pleased. 

“Finished already?” he asked, weak against that childish part of him. She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, stuff it,” she sighed, plopping onto the jump seat. 

Guess he was right.

The second time it happened they were fresh from Van Statten’s bunker and accompanied by a new, rather pretty, guest. Adam was what the Doctor would consider the presumptuous child prodigy type: steeped in supposedly above average intelligence and unaware of his own limited scope of the universe. He was cocksure, convinced in his own judgement. He wasn’t someone the Doctor would’ve personally chosen to serve as a companion, but he relented because Rose took an interest in him.

Oh, an interest… There was definitely some sort of subtext in that. The Doctor could see it in the way they drifted coyly around each other, smiling, voices low. He knew it. But everyone was tired and the adventure was over, so he decided to ignore it. It wasn’t his business and he really wasn’t in the mood to antagonize Rose’s new boyfriend. Yet.

The Doctor was more concerned about the Dalek; about what it did to him and what he almost did in return. Something in him shifted during and after the war. It changed him and while he, at least, acknowledged that, he didn’t notice how much he’d changed or precisely what he changed into until the Dalek escaped. He became rather hopeless—almost akin to a monster—in his loneliness and grief… Broken by the loss of his people, he was wrathful and unforgiving. Vengeful. Militaristic, in a way. He loathed guns and what they represented in every life he led, yet there he had been: ready to fire even as his precious companion defiantly stood her ground. 

Rose saved him. She did the impossible: she showed a Dalek compassion, commanded it, and lived.

He risked the entire universe for her.

Back in the TARDIS, the Doctor figured that the best, and soonest, way to start shocking Adam off of his high horse was to let Rose give him a tour. With a dimensionally transcendental, absolutely beautiful, thoroughly marvellous time ship like his? Surely, Adam stood no chance. The boy was about to have his horizons broadened.

Rose disappeared down the corridors with Adam following dazedly behind, and once the Doctor could no longer hear their voices, he made his way to his own quarters. He hadn’t slept in weeks, really, and despite his best efforts his fatigue was finally catching up with him. He was overdue for a rest.

The Doctor managed to shed his leather jacket and remove his jumper before he heard conversation floating through the hallway and seeping into his room. Confused, he briefly consulted his knowledge of the TARDIS’s current layout. It didn’t make sense; his room was nowhere near any of the areas Rose had in mind for the tour. He should have been spared from their flirting for at least a few more hours. 

That meant Rose either deviated from her plans or… or the TARDIS did some remodeling.

The voices in the hallway suddenly shifted in tone. They sounded lower, as if spoken in greater proximity to each other, and more… urgent. The Doctor felt himself tense. Adam’s voice was a murmur, placating, unintelligible yet insistent. Rose’s voice was harried, almost strained, bordering on breathless.

Were they really…? Outside the Doctor’s own room?

Yeah, no.

The Doctor quickly slipped his jumper back on and opened his door.

“Oi, you two, shouldn’t you be—“ he began, stepping out, but then his voice died as he took in the sight before him.

Rose stood braced against one of the coral pillars lining the halls of the TARDIS, a fresh, pink blush tinting her cheeks. In front of her, torso inches from her own, stood Adam, one hand on her hip and the other beside her head, bearing his weight upon the coral. Her own hands were against his chest, the position undeniably intimate.

Adam hadn’t noticed the Doctor’s entrance, even as intrusive as it was, so the Time Lord got to witness the young man’s hand snake higher up her torso, watch as he leaned in to whisper in Rose’s ear. His whisper made her shiver, his lips ghosting over her skin. The Doctor’s hearts grew cold.

Oblivious Adam. Foolish, arrogant, oblivious Adam.

It was Rose who noticed him first. As soon as she caught sight of the Doctor, surprise colored her cheeks a deeper red and she reflexively pushed Adam away, causing him to stumble off her with a comical oof and a confused look. Adam turned to follow Rose’s eyes and paled.

“D-Doctor, what’re—wasn’t your room…“ Rose stammered.

“No, ‘fraid not. It’s right here, apparently. Huh, fancy that,” he said, punctuating the statement with an obviously faked intrigued perusal of his surroundings. “And you two were… canoodling right in front of it. Great choice. Nothin’ short of amazing, that,” the Doctor frowned. “I could hear you right through the door. Wasn’t gonna say anything, me, but I was gettin’ ready for bed.”

“I—I’m sorry—“ Adam piped up, genuinely remorseful, but the Doctor waved him away.

The Doctor’s words were casual and reassuring, but his face looked… How would one describe it? Like the subdued sky before a rainstorm. A countenance as confounding and contradictory as the man himself. 

“Oh, don’t worry! What am I, her keeper? Don’t let this daft old fool stop you. Do whatever you two want, but do it somewhere else,” he said. He intoned the last line with only an ounce more gravity than his usual amiable lilt, but Rose, clever and perceptive as always, caught it regardless. She bristled.

It must’ve been the fatigue, the Doctor thought. It must’ve been the ordeal with the Dalek, because he was having a harder time than usual accepting her galavanting off with some pretty boy tonight. It must’ve been her bravery, glistening golden in her eyes when she stood up to him earlier. It must’ve been the lingering memory of her arms around him, deep down in that bunker, soothing the bitter pain of the entire encounter, that kept him from maintaining that breezy indifference of his.

Did Rose see it? That blossoming, unwarranted jealousy of his? Could she see that careful shade of green in his eyes?

It must’ve been ugly.

Noticing Rose’s tense stance, the Doctor rapidly slapped a smile on his face and upped the ante on his façade.

“Well, sorry for ruining the mood. Selfish, me. How about you two get on your way—“ he gently nudged both of them forward with one hand each on either of their backs—“and I can get a couple hours rest. Sound good?”

Rose found her voice. “Doctor, wait, listen! I wasn’t gonna let Adam—“

Adam shot her a hurt look, and Rose faltered, the words dying upon her lips. The Doctor witnessed her momentary lapse and interpreted it as embarrassment.

“No need to be shy, Rose. You, Aiden, what’re you looking so down for? Don’t need explainin’ to, me, so go jaunting off all you like,” he beamed. 

He’d gotten the guy’s name wrong on purpose. 

Adam’s frown deepened and protests lay dogpiled upon Rose’s lips, but the Doctor pulled away, having shooed them far enough. He was quick to get rid of them, quick to hide, but he paused beside his bedroom door, one hand on the door knob.

When Rose turned around, perhaps to stop him once more, the Doctor flashed her a small smile. Exhaustion muted the blue of his eyes. 

“Good night, Rose,” he said. 

Her love life was none of his business, after all.

The third time it happened, Jack had been aboard for more than a few days.

Jack. Now, Jack was certainly something. 

He managed to charm Rose, which wouldn’t be too terribly strange since he was most definitely her type, but then he managed to charm the Doctor too, and he definitely wasn’t his type. Jack Harkness, although very unconventional and by all means someone the Doctor would’ve gladly initially brushed off, proved himself to be a good man, a strong ally, and downright clever as well. Irritatingly flirtatious habits aside, he was a fantastic companion and a good friend.

He was the kind of man the Doctor knew would make Rose perfectly happy, and protect her, too. Give her that bit of adventure her free spirit craved while still keeping her safe. He was someone who suited her more than some barmy nine hundred year old alien, at least.

So it shouldn’t have hit him as hard as it did when he walked into them one rare, lazy Earth-hour afternoon, lounging in the media room. 

It wasn’t like all the other times he’d walked in on Rose with one of her little human boyfriends. Those instances were dripping with hints of sexual frustration and dipped in improper quantities of proximity; they were clear indications of youth, textbook examples of what the Time Lords would’ve considered an aspect of their primitive, human natures. No, this… It was sweet. Singular in its intimacy, almost. Special. 

Rose was sitting on the sofa, adorned only in fuzzy, animal-print pajama bottoms and a comfy old t-shirt. Her hair was clipped up carelessly in a low bun, and, right along with her, stretched leisurely across the expanse of their seat, was Jack, dressed down in his own borrowed jimjams. His head was cushioned in her lap and he smiled up at her, grinning salaciously. Undoubtedly, he was enticing her with another crude joke or compliment, and it must’ve been working because she was laughing her usual beautiful, brilliant laughter. She ran her hands through his hair with one hand as she jokingly, lightly, smacked his arm with the other. In front of them, on the TARDIS’s telly, some cheesy alien romcom from the seventy-sixth century tried its best to put on a show, only to be met with deaf ears. Caught up in each other, they hardly paid attention to it.

They only managed to snap out of it when the Doctor plopped himself on the armchair next to them. 

They both greeted him warmly, smiles on their faces. The Doctor’s chest ached at their happiness, equal parts affection and melancholy, and he greeted them back. They looked like a pretty picture he shouldn’t have disturbed. Walking in the room, he was tempted to turn around, to pretend he didn’t see a thing, but at the same time, he wanted to stick himself right in. Wanted the image to shatter as much as he wanted it framed.

“Having fun, then?” he teased.

“You’re finally here,” Rose enthused. “Jack, tell the Doctor what you just told me. The story! C’mon!” she poked his cheek imploringly, and Jack chuckled, sitting up.

“Anything for you, Rosie,” Jack winked, before turning to face the Doctor and motioning him to lean closer. “This one’s a wild one, Doc, you sure you can take it?”

The Doctor sniffed, humorously feigning indignance. “You’re asking me?”

“Hey, playing it safe, y’know? Wouldn’t wanna arouse your fragile sensibilities,” Jack grinned.

Rose cut in. “You? Playin’ it safe? Jack, you’re almost as bad as the Doctor,” she chuckled. “Playin’ it safe!”

“Oi! What d’you mean as bad as me?”

Rose offered the slighted Time Lord a saucy grin as his only answer before she nudged Jack with her elbow. “Just do like you always do and dive right into it, Jack.”

“My, oh my, Doc, if I didn’t know any better I’d say our Rose is feeling pretty cheeky today.”

She dropped her head on Jack’s shoulder, chuckling. “‘M just happy, that’s all. Still laughin’ from when you told me,” Rose said. She peeked out, her cheek resting on the fabric of Jack’s shirt. “An’ excited,” she smiled, “to spend the time in together like normal mates for once.”

“We spend every day together,” the Doctor said, puzzled. He envied Jack for a moment, having Rose cling to him so casually, so comfortably. In his armchair, the Doctor was too far to effortlessly reach.

Rose lifted her head from Jack’s shoulder and shook it. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Doctor, runnin’ from near-death experiences every waking hour and collapsing on the grating when we’re back in the TARDIS is fun and all, but… Like, yeah, it’s gorgeous, the running, keeps me fit—“

“Very fit,” Jack nodded sagely, and Rose smacked him.

“—but sometimes I just wanna sit with you in front of the telly, yeah? Talkin’ and just… Enjoyin’ each others’ presence and all.”

The Doctor didn’t know what to say, so he defaulted to a more automatic response. “Sounds awfully domestic to me,” he said.

Rose scoffed, waving him away. “Oh, I just knew you’d say that,” she sighed. She didn’t seem all that upset, but it was clear that she bore just a hint of disappointment. “You get what I’m sayin’ though, don’t you, Jack?”

“Crystal clear, sweetheart,” Jack said. “Some R&R: rest and recuperation.”

“Yep,” Rose nodded.

“Humans,” the Doctor snorted, starting to feel a bit rejected. “Don’t you lot get plenty of ‘R&R’ every night? Sleepin’ half of your lives away, you are.”

“Rest and recreation, rather,” Jack amended.

“You never had a weekend in, Doctor?” Rose asked. “Where you just muck about in the TARDIS for a day or two?”

The Doctor frowned. Was this some sort of roundabout method of telling him they were tired? That they wanted to go back home? But, no, that couldn’t have been it. They enjoyed themselves on his ship, he knew that much. 

“Why stay in when there’s an entire universe out there?” 

“Well…” Rose trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her argument.

The Doctor sighed. “How’s this, then? I know a few resort planets. Popular hotspots in each of their galaxies, perfect for a vacation, and I can get us reservations. No problem. If you want to be layabouts, might as well lounge in a place worth remembering.”

Jack looked intrigued at the prospect, and one look told the Doctor that he’d won the man over. However, while Rose looked tempted, she bit her lip, still appearing uncertain. 

“The TARDIS is a place worth rememberin’, Doctor,” she said.

The Doctor paused, eyes widening. “That’s—That’s not… She is. You’re right; unforgettable, my TARDIS, but… Oh, you know what I mean, Rose.” 

Accidentally insulting his own precious timeship was the last thing he was trying to do. Give it to Rose Tyler, always seeing and hearing what he couldn’t. Even when it came out of his own mouth. 

Still, Rose wasn’t satisfied. “Yeah, I get what you mean, but you don’t get what I mean. Time alone. Does that sound familiar?” She sighed again, leaning into Jack’s side. In response, however unconsciously, Jack draped a lazy arm over Rose’s shoulder. “Quality time together? Without all those distracting disasters the universe likes to throw at us for some reason?”

The Doctor eyed their intimate positions and felt something rotten rise within him once again. An unsightly sensation, growing increasingly familiar as the days grew by, cut into his skin from the inside out like small, prickly thorns. The Doctor never dared to let that weed of an emotion grow, never let it encompass the burnt, barren garden of his hearts, but it came close every time. Grown from the tiniest, most inconsequential seeds, the Doctor could only feel shame in their propensity to take root. Jack’s arm, draped so casually over Rose’s shoulder, almost like it belonged, and Rose, leaning into him with such picturesque comfort, provided the perfect nutrients for an ugly, bitter fruit.

It struck the Doctor then, that perhaps Rose was arguing for all of this as a means of requesting, as politely and discreetly as she could, the Doctor’s aid. Some alone time with the Time Agent. Some quality time with the man she loved, hidden away within the TARDIS’s winding corridors. Away from uncomfortable alien eyes.

The thought sharpened the thorns to a fine tapered point. It cut. It bled.

Yet it had no right to.

The Doctor nodded as if he finally understood and gently smiled. An idea came to light in his mind. “Of course it sounds familiar, Rose.”

Rose straightened, hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely! In fact—” the Doctor’s tone shifted, like he was a stereotypical salesman offering an irresistible deal—”why don’t we spend the next forty-eight hours right here? A weekend in. I’ll keep the TARDIS parked in the Vortex for just a little while longer,” he said.

“That’s great!” Rose beamed, bright and blinding.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about, Doc!” Jack laughed. “I knew you’d get it.”

Rose scooted back, patting the unoccupied side of the sofa, free of Jack’s sprawled form. “C’mon, sit here,” she said, “let’s watch some trashy intergalactic telly.” Her grin was teasing and inviting, with a bit of her tongue poking through her teeth, and the Doctor almost wavered from his newfound resolution.

Ah, but Jack’s arm was still around her. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm upon her shoulder, following the upbeat pomp of the ignored romcom’s ending theme song. A nice reminder. The Doctor knew better than to deprive his golden girl of her desires.

“‘Fraid not, Rose. Maybe next time,” he said. 

Her smile faltered. “Oh?”

“Yep, but don’t you worry. Just remembered I had a couple errands to run ‘round here for the ol’ girl.”

“Really?” Jack asked, sounding… skeptical. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Well, the opportunity just never presented itself,” the Doctor said. “Now, I’ll just be on my way…“ He got up from his armchair to start making his way to the doors, but paused when he saw Rose and Jack rising too. He admonished them with a few stern tut’s. “Oh, sit down. I can handle them myself.”

“If they’re repairs, I can help—” Jack offered, but the Doctor shut him down.

“Been doing repairs myself for centuries, thanks. More than capable, me.”

“But—”

“Just keep cuddlin’ on the couch,” the Doctor chuckled, pushing them both back down with a hand on their shoulders. “I won’t be long. I’ll plonk this old bum down right next to you soon as I’m done.”

Rose hesitated. The Doctor could practically feel her suspicion himself, hear the uncertainty flickering through her mind. Luckily, it subsided.

“Alright…” she acquiesced. “Finish up soon, ‘kay? If you take too long, I’m makin’ you watch one of mum’s soaps.”

The Doctor shuddered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With one last word of parting, the Doctor waved good-naturedly and disappeared from the media room. He left the two newfound lovebirds perched on the couch, twin looks of unease plastered on their faces, but now… with plenty of time alone.

 The Doctor lied through his teeth. 

He had no plans of joining them on the sofa that twenty-four hours, or the next. He set an internal alarm, and for almost two full Earth days he was nowhere to be seen.

The Doctor cursed as he reached for a wrench and found it, once again, missing. Poking his head up from underneath one of the TARDIS’s supplementary heating systems (the one devoted, specifically, to maintaining and regulating the temperature of the heat-sensitive storage rooms and… the hot tubs, actually), he caught sight of it several meters away, perched precariously on the edge of an open grate. It looked ready to tip into the wiring below upon the slightest vibration.

This was the fifth time it’s gotten displaced, and it took a bit of searching to find it after every disappearance.

“Oh, let it go, will you?” the Doctor sighed, speaking to no one in particular. 

Save the very air around him, that is. 

The TARDIS was displeased with his actions lately, it seemed, and she displayed that displeasure readily, manipulating his entire environment. The lights overhead flickered for a moment before a sense of reproach eased into his mind. An obvious rejection.

A sentient, powerful, living remnant of his species’ most profound technological and scientific advancements… Fixated on passive-aggressive pranks.

“Unbelievable!” he muttered, carefully rescuing his wrench.

Forty hours have passed since the Doctor declared their little weekend in the Vortex, and he’d managed to avoid crossing paths with his two companions the entire time. Oh, it wasn’t easy. Certainly not. Especially since the TARDIS seemed particularly dead-set on thwarting his considerate efforts, rearranging her layout with a sadistic, labyrinthine intensity undoubtedly intended to purposefully confuse him. Tear away familiarity with his own ship, after all, and he’d be just as good as any fresh face that wanders aboard. It was a handicap, essentially. 

The TARDIS must’ve been utilizing enormous quantities of energy just to juggle him into one of his companion's arms. Rose the most often. But the Doctor was clever. The smartest higher-order thinker any side of any galaxy. He made do, of course.

He just didn’t expect to have to fight his own ship.

Suddenly, the Doctor startled. He heard footsteps thudding in the distance, somewhere down the left-most corridor.

Before everything, this room used to be a part of the lesser-traveled sections on his beloved ship. One of the sections visited for the occasional maintenance check at most, left in the TARDIS’s own care for the majority of the time. Now, it, and sections like it, experienced an exponential increase in foot traffic as they merged pathways with areas more suited to daily living.

The Doctor could hear familiar voices filtering in through the walls. Voices he missed a lot, as dull as the sentiment might’ve been.

However, he promised forty-eight hours. It was only a quarter past the fortieth and that simply would not do. He stepped forward, intent on escaping through the door farthest from them, but as his right foot met the grating… It sunk. The floor was loose beneath his foot and he came crashing forward, half of his lower body dumped straight into the circuitry beneath.

There was no way this wasn’t completely intentional. The Doctor cursed, and when he realize he couldn’t move his leg, tangled so deliberately as it was in metal and wires, he sent a strongly-worded, less-than-polite telepathic thank you in the TARDIS’s direction.

The lights merely flickered once again in response.

His fall wasn’t quiet. The voices of his companions, already steadily growing louder, responded to the raucous racket of his crash with excitement, and their even steps dissolved into heavy footfalls running to meet him.

Hands frantically plunging through every leather pocket for his sonic, the Doctor tried in vain to shake his leg free, only serving to further entangle him in his ship’s trap. One poorly direction’d shimmy had the Doctor wobbling, and his sonic screwdriver tumbled out of his grasp, past the depths encasing his leg, and down, deep into the unknown.

Fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic.

 “What do you have to say for yourself?” Rose admonished. With her hands on her hips, standing over him, her brows drawn in smoldering fury, she looked like a spitting image of her mother.

The Doctor only pursed his lips, looking away. He sat resolutely, with a rather stubborn, prideful air about him—not unlike the kind he’d usually adopt when wrongfully imprisoned—and his hands were tied securely behind his back. His sonic was nowhere in sight.

After Rose and Jack caught him with his metaphorical pants down, they encircled him like hawks. Both of his companions made sure to free him, but not without first ensuring his complete transfer into a different trap entirely; it wouldn’t suit all their hard work prior, searching for him with such resolute vigor, to have him escape as soon as they found him, after all. So they tied him up and led him into the next room over.

Ironically, it turned out to be the media room. The same place he’d left them before.

They plopped him down onto the sofa and Rose took charge, ignoring his indignant fussing.

“C’mon, then! Your excuse?”

He mumbled something unintelligible. From beside her, Jack shot the Doctor a look of pity yet carefully maintained his distance, seemingly content to just watch the events unfold.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that,” Rose said, anything but apologetic. She leaned forward, stern and unyielding. Strong woman, she was, Rose Tyler. Precisely the characteristic that, although now turned against him, had charmed the Doctor in the first place. When he didn’t repeat himself, she huffed. 

“I swear to God, Doctor, if you don’t start talkin’ I’m keeping you here and puttin’ my mum on the phone—”

The Doctor’s head snapped forward, eyes widening in terror. “No—”

“—An’ tellin’ her I’m pregnant.”

“No!” the Doctor gasped.

Rose pulled back, reaching into her jeans pocket to slip out her mobile. She flipped it open, staring at the screen in careful consideration before meeting the Doctor’s eyes. The message was clear. She was serious.

And Jackie was on speed dial.

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk, just—Rose, please,” the Doctor pleaded. Rassilon, the horror. 

“Please what?” she murmured, impassive. Her thumb toyed with a key on her mobile.

“I… I…”

“You, you…?”

“I was just tryin’ to help,” he finally managed.

“Help? That’s what you thought this was?” Rose asked, incredulous. “Help with what, Doctor? Abandoning us for two entire days—“

“Forty and a half hours,” the Doctor mumbled. She shot him a glare and he clamped his mouth back shut.

“Abandoning us for forty and a half hours,” she repeated, making it clear the distinction did not matter in the slightest, “after promising us a weekend together?”

“You got one, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, right good weekend that was. Leavin’ us as soon as it started, talking ‘bout some stinkin’ errands.” She slipped her phone back in her pocket and a fraction of the Doctor’s tensity alleviated. “What errands? Errands my arse! You’ve just been hiding!”

“I had some!” the Doctor said, defensive. “I did!”

“Well, that’s what we believed at first too. Then, we finished five movies and nature called. Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t find the loo,” Rose said.

From behind them, Jack sighed, nodding. Rose was breaching a crucial topic, it seemed, and he looked rather harried too.

She continued: “I had to hold it for another hour, Doctor, until I finally found it! An hour of nothin’ but searching with my bladder half bursting! Stumbled into the library at least ten times before I even so much as hallucinated a toilet!”

The Doctor cringed. That did, indeed, sound bad.

“Couldn’t even make it bad to the media room after I was done, either. Got stuck in a circuit through the kitchen, Jack’s bedroom, and the wardrobe. God, Doctor, what’ve you been doing?”

Incensed, and obliged to defend himself, the Doctor straightened. “Oi, a little quick on the call, aren’t you? I’m innocent. Not much for interior design, me.”

“I’d say it was pretty suspicious that the TARDIS suddenly turns herself into a maze as soon as you run off, Doc,” Jack cut in.

“Definitely,” Rose agreed. She met the Doctor’s guileless gaze with resolute eyes. “You’re always harpin’ on, sayin’ the TARDIS is alive. If you didn’t do it directly, then you must’ve pissed her off, yeah?”

The Doctor froze. She was right on the ball with that one. Ever perceptive, his Rose, and usually, he’d be praising her for it. Now, however, he just felt incriminated.

“Might’ve done,” he murmured, looking away.

“I knew it!” Rose cried. Jack stepped closer to stand next to Rose, patting her on the back.  She sighed, her frustration visibly fading with the slump of her shoulders.

“How’d you do it?” Jack asked.

“What?”

Jack grinned, humor a-twinkle in his eyes. “How’d you piss off an entire ship? Pretty impressive, I’ll admit. Couldn’t have done it even if I tried. Okay, okay, I’ve managed the people in it, but never the ship itself, and that’s besides the point.”

“I didn’t intend to.”

“You know what they say: the road to hell…” Jack trailed off, shrugging.

The Doctor recognized the proverb. Good intentions… Well.

With reluctance, the Doctor at last gave in. He shifted in his restraints.

“The TARDIS was trying to lead me back to you,” he said.

“Lead you back…? So you were hidin’ from us?” Rose asked. Questions contorted her brow. “What for?”

Jack’s expression was very much the same. “If you didn’t want to watch TV, Doc, we were open to suggestions.”

“Never did like sittin’ front o’the telly, come to think of it. But that’s not what I kept away for.” The Doctor’s ears tinted a slight shade of pink. “Figured you two wanted to be alone. ‘Quality time’ you said, Rose. Thought I’d run off, get some other stuff done in the meantime. The TARDIS didn’t take to it, kept turnin’ me around.”

Jack looked a bit odd, boasting an image akin to a mixture of ‘stunned’ and ‘irrevocably confused’. “Well, no wonder!” he exclaimed.

“What the hell would make you think we wanted to avoid you?” Rose asked, frustration returning. “I said ‘quality time together’, Doctor! Not ‘quality time chasing a madman through some barmy maze’!”

The Doctor sniffed, uncomfortable. If the TARDIS hadn’t thought to meddle, then they would’ve had their happily ever after, he would get some peace, and everything would’ve been hunky dory. Neither of them would’ve noticed his lists of errands to do really wasn’t all that long.

“I know that,” he groused. “I just thought ‘together’ meant ‘together without me’.”

“How?!”

Rose looked gobsmacked. It was as if, for once, the Doctor actually managed to reach absurd enough heights of alienness that his actions were completely irreconcilable in her human eyes. Their last action prior to his departure was, after all, to invite him to sit next to them. Have a few laughs. It didn’t make sense. They must’ve been wondering: what could possibly have led to such a drastic disparity in thought?

“Rose…” the Doctor sighed, “do you know what I saw when I walked into the room that day?”

She blinked in suspicion. “No.”

He smiled, almost rueful. “You and Jack, of course. Oh, it was a lovely sight. A perfect pair you two make, right pretty, too.”

Neither of them said a thing. The Doctor nodded toward Jack. His voice was bright, but an odd sort of tension had grown in the air. 

“Head on her lap! Adorable. And combin’ her fingers through your fringe! Wasn’t half diabetic at the sight, really. Almost had to stop by the infirmary, me.”

“Doctor, that was just—”

“Wasn’t the first time I walked into anything either, but this time was different. Made me realize that I might’ve messed somethin’ up. Maybe this time it was serious.”

Jack listened in disbelief. “‘Serious’?” he echoed.

“Point is, Rose,” the Doctor shifted his gaze, locking eyes with her. “I wanted to make it up to you, as discreetly as I could. For the social life I’ve scared away. For the love I hadn’t let you feel.”

“What…?” she whispered.

He offered a wry smile. “Always ruinin’ the mood, me. Never did let you get a proper date in.”

“Hold on, so you thought… Me an’ Jack… You thought I was askin’ for date night with Jack?”

“Aw, Rosie, you don’t have to make it sound so unappealing,” Jack pouted, but Rose paid him no mind.

The Doctor’s brows furrowed. “Am I wrong?”

“Yes! Very!” Rose huffed, astounded by the Doctor’s absurdity. “You—I can’t believe—”

She looked about ready to die of exasperation. But then she paused for a moment and let out a heavy, steady breath before speaking.

“Doctor, we’re just good mates. There’s nothin’ going on.”

The Doctor’s doubt was practically inscribed upon his face.

“I wouldn’t care if there was,” he lied, aiming for reassuring but not quite cutting it.

He liked to think he figured Rose out well enough, liked to believe he understood her. This youthful little human who stood so steadily before him, both complex and straightforward, paradoxically contrary yet so precisely expectable, was already etched firmly into both of the Doctor’s hearts. He followed her through her predictable routines, witnessed in pride her many surprises. However recent their acquaintance might be in the grand scheme of the universe, he knew her. He hoped he knew her. 

And Jack was perfect for her. Swept her off her feet, quite literally. To her, Jack was an improved echo of the Doctor’s visage, coupled with the dating and the dancing, and made complete with that suave, seductive style.

From a purely objective standpoint, she should have been thoroughly, irredeemably charmed.

Rose frowned at the Doctor’s skepticism, and something seemed to occur to her.

“You mentioned somethin’—somethin’ about having walked into things before. D’you mean that time with Mickey? An’ Adam?”

The Doctor scoffed despite himself, not keen on remembering. “The two idiots. Ignorance is bliss.”

Hearing him and flushing red, Rose decided she had enough. 

She stepped forward and took him soundly by the head, a hand framing either of his cheeks. It caught both the Doctor and Jack off-guard. When the Doctor grunted in surprise, she quickly clapped a hand over his mouth to shush him. “Now, listen to—yeah, yeah, uncomfy, you are, I know. But listen to me, Doctor. You run away every time I try to explain, so I—“

The Doctor shook his head in defiance.

“Yeah, you do!” she said, capturing him within her gaze. Her eyes, a deep brown that drowned him in rich wildflower honey, compelled him into rapt focus faster than any twisting nebula. “You run like—like you don’t wanna listen, like it’s stupid ape stuff, but you have to, ‘cause nothing is what you’re thinkin’ it is!”

He glowered, at a sudden loss, before indicating her to release his mouth. She didn’t budge.

“Swear you’ll hear me out?”

He tried his best to nod, his lips pressed into a frown beneath her palm. 

“Promise?”

He nodded once more. With his hands tied behind him and lodged between the sofa and his back,  he knew they couldn’t see him cross his fingers. A childish display of his defiance. 

However, mid-finger cross, he felt something odd about the ropes restraining him. 

Hold on… Is that…?  

Rose looked doubtful, so the Doctor eased the crease in his brow and tried for pleading. If what he felt upon the ropes was what he thought it was, he needed her to let go of him. 

He looked her in the eyes, and her expression softened. It worked. 

“Alright,” Rose said. She let him go and plopped beside him on the sofa. 

However, when she turned back to face him, she was greeted with a terrible surprise: the Doctor sat right there, flexing his wrists. Unbound. 

“How?!”

“Been around, learned a few tricks,” the Doctor answered simply, avoiding her offended gaze with a shrug of his shoulders. He didn’t break his nodded promise because he crossed his fingers, after all. “Helps that you two used a simple knot, though I didn’t realize until now. Fifty-first century marauder’s knot. Tricky little thing; only looks impressive, not the best for keepin’ prisoners.” He bent down to untie his ankles. 

Rose shot Jack an accusatory glare. He held up both his hands, all innocence.

“Hey, I didn’t think we were going to keep him long. Not seriously. Plus,” Jack added, “I like the marauder’s. It’s convenient and visually appealing.”

Rose pressed the bridge of her nose with a heavy, long-suffering sigh. “I’m so gonna kill you after this,” she groaned. Meanwhile, the Doctor kicked the rope from his boots and bounded up off the couch. Before he could get far, Rose shot off her seat as well, grabbing his leather-shielded arm. “I’m gonna kill you both after this,” she amended.

“Why do you want this so much?” the Doctor asked, almost desperate. He tried to shake her grip away, but it proved unsuccessful as he held back the strength in his arm, weary of hurting her. He tried instead to use his free hand in order to pry her off him, but she held fast, bringing forward her own free hand to lie on top of his. He watched it enclose over him and he sucked in a breath. “Why don’t we just forget it, Rose?” he offered.

“I don’t want to,” she said, stubborn. The heat of her palm slowly suffused through his skin. “This is botherin’ you and I want it all out of the way—”

“Bothering me? I’ve said this before, Rose: it’s none of my business, and I’m not looking to make it my business. I don’t care about your pointless human hookups. I have no intention of—”

“But it does bother you, Doctor! If it’s really that useless, if you really don’t care, why do you try everythin’ to make me shut up? Why?” She tightened her grip on him, keeping her voice steady, her words flowing forth in a manner that forbade interruption. “You shouldn’t have to insist. Don’t think I’m dense! Everythin’ else unimportant goes in one ear an’ out the other—but this you can’t ignore. So you get pissy an’ sulky and push everything thousands of galaxies away.”

Fluid, she cut straight through him, her accuracy leadening the marrow of his bones and effectively locking him in place. The Doctor pressed his lips into a solid line, his countenance now stormy, saturnine steel. 

“Rose…” he began, but she could already tell what would come next. Shoulders squared, she moved to make her point before he could cast it down.

“That one time, at home, with Mickey! You walked in, I was on top of him!” In his peripheral vision, the Doctor caught Jack’s eyes widening. Rose spoke hurriedly, outburst after outburst. “I was all over him, and he was a git about it, but we weren’t shaggin’! It was a tickle fight!”

The Doctor was poised to protest, but then her words registered. “A tickle fight?” he echoed, dubious. She didn’t clarify further, opting instead to plough forward, as if she expected the Doctor to evaporate at any second, willing the atoms of his hand to remain solid beneath hers.

“And that other time! With Adam! He had me up against the wall!” Her expression turned ugly, like she thought of something particularly unpleasant. Witnessing it brought the Doctor no small sense of satisfaction. “It was a total come-on—one that I did not appreciate—and I would’ve pushed him away even if you hadn’t come swannin’ in!”

“Er…”

Rose lifted her index finger to his lips. “Hush,” she said, continuing. “Now, this time! With Jack! Head on my lap!” 

She finally slowed down, her tone still imposing, yet only half as insistent. Fixing him with a sincere, affectionate gaze, she pat his hand, which, by now, he had long since forgotten he could shift away. “Well, we’re best mates, Doctor… I’m always up for a nice lounge with a friend. A bit of dumb messin’ around, a hug, a cuddle. All that good stuff, yeah? Nothin’ I wouldn’t wanna do with you, too,” she finished.

“You…” There was something hard in his throat, but he managed to speak anyway. “You make me sound like I’m jealous.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what you are?”

The Doctor recoiled, sputtering, offended at the mere prospect. “Jealous? Me?”

Rose dropped both her grips on the Doctor, and as soon as they were free, they distanced themselves and folded their arms across their chests. Both of them mirrored each other, determined.

“I am not jealous.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she snorted. “Admit it! You don’t want your little earthling pal goin’ on play dates without you. Nine hundred years and you’re actin’ ten.”

“That’s not right,” the Doctor said.

“Then what is? Doctor, I told you: you’re stuck with me. Even if I see some cute guy I’ll still be turnin’ around and hoppin’ aboard the TARDIS.”

“You’d be leaving them behind,” he pointed out.

“Well, that’s why I’m not with anyone anymore, now isn’t it? ‘Course, that also means there’s nothing for you to be jealous for. Not like there ever would be.” She grinned at him. “You’re better than any boyfriend,” she said.

Hearing those words, paired so beautifully with her sincere smile, the Doctor’s chest felt about ready to burst.

He’d known it, really, that she’d been aching to tell him the real story, to talk to him, ever since she noticed how he kept dodging away. Rather counterintuitive, his actions, leading the spotlight to land upon his fears as opposed to away from them, but… Running was his specialty. It was all he could muster the strength to do. 

The Doctor thought himself a better man than this. He wasn’t the greatest man alive, no, definitely not, but surely, he must have matured at least a little throughout his many lives, his painfully long years. But he hadn’t. He realized Rose Tyler had both of his hearts wholly within her possession, yet rather than satisfy himself with that love alone, he grew selfish. If he could not have her heart in return, he’d rather not know to whom, or how to that whom, she’d give it.

It was ironic. It was childish. It was stupid. 

He’d rather remain ignorant then wisen to the bitter truth he feared she’d tell. 

The Doctor’s stance relaxed, his arms falling from their defensive position before him. Instinctively, he stepped forward, closer, feeling more than a slight bit foolish.

“Is that right?” he asked her, searching her eyes for some of that enthralling sincerity, that intoxicating taste of affection she tended to spare him.

“Mmhm,” she hummed.

“No competition, then?”

“Yep.”

He smiled, and the sight of it visibly delighted her. She let him close that remaining distance, let him take her hand in his own. Once he did, Rose entwined their fingers together, naturally, effortlessly, as they were often wont to do.

She chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day,” she said.

“See what?”

“You. All pouty and jealous ‘cause I might wanna flirt a little. Y’know, I thought you’d just shrug or quip or something… Not notice. Not really.” Her smile faltered just barely, her gaze dropping down to their clasped hands. “I thought you’d let me go when you finally do, kick me out if it was gettin’ annoying, all that extra human baggage I’ll be dragging along. Befriend someone else and show them the stars instead.”

He squeezed her hand in reassurance. She lifted her eyes to meet his once again.

“I wouldn’t let go of you, Rose. Not because of that. Pack up and leave, your choice, but I’d never… You’re…” the Doctor trailed off, voice soft.

He would put up with her strays as often as she would like. He would guide them through the cosmos, brighten their dull eyes, and dip them through the potent mires of Time. Selfishly, he would bear every errant ache if he could just keep her a little longer. If he could hold her close to him—if he could carve his existence into her soul as vividly as she resides in his. 

“You’re…”

When he couldn’t finish, at a loss for a word that could ever possibly hope to describe what she meant to him, her lips twitched. “Replaceable?” she challenged, half jokingly, half not.

“No,” the Doctor shook his head. “Far from it, Rose Tyler. The complete opposite. One of a kind, you are.” 

Possessed by a whimsical, dangerously honest impulse, he raised their joined hands and turned them, elevating them level with his lips. Then, he pressed a gentle kiss to her fingertips.

“Priceless,” he whispered.

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. 

The feel of the Doctor’s lips upon her fingers lit her nerves alight, suddenly sensitive to the feather-light touch of slightly chapped skin, the careful curve of a caring smile. It made her swallow, capturing an escaping heartbeat in one heavy gulp.

When he looked at her like that, she could almost believe… And, oh, the look in his eyes… So focused. So familiar. So fond. 

Of her. 

Oh, God.

Priceless, he said. Priceless, and he’d somehow embedded a single word with the weight of millions.

Wariness crawled its way through her heart, hand-in-hand with the hope that forged it. “Don’t,” she said softly, weakly, before she could stop herself. “Don’t look at me like that.”

The fondness in the Doctor’s expression melded with concern, and Rose realized how she must have sounded. 

“Like what?” he asked. His breath tickled the flesh of her hand and she fought goosebumps. He didn’t let go of her.

“Like—Like you…” love me.

She blinked, then she shook her head once. To clear it. To rid herself of impossible ideas.

“Like you like me or somethin’,” she offered instead, shifting into a teasing smile and hoping to dispel the odd atmosphere between them. It wasn’t the best deflection, but it was the quickest thinking she could really do at the moment.

The Doctor had been jealous, and while it both pleased and frustrated her in equal measure, she knew it wasn’t anything more than a little misplaced anxiety. Worried about losing his companion, his good friend, and concerned for what that would mean for their adventures, he’d acted out. It reminded Rose of herself when she was younger, when she worried Shareen would forget all about her after hooking up with some new, exciting bloke she’d never met before.

The Doctor could be childish sometimes, as odd as it would seem. He encouraged childishness, madness, and youthful wonder in everyone he met, embodying all those aspects himself yet still somehow maintaining his hardened, war-torn visage. She loved that about him most of the time, loved every contradictory facet of who she’d come to know him as, but in this case… It hurt more than it ought.

Push and pull, it was—always was—with him. When he’d bring her close or say something brilliant enough to make her blush, Rose wasn’t sure if he was flirting for the hell of it, flirting because he meant it, or not even flirting at all.

Just like this very moment.

Instead of responding in kind to her lighthearted invitation for a bit of teasing, he remained solemn, his gaze never leaving hers.

“I do,” he said. “I think I like you a lot, Rose.”

The gravity behind his statement—the way the words left his mouth felt… different. It almost felt as if he was confessing something more than a simple, harmless liking.

Now she was the one who felt like a kid again.

“I do too,” she breathed. “Like you, that is.”

God, what was this conversation? He still had her hand lifted to his lips. Was she imagining it? The implications, the subtext? Does he know what he does to her?

They sounded like grade schoolers, but it didn’t matter. ‘Like’ was a lot easier to say than ‘love’. 

Even if he meant exactly what he said, she sure didn’t. She’d say anything at this point, because she felt a bit like a rag doll, all flopping about, with the words practically bursting through her seams. They coalesced in the most unwieldy places: heavy in her heart, circling through her head, dripping from her fingertips. “ Have you eaten?” they’d ask. “You feel okay?” they’d wonder. “Better with two,” they’d say. “You have me.”

All careful substitutions for the three words she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say.

“You sure?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Way sure.”

The Doctor shifted their hands once more, this time planting a hearty kiss on her knuckles. His eyes sparkled, pleased with her response. When he flashed that familiar grin, a little bit silly on that serious face of his, she knew something in the air had broken.

“Fantastic,” he beamed.

The tension was gone, the moment had passed, and all dismissed by that mercurial manner of his. He seemed reassured, past jealousy all but forgotten, ready to move on. He dropped her hand and straightened. 

That’s that. Problem solved. Issues voiced and feelings reaffirmed. He liked her, she liked him, and their friendship would never waver because they would not let flighty romances get in their way. 

Was that it?

“We good?” Rose found herself asking, slightly dazed.

“Never better,” the Doctor responded goodnaturedly. “I’m sorry. You were right, Rose. I’m a bit stubborn, but you showed me how-to. Good on you. Communication!” he laughed. “Should’ve bothered sooner.”

She watched him. Watched the way his figure seemed to angle toward her, watched the way his body language always invited her closer. That leather jacket looked warm. He wore a wool jumper this time around, in a subdued shade of maroon. Rose could imagine how it felt beneath her fingers.

He started saying something again, but she was too busy thinking. Unlike the other times she was left to recover, heart woefully racing because of him, for him, she couldn’t let this go. Not that easy. No.

He asked her something, and when she didn’t answer, he turned to her with caring, engaging eyes.

“Rose?”

There was only so much a girl could take. 

“Oh, screw it,” she growled. To hell with mixed signals. Rose Tyler grew up going with her gut, and her mum was always waxing poetic about listening to her heart. If the Doctor hadn’t been so special, so unique in his alienness, she would’ve done something ages ago, in the name of everything he made her feel.

Ignoring the confusion rapidly overtaking his expression, she slipped a hand under the Doctor’s leather jacket, hauling him to her with a firm tug at his waist. Then, she snaked her hands across his torso, palms gliding over the wool upon his chest and lingering, lovingly, over the double beat of his pulse. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

They’ve hugged before. They’ve even been squeezed tight in enclosed spaces, heart-to-hearts, lungs heaving together as they shared adrenaline-fueled breaths. This closeness wasn’t new.

But the intimacy was.

The Doctor stood rigid beneath her, frozen in shock. The fact wasn’t strong enough to discourage, as she had a mind to see things through, but it made her skin warm with something other than attraction, pierced her determination with anxiety.

Slowly—giving him plenty of time to recoil in disgust, to pull away, to push her off of him—she rose upon her tiptoes and leant her weight upon his. Inch by inch, their faces drew nearer. 

She watched him watch her, both of them thoroughly entranced, until their lips met in a halting kiss.

Jack considered leaving. He really did. Hell, he was all for giving a(n extremely repressed) newfound couple some privacy, but… Damn.

You’d be hard pressed to find a melodrama as good as their conversation anywhere in the universe, for crying out loud, so he’d settled down in an armchair and just let it play out. Time how long it would take until they realized he was still there. Relax a bit. Rubberneck, maybe. 

No, not maybe. Definitely.  

They probably forgot he was present eons ago. Soon as the Doc got off his pert butt and started making a run for it once again, good ol’ Jack faded off into the wallpaper. Or he would, if the TARDIS had wallpaper.

Jack grinned. It was great. He was truly, honestly happy for them.

He watched with rapt attention when they went head-to-head and unabashed fascination when they clung to each other. He also marveled at Rose’s tenacity, ever her heartfelt supporter, when she surged forward into the Doctor’s arms.

When they finally kissed… Jack almost couldn’t believe it. When that kiss evolved into something considerably less tentative, less exploratory, and more passionate… He started questioning reality.

The Doctor remained unresponsive for a solid second or two before the tantalizing press of Rose’s soft lips finally coaxed him into action. His arms, then, quickly lifted to wrap around her, pressing her even more firmly against the wall of his body. Jack could see the Doctor’s disbelief in the way his fingers dug into the fabric of her sweater, the way they trembled to touch her in ways he’d never before allow. Palpable desire colored the air of the little bubble they’ve enclosed themselves within, and the soft sound of their increasingly labored breathing served as the soundtrack to the cathartic discovery of their hidden love.

Rose toyed with the scruff of hair at the back of the Doctor’s neck as they deepened the kiss, the Doctor’s hand reaching up to cup her cheek, his long fingers breaching through her blonde tresses as he tilted her head for more access, fitting together perfectly, finally, completely. He took her bottom lip between his teeth to nibble upon gently, but Rose lost patience, tongue darting free to entice his own. The Doctor immediately gave in to the temptation and Rose made a sound akin to an odd, yet endearing, mix between a moan and a giggle.

On second thought… Maybe Jack should leave them be, after all. They didn’t look like they were close to stopping any time soon. He’d since stopped counting how much time had passed since they’ve forgotten him.

Jack sighed, rising carefully from the armchair as unobtrusively as possible, proud of his two wonderful friends. Regret had no place within him, for while he loved and desired them both, he supported the relationship between them even more. 

There was something there. Something special, something Jack himself would struggle to find. He could feel it—similar to a more concrete sort of intuition—whenever he caught them sneaking glances, sharing silly smiles, and luxuriating in the other’s presence. Despite the reluctance to confess the depth of their regard on either side, Jack knew better. It was precisely for this reason he had given up courting Rose Tyler long ago, perceiving with clear, insightful eyes precisely how impossible the task would prove.

She was spoken for, however silently.

The knowledge dipped the Doctor’s earlier jealousy in a vaguely comical sort of irony. 

Careful to avoid the amorous couple still quite passionately engaged in oral fisticuffs, Jack made his way to the door. He spared them one last glance for good luck, witnessed Rose in the midst of running her hands through the Doctor’s short-cropped hair, and… Wait, was she tugging on his ears? 

The Doctor let out a low, rumbling growl. 

Well then.

Jack wasn’t beyond admitting he’d wanted to hear that at some point, too. Atta girl, Rose.

Returning back to the task at hand, Jack turned the knob, ready to give them plenty enough privacy to—he chuckled to himself—really get down to business, should they come to require it.

He’d forgotten, however, that the doors in the TARDIS’ living quarters had a penchant for clicking when opened or shut. Only the Doctor ever really managed to exert the right amount of pressure, to twist his wrist in that perfect, practiced way that ensured the door a smooth, soundless swing. It was another one of the TARDIS’s many unique little quirks that spoke of both her age and character, granting her a sort of comforting, homey impression despite her power, her scientific capabilities. They were charming, gentle little flaws known to her passengers only through time spent aboard.

So, when Jack turned that tastefully, yet strangely, carved handle, the resulting clack hit his eardrums clear and clean.

He cringed. Then he turned.

The Doctor and Rose met his sheepish gaze with wide, dazed eyes. 

“J-Jack,” Rose managed, red-lipped and kiss-swollen. Her voice was husky, bearing a slight, seductive rasp prevalent despite her surprise.

The sound of it shot the Doctor with an eclectic array of emotions: satisfaction at having caused that in her, annoyance that it wasn’t his name she had spoken, desire at the sound of it, and confusion as to why their mouths were far enough apart to speak.

“Jack?” the Doctor echoed, equally surprised, equally breathless. Not quite there yet. 

Jack greeted them, poised mid-exit. “Heyyy… You lovebirds. Got it in one! It’s yours truly.” He might have chuckled but he looked contrite, almost, despite the fact that he wasn’t the one snogging—

The Doctor’s mind cleared. His Rose-tinted glasses slipped, plonking right off his nose.

He turned rapidly, back to the warm body pressed against him. There she stood, his companion, caressed lovingly in his arms, staring back at him. A mirror of his own astonishment. A very, very close mirror.

Oh.

Oh.

They drank in the sight of each other for a few more drunken drum beats, realization about what they’ve just done flooding through them like a shockwave. Rose’s sensuous, plush lips parted, perhaps to speak—

Jack cleared his throat. 

Their attention snapped back to him.

He observed their harried dispositions and smiled knowingly. “Well, you two clearly have other things you’d rather be doing! About time, if you ask me. Now, unless you want me to join in on the festivities—“ he shot them a cheeky wink—“I’m heading out. I’ll be in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, if you need me.”

Without waiting for a response from them, the Doctor watched as Jack opened the door completely and stepped through it. It clicked shut behind him. 

Then, just as fast, it swung back open. His head popped in, grinning. 

“And congratulations, you crazy kids! Don’t have too much fun without me,” he joked. Then, he closed the door once again.

The Doctor and Rose watched the entrance for a few more seconds, but it stayed shut for good. Slowly, gingerly, their eyes found each other once more.

“That… Was interesting,” she said.

“Yep,” the Doctor replied. He couldn’t help but observe her mouth, follow the shape of her lips as she spoke.

“He said congratulations.”

“He did, didn’t he?”

She nodded absently. “We… We should… Thank him sometime.”

“We should.”

“Not now, though.”

The Doctor shook his head. “No, definitely not…”

“What d’you think we should do instead, then?”

She pressed closer, bringing their faces near once again. He found himself doing much the same, bowing his head to meet her half way.

“I don’t know.”

“We could… Uh, we… could…”

Her breath tickled his nose. His breath tickled hers.

“Yes?”

Their gazes were dark and smoldering with intent. Her pupils were dilated, captivating little black holes that distorted gravity itself, drawing him closer and sucking his soul into them, claiming him, keeping him.

“We could… Do… This,” Rose finished, and they pushed forward at once, the both of them. 

Their mouths clashed together carelessly in another kiss, somehow even more desperate than the last. Born from the barely-concealed frustration of being interrupted, they lost themselves in each other for the second time. The Doctor groaned in satisfaction, sensing Rose sigh against him, before entangling their tongues in a sybaritic dance, indulging in her taste, her warmth. 

Rose began to shift. Intent on keeping them together, he shifted with her, all the superior Time Lord senses he allowed himself focused solely upon the woman in his arms. He vaguely registered their shuffling feet, his innate spatial awareness informing him that they were moving, before he felt something thump against his calves and he sank backwards, onto the couch. 

Their lips still locked, Rose fell with him. Her legs crowded his sides as she straddled him. The solid weight of her upon his lap proved euphoric, intoxicating. His hands slid to grasp her hips, his thumbs slipping beneath her sweater to land upon her soft, pliant skin and she moaned, a pleasing sound.

Oddly enough, that’s what did it. In sync, they pulled themselves apart with a gasp and she rested her forehead upon his own.

Her blonde hair framed the periphery of his vision like a curtain. Both of their chests were heaving. After a few beats of merely basking in each other’s presence, the Doctor broke the silence.

“Rose…” he said, voice hoarse.

“Doctor,” she whispered. 

She lifted her head to properly face him. The light glinted off her hoop earrings. 

“Rose,” he repeated, this time less throaty. Gaining coherence.

“Doctor,” she repeated as well, her tone slightly more amused.

He caught it, clearly, and a grin gradually began to blossom on his face. “Rose Tyler,” he beamed.

She matched him, grin for grin. “Doctor, er… Smith? The Doctor?” She paused, pouting. “Oh, s’not fair, you don’t have a last name.”

That tickled. Only a little bit, but it was enough. He chuckled, and that chuckle soon turned into laughter. She joined him, shoulders shaking with mirth, and they descended into a fit of giggles, clutching each other in their elation.

He was high, as high as he’s been in centuries. For the first time in far too long, surviving stopped being a curse. If living meant experiencing something as wondrous as this, he was glad to be alive, even if just for the moment.

He loved being with her.

Calming down, they righted themselves so they both sat up straight, although she seemed perfectly content to remain atop him. He was perfectly content to let her, honestly.

“You kissed me,” the Doctor said.

“Indeed I did, Doctor,” Rose smiled. “And you kissed back.”

“Best decision I’ve made yet.”

Rose nodded seriously. “I must concur.”

“Putting on airs?” he teased.

“Mm, nope,” she said. “The opposite. I’m losin’ my mind.”

“That good?”

Her smile turned impish. “You’re a great kisser, y’know. Oh,” she rolled her eyes, “I see that look. Don’t let it get to your head!”

“It got to yours,” he said, and if his pride bled a bit into his smile, well… 

She sighed in mock exasperation, but even that did little to dim the happy glow on her face. She hugged him. 

He hugged her back, his arms wrapping around her.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while now,” she whispered, nuzzling her nose into his neck.

“So did I.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He could feel her heartbeat against his chest. Her single, human heart. Beautiful, but so much weaker than his. Not built to last.

And with that, he remembered. 

Like harsh winter rain intruding upon a sultry summer day, his inhibitions slithered their way back within him. They were cruel little remnants of reality that clung to him like chains, sobering away his merriment.

“I didn’t want to scare you away,” he said.

She snorted. “Do I look like I’m running for my life right now, Doctor?”

“No, but you should be.”

His voice had changed. She pulled away. “Why would you say that?” she asked. Her brows knitted together, and the Doctor could see concern begin to replace her contentment. 

“I’m…” he began, but then he shook his head. Restarted. “You deserve better, that’s all.” 

Sensing the protest about to come his way, he made to elaborate. 

“Nine hundred years old. Nine hundred years of existence. And do you know what I’ve learnt?”

“What?”

“Everything comes and goes. ‘Nothing gold can stay,’ and you, Rose, shine the brightest, most beautiful gold I have ever seen.” He raised his right hand, gently brushing away stray strands, cupping her cheek. “I can’t promise us a future. Not together, not for long, and certainly not with your safety guaranteed. You deserve better than that. You deserve your human happily ever after, with someone who can stand by your side and stay.”

Her eyes glistened with moisture. “And that someone isn’t you?”

“No. Not me.”

“So, why? Why’ve you kept me around for this long? Why didn’t you scare me away?” Her voice was breaking, betraying her willfulness with its weakness. “Why did you let me kiss you?”

The Doctor let out a shaky breath. “A bit stupid, I am. No, more than a bit.” He dropped his hand, letting it fall to his side. Already, it longed to touch her once more. “It’s ‘cause I wanted to, Rose. Every minute I’m around you, even now, I want nothin’ more than to kiss you soundly and forget everything else. Even if it means I’ll… Even if it means it’ll be harder to let you go once I do.”

She ducked her head, resting it against his shoulder. Her own shoulders, tensed from her impromptu interrogation, slumped. “You called yourself stupid. That’s a first,” she told his jacket. “You like me that much, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Being with you… I’m the best I’ve been in years.”

“An’ you regret all this? ‘Cause it’ll break my heart?” 

“Yes.”

“Even if you’re happy when you’re with me?”

He paused. “Yes.”

“Then do it, Doctor.”

“What?”

“Do it. Break my heart.” She lifted her head off his shoulder and took his hand. Squeezed it. “If I have to let you go at some point, break my heart into mingy little pieces. Shatter it.”

“Excuse me?”

Fixing her gaze unto him, heavy, serious, laden with terrifying sincerity, she spoke: “You heard me. Take those little pieces of my heart and crush them under your feet, even. Go nuts. Make it so that I’ll never forget you. Be my greatest heartache, Doctor.”

She smiled sadly. Then, with her free hand, she gently eased the crease in his brow. 

“‘Cause I know I’ll be yours.”

He opened his mouth to deny her, but nothing came out. He could only find it in himself to listen, at a loss for words amidst the tumultuous emotions she excited within him.

“Or at least one of them, anyway. Blimey, you’ve got baggage,” Rose added teasingly. “Ah, but… As long as I’m here,” she promised, “you won’t have to carry it alone.”

He knew what she was doing. He knew what she was trying to say. It was too late, she meant; they’ve already fallen too far, irredeemably intertwining themselves in each other’s lives, turning their solitary red strings into a tangled ball of fate. No matter what they did, or when they would come to separate, they would mourn each other nonetheless. Now it was a matter of what they did in the meantime. How they spent their moments together before the universe finally finds it apt to pull them apart.

She wanted to go down swinging. She was prepared to pay the consequences. His mind echoed that realization over and over again.

Rose observed him, however, waiting for his response. After a few seconds, wherein he just stared at her, she started getting worried.

“Doctor?” she said, and it was the concern in her voice that finally did it, the affection that tinged the syllables with enchanting care. It was the lovely sound of her name upon his lips, something only Rose could create. 

Doctor.

He’d miss hearing it. He’d miss her.

Something in him gave. 

If he knew their time was short, he was going to take as much of her as he could. Drown himself in greed, allow himself this taste of happiness. It was forbidden knowledge, but they’ve come too far to feign ignorance. He would believe in her, heedless of the price to pay.

His Rose. Salvation with a sacrifice.

Silently, he took her face in both his hands and guided it down toward his own. As tenderly as he could manage, he conveyed his resolution with a press of their lips. A promise sealed with a kiss. 

This kiss lacked the urgency that characterized the last two, and instead of igniting her hunger, the Doctor felt her melt against him, hopeful, at ease. No longer did they fumble for each other with eager hands or devour each other with a heady sigh; every touch remained a reverent caress, mouths bestowing wordless assurances upon the other.

The Doctor broke away only to place one last devoted kiss on her cheek, his hands finding their place upon her hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the favor, eyelashes fluttering against his skin like dark butterfly wings.

“You have a way of surprising me,” he whispered. “Sayin’ the strangest things.”

“I could say the same about you, Mr. Alien Man,” she chuckled.

“Oh, but that’s different. That’s just me bein’ clever.”

“Maybe,” she said. She gave him his customary ‘whatever floats your ego-boat’ look before shifting into something a little more serious, questioning. “But really, Doctor. Does this mean what I think it does? ‘Cause if it doesn’t, and you just gave me the sweetest kiss in my life, ever, just to reject me—“

“Yeah, it does,” he interrupted with a small laugh. “I give in. You won me over. ‘M all yours.”

Relief washed through her. “Yeah?” she smiled.

“Absolutely. Rose Tyler, I…” 

The Doctor trailed off. Took a breath. Let the humor fall from him. 

He had to say this right, with just the right amount of gravity, with enough certainty that she wouldn’t question his sincerity. Moving to stroke her hair and watching the soft strands flow from his fingers, he finally allowed his affection for her to completely seep past his defenses, radiate from his very being.

It manifested in the words he spoke.

“I love you,” he said.

Rose… froze.

Finely attuned to her, the Doctor could hear her breath catch, sense her pulse quicken. She sat rigid and her arms tightened imperceptibly behind him, as if she hadn’t expected him to ever confess it at all. Her open expression revealed to him the obvious question running through her head: had she heard correctly?

He smiled tenderly. 

“Rose, I love you,” he tried again. “I love you very, very much.”

It was like everything came unlocked. She blinked once at him, before sagging against him with a lung-deep exhale.

She ducked her head, chuckling breathlessly, incredulously.

“I’ve wanted to hear that—I thought—with all your moaning, I thought it’d take you longer,” she stumbled. Then, she exhaled again, her cheeks pink. “God, Doctor, I wasn’t ready for that. Reckon I’d have to wait, y’know, ‘cause, ‘cause… Sayin’ it makes it all…”

“Real?”

“Yeah,” Rose laughed. “Makes it more. More than a bit of snoggin’. I thought you’d be afraid.”

His eyes sparkled with joy. “I’m going all in, Rose. All or nothing, with you.”

“Goin’ out with a bang?” she offered, grinning.

“Exactly. We’re goin’ out with a bang, you and me.”

“God, finally,” she said. Then she pulled back, her arms outstretched between them. Her voice turned soft.

“I love you too,” she beamed.

They really did find Jack in the kitchen. He was sitting there by the table, chewing on a banana with his nose in a book, hot cup of coffee within reach. By the looks of it, he’d even finished some buttered toast.

Thankfully enough, it wasn’t hard to reach him. A quick mental once-over revealed to the Doctor that the TARDIS was content and the rooms were located where they were meant to be. The labyrinth was no more, much to his companions’ relief, and that vague sense of disapproval his ship had been constantly sending his way for the last forty-and-a-half hours abated.

When Jack saw them, he greeted them with wide arms and a suggestive grin. “Why, if it isn’t my favorite couple!” he exclaimed grandly, emphasis on the word ‘couple’.

Rose giggled and the Doctor rolled his eyes goodnaturedly, before they both thanked him for his discretion and caught him up on their plans. 

They were thinking about stopping at one of those resort planets the Doctor mentioned before, and they wanted Jack’s final opinion on which one. It was an opportunity to let loose. Relaxation Plan B to stave off labyrinth-induced cabin fever. The Doctor, a little guiltily, proposed they try the ‘stay-at-home’ option another time.

After they made their choice (a tropical little dwarf planet with pastel sand, decadent fruit, and a rousing nightlife), they filtered into the console room. There, the Doctor spotted his lost sonic screwdriver poised innocently on the jump seat, almost as if he’d simply left it behind. Casually picking it up and slipping it into his pocket, he thanked his precious timeship and set their flight into motion.

If their landing was a bit softer than they expected that time around, well, who knows? Perhaps the Doctor’s good mood attributed to his driving skills. Perhaps the TARDIS was feeling kind.

The pair lingered behind, allowing Jack to walk ahead of them and eagerly, yet cautiously, peek through the doors. Grabbing Rose’s hand, the Doctor smiled at her and catalogued her answering grin into memory. She was going to have fun, and he would make sure of it. Not just on this one trip, either, but for every single trip to come, now and forever, for as long as forever would allow. Be it for the rest of her life or the next few months, he would leave her smiling, even if it meant giving all of himself to guarantee it.

He swore, with or without him in it, Rose Tyler was going to have a fantastic life.

#ficandchips #dwfic #ninth doctor x rose tyler #nine x rose #ninth doctor #rose tyler #doctor who #ninerose #I'll admit I'm super nervous abt this lol #as of rn this is the longest fic I've ever written #formatting this on tumblr was hell #I still don't know if I did this right and I bet you when I release this I'll find like 50 errors #EDIT: I KNEW IT. IT DOESN'T FORMAT CORRECTLY ON MOBILE BRB STRANGLING THIS HELLSITE #my fics

[alfyrion]

The Birdman of Katolis

So, every other post I see is about whether or not Harrow is dead. I’m really hoping that this one lays all those posts to rest since it is canon that he’s alive. Below, I’m going to tell you, in detail so we can end this, why he’s the bird. (Be warned, this is a little long.)

First off, just going to point this out since this is the biggest sign that it’s actually canon. Viren openly mocks the bird. It’s a bird. No matter what attachment Harrow had to it, there’s no reason for Viren to stop what he’s doing, delay his coronation to mock a bird unless it housed the soul of the king. If he hadn’t stopped to mock this bird, Amaya wouldn’t have stopped him in time, and he would be king right now.

We know that he likes to mock his prisoners because he did it with Gren.

And like he did with Runaan because he’s just a nice guy like that.

And weirdly enough, the bird emotes more. The bird looks honestly hurt and betrayed by Viren’s words. It also feels the need to maintain eye contact with Viren through the entire conversation.

Then after Viren’s remark, it turns its head to the side, more as if it’s responding haughtily to Viren, which is backed up by Viren’s sneer that it was the action.

Before this moment, it would turn its head more randomly, not maintain eye contact for long periods of time, and didn’t seem to understand conversations as it stared off blankly into space. It’s not acting the same way anymore.

Next, there’s the rule of Chekhov’s Gun:  "If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there." Which we have in the form of the snake.

We first see it when Viren comes in to tell Harrow that he found a way to save Harrow’s life and is utterly convinced that this will work to fool the bands. He’s not fifty percent sure or ninety. He KNOWS this will save his life.

Then we get to the night and Viren makes his way to the king’s chambers with the basket in tow. In his talk with Soren before he enters, he makes it clear that he’s going to give his life to save Harrow since he makes it clear that it’s something that might upset Soren in the end.

Finally, we get to THE scene. The one where Harrow and Viren talk for the last time. Viren walks in with the snake basket then tries again. It’s not going well with Harrow angrily rebuffing him, but then the bird lands on Harrow’s shoulder. It hits him that he doesn’t need to sacrifice himself since the bird is there.

Also, Viren has clearly snapped at this point. You see on his face that he’s come to a decision. That isn’t the face of a man who is just going to walk away.

Then he comes out without the basket. There’s no way Harrow would just let him keep it in there. Also, we’re never shown Harrow or his reaction to the fight, probably because he’s trapped as a bird right now.

After that, Callum starts laying down the harsh truths when Viren decides to steal his voice. Yeah, the creators said stealing Callum’s voice was always a part of the plan, but he didn’t know Callum would be there since it was assumed he’d be heading to the winter lodge. He was planning on doing that later. Yet, he just so happens to have some voice stealing ingredients on him.

Then remember what he said to the bird? He asks it mockingly why it doesn’t sing for him. That’s because it can’t since it doesn’t have a voice.

So now we get to the scene where the moonshadow elves rush in and fight all the guards to try to get to the king. All four of them rush in, including Runaan and pretty much take the guards by storm.

Skip a couple of scene to Runaan killing “Harrow”. There are a couple things extremely wrong with this scene. Such as the other three assassins are missing. We can see the leg of one elf in the background while Runaan is limping out to the balcony, but the rest aren’t here. You would think the others would be there with Runaan if they were okay, and we know they didn’t go after Ezran since we never see them again.

Most likely, they were turned into coins since we have three missing elves and three coins that are underneath Runaan, but it’s still odd that they were captured, if they were, since they were overpowering the guards.

On top of that is the fact that Runaan isn’t in his illusionary form and is gravely injured. When we last left them, there were five elves who had the upper hand since no one could see them in the darkness, except three are missing/captured, one is presumably dead, and the other is extremely wounded. He shouldn’t have a single injury, except he does.

Of course, it’s not all that strange when you realize that the guards who are on Viren’s side can see them perfectly. You can tell because this guard ducks and easily dodges a blade strike from Runaan.

And if you watch Soren, you can see through the entire fight that he’s not swinging blindly and is making direct eye contact with the elven fighters.

It becomes especially obvious here when they’re cornered and the other elf comes to attack. Soren watches them approach then catches the blade with one hand while keeping Runaan at bay with the other.

Then there’s something else that’s strange. We see them try to get through the door, only problem is that it’s locked, though that doesn’t stop them from continuing to attempt to fight their way through.

We are shown that they eventually get into the room, but that means for some reason, they’d have had to abandon their fight with the guards, jump out a window, and then scale to the balcony where a dozen archers were waiting. Except, if you notice, the door hasn’t been forced open and there’s a guard slumped against it, meaning that they had to do the balcony move. 

Only there’s no forced entry on the balcony doors either. Also, the guards are slumped oddly. The one on the balcony slumped against would’ve died closer to the edge as they would be fighting forward. Then the second one fell with his head against the balcony. If they came over the sides to attack, he’d be facing the other way.

Also, the room behind Runaan is spotless despite all the dead guards. Nothing is broken or out of place. It’s exactly as we saw it previous scenes. If there was a serious struggle, the room would be in pieces.

So, why wouldn’t Harrow defend himself against severely injured elves? Why wouldn’t the guards fight to their fullest capacity? Because almost everyone was already dead when they got there.

How were they already dead and what does this have to do with the bird? Glad you asked. I’d like to start with shifty Viren and the way he just squeezed out of the door, not letting anyone see what’s behind him as he left. Yes, that’s right. Viren killed almost everyone and staged the scene.

Let’s start with the guards. If they saw what Viren did to the king, they’d try to stop him or arrest him. And I’m sure they did, which is why they were dead and arranged by the time Runaan got there. Look, you can see them all here, and they all are taller than the balcony.

Except then night falls after Viren’s visit and we’re greeted to this scene. There’s no one there even though we can clearly see guards on the other towers. This is because they’re already dead and arranged so he can pin his crime on the elven assassins.

But what did Viren do with the bird and Harrow? He didn’t walk out with either one of them. That’s because he didn’t have to. Since he stole Harrow’s voice, he didn’t have to worry about him warning anyone. Notice Pip’s stand in the center of all the guards?

Well, after Viren’s visit, it’s gone. All Viren would have to do is chain Harrow to the stand and the bird could remain in the room, out of harm’s way with no way to alert anyone that something was wrong. It’s also a bit morbid, because that means Harrow watched his own murder.

All that leaves is Pip. How do you get Pip to act like a human? You don’t. You turn off the lights and shut the door, hoping that he goes to sleep. As you can see when Runaan looks at it, the lights are off while the door is closed, even though previously it was open so Pip could fly in and out.

If you remember, Pip sleeps like a log. He doesn’t wake up until Viren throws open the curtains to wake up Harrow in the beginning. So, Viren would know if Runaan was stealthy enough, he’d kill the bird in its sleep without ever waking it up.

Then there’s the fact that Viren is gone while Soren and all the other guards were late to the party despite the fight going on right outside of the door and the complete quiet as Runaan makes his way towards the edge of the balcony. That makes everything seem planned.

Also, before I move onto my next point. Out of ALL the birds they could’ve used to be the shadow that delivered the message, the animators decided to use one that looked exactly like Pip.

So, I know now someone is going to go “But the band! It only falls off if HARROW is dead!” Nope, sorry. Wrong. That’s a moonshadow band. It’s base magic is illusion. The definition of illusion: “perception of something objectively existing in such a way as to cause misinterpretation of its actual nature”. That means that moonshadow magic is about perception, not facts.

What does this mean though and how does it apply here? The bands work because the user perceives the intended target without a shadow of a doubt as dead. It’s why they have to go do the killing themselves. One of them has to witness the death so that their perception will change and the magic woven into the band changes.

We see the first use of illusion magic after they discover that the human guards are coming and Runaan breaks his necklace.

The elves’ camp never actually goes anywhere. Instead, it makes them all look like trees, because that’s literally what he said when he invoked the illusion.

It just changes the guards’ perspectives to not see them, and when they look in, they only see a forest as that’s what the illusion told them they’d find.

Then, as soon as the last guard leaves, the illusion wears off since there is no one’s perception that they need to alter any longer.

The moonshadow “invisibility” is also an illusion. It only makes people think that they don’t see them rather than having them disappear, which is why they have a slight physical form. The full moon helps strengthen their magic, so it’s easier to manipulate someone without the use of the pendant that they can’t see them.

This is further backed up as we learn more about illusion magic on the mountain. Like Rayla feels the leeches rushing over her, even though they’re not real. It’s because her mind is telling her that it’s real.

We also see them having trouble with the spider webs that aren’t actually there and Rayla cuts through the wrappings of the mummy, feeling her knife slice through as she cuts.

And there’s Ava, who looks like she has four legs, appears to run as if she has four legs, and everyone can feel a paw that isn’t actually there.

That brings us to the band and Rayla’s band. As you can see, all the bands were originally one string. That’s why there can be six of them instead of one of them. Just one has to succeed and kill their target. It wouldn’t make sense for all of them to see the body. Also, you can see that’s not a flesh or blood spell, since they don’t use any material to lock onto the person, meaning it’s all mental. If Rayla had killed Callum, it might have actually worked since she believed that he was Ezran.

There’s the scene where Ezran falls through the ice. She uses her band as a reason he’s still alive. He is, but that’s not the reason is doesn’t fall off. 

Rayla doesn’t see Ezran’s body, so a small part of her hopes that he’s still alive, never completing the requirements for the band to turn red. And if she honestly believed he was dead then she wouldn’t have stopped to look for a reason that Ezran was alive.

You might think that her hand turning purple and hurting is proof, except it’s not. The band is telling her brain that her arm is getting weaker, so it does. It changes color because that’s how it’s supposed to look when you don’t kill the person you were hired to kill. The band never grows any tighter, just the illusion and pain increases as time goes on.

But despite growing worse by the day, there’s never a “What’s happening to your hand!?” moment, even though the bruising is clearly noticeable. But watching the scene where they’re on ice, you can see her reflection that the bruises on her hand just aren’t there. It’s a hint that it’s an illusion.

Then after Zym pulls off the wristband, her hand instantly returns to its regular color, which further confirms that this was in fact an illusion.

We do get a snide comment from Viren when he has Runaan prisoner, but he has to take in the arm twice and then squint before he realizes that there’s something up with it. Also, if you’re this far, you already know that Viren has spells that can see illusions from my previous points, so it isn’t a surprise that he takes the time to comment on it.

And if you’re wondering about Runaan and the mirror, we, the audience, never see his reflection ourselves. All times we look in, we’re looking in as or with Runaan, so it’s always through his perspective, which is why we can’t see through the illusion.

Finally, the reason why Zym can pull the band off and she can’t even cut it? Because the illusion never told him that he couldn’t. So it comes off fairly easily when he decides to tug on it. In fact, Zym is the only one we see other than Rayla attempt to remove it since Callum and Ezran trust Rayla at her word that it can’t be cut by regular means.

So, in conclusion, Harrow isn’t dead and I really hope that was able to prove it. Also, thanks to @cheritsundere again for the hq pics. And if you liked this meta, please check out my other metas!

#the dragon prince #harrow tdp #viren tdp #runaan tdp #meta tdp #my metas #tdp spoilers #long post #alex posts

[jacquerel]

I played Fiasco with Sol and my two sisters today and we had a good time

We were playing with a Star Trek themed playbook, as it was something both my sisters would be familiar with (we decided not to go with Muppets or X-Files).

Sol was Security Chief Vi Quartro, star trek alien which is essentially a human with a prehensile tail I was First Officer Flash Branson, star trek alien which is essentially a human but they always wear sunglasses Carys was Captain Neurocognate, a human who graduated from “sunfleet” with flying colours Emma was Zolgo, Ambassador for the Zolgan Empire, a large furby with extendable arms

Vi Quartro and Zolgo had a relationship of Security Officer/Petty Criminal, as Zolgo's chief desire was to acquire additional wealth for the Zolgan empire, they met up occasionally in the gym Flash Branson and Vi Quartro were both contestants vying for the same job (Captain), who also shared a valuable alien fish who lives in their shared quarters Captain Neuro and First Officer Branson were Captain and First Officer, who collectively needed to make the profit of a lifetime Zolgo and Captain Neuro were "a blunderer and repairer", in that Captain Neuro is a very bad captain but Zolgo needs to help them maintain their position because they have influence over Neuro, in the form of a "mind-linking device"

The first scene is the Captain, Security Chief, and First Officer meeting to discuss the recent diplomatic talks with the Zolgans (which ended with Zolgo joining the crew as a permanent ambassador) where Vi mentions that some things have been going missing aboard ship lately, and both Vi and Flash notice that the Captain is acting erratically and begin thinking of personal advancement

Zolgo and the Captain meet privately, where it is revealed that Zolgo is sending weird visions to Neuro through an alien earpiece which Neuro believes are her own thoughts, in order to try to manipulate her into redirecting funds to the Zolgan empire. The Captain feels a "strange connection" to Zolgo and essentially believes that they are in love

Flash retires to his personal quarters and considers how much money he could sell he and Vi's rare fish for, in order to accomodate the Captain's sudden wishes for additional funds, but Vi walks in and the two have a tense conversation about what he was doing

Zolgo and Vi meet up coincidentally while they are working out in the gym, and Vi tries to wrestle with her suspicions that the alien ambassador might be behind some recent thefts (especially as this scene establishes their culture as being largely wealth-centric, in comparison to Vi’s culture which values physical performance and honour) but also wonders if maybe she’s just alien racist Zolgo is using the monkey bars under 12x gravity. Zolgo tries to probe Vi to find out where the crew keep the large stores of treasure they surely have, but Vi lies and says that it is kept in the Captain’s Office (while there actually isn’t any treasure at all) in hopes of tricking Zolgo into doing something obviously untoward.

We flash forward to Vi and Flash out on a mission (on a planet which looks suspiciously like a quarry in Wales) to track down information about a galactic fugitive known as “Onyxfinger”. Vi uses the opportunity for privacy to take Flash aside and try to ask if Flash agrees that Zolgo is supicious, but Flash believes that Vi is trying to manipulate him into making false accusations against the important diplomat so that Vi will replace the Captain when they convince the Captain to take a health break (she is complaining of regular headaches, induced by the mind-linking device)

also two redshirts die in the background while they’re talking

Flash meets up with Zolgo in the space bar (its spherical and has no gravity, run by a startender (star bartender) who is also spherical) where it is established that the ship is called the SES Cool Tapes, because all Sunfleet vessels are named by public poll and they tend to give frivolous answers Flash manages to offend Zolgo multiple times as he attempts to cozy up to Zolgo so that he can take over the captain’s diplomatic job later, but repairs relations by showing off his valuable fish and thus establishing himself as someone with wealth and power They establish a relationship, and Flash hints that if he had more power over the funding he might be able to set up a breeding program for his valuable fish

The Captain starts to misinterpret Zolgo’s mental conditioning, and rather than desiring “more wealth, for the Zolgans” begins desiring “more Zolgan wealth, for me, the captain”, and propositions that Zolgo and Flash both go on an expedition back to Zolgan space (which they only left about a week ago) to bring back some Zolgan wealth in order to improve the standing of the ship. Flash’s reluctance to leave the ship (and thus have less chance of becoming Captain) only earns suspicion from the increasingly paranoid Captain.

Zolgo and Flash, now on board one of the ship’s smaller landing vessels (The Runaway) alongside two disposable ensigns, decide to ignore their orders and divert course to return to the planet of the fugitive Onyxfinger, on account of the fact that Flash is an abysmal diplomat who is constantly offending Zolgan customs and that Onyxfinger has a valuable item (his Onyx Finger) which Zolgo wants, ostensibly as a bargaining chip with the Zolgans but actually because they just want it

The tilt introduces “A stupid plan, executed flawlessly”, and “A fantastic chase”

Vi and the Captain reconvene on the bridge, and oddly with Zolgo off the ship the Captain is feeling somewhat clearer of head. Vi is concerned with the direction they are heading and would rather continue to pursue their original mission with Onyxfinger, and the Captain reluctantly agrees (though takes rapid offence at Vi’s implication that her headaches began at the same moment that the Zolgan contingent arrives, because she still believes that they are a flawless people). The scene ends as they discover that The Runaway has diverted course back to Onyxfinger’s planet already.

Zolgo and Flash create a cunning plan mid-firefight, in which Zolgo will pretend to sell Flash to Onyxfinger as leverage and then they will use this opportunity to steal what they can and get out of there (Flash being more of an action hero kind of First Officer than one with particular dedication to Sunfleet’s diplomatic values), meanwhile both of their ensigns are disintegrated

We flash forward to Vi and the Captain, who have also landed on the planet, in negotiation with the criminal Onyxfinger, who claims that he only raids nearby space traffic because his quarry planet has little arable land and they have nothing to eat, his species’ intimidating look (with 12 mouths and 8 sets of barbed mandibles per mouth) makes people unwilling to deal with them, and besides they have little to trade except rocks. Stealing from nearby ships (mostly Zolgan) allows them to trade with the Zolgan empire for food in order to survive. This convinces Vi that they should show leniency, but the Captain is driven into a frenzy by the fact that Onyxfinger is badmouthing the Zolgans (with whom she has become re-infatuated, now that she is on the same planet as Zolgo again) and the scene ends as she pulls out a gun and shoots someone.

We flash backwards for a dream that the Captain had while napping off a headache in the SES Cool Tape’s second lander (the Starseeker) where she dreams about having a romantic dinner with Zolgo. During this conversation Zolgo is introduced to the concept of ice cream, and we learn that Zolgo is only a larval form and that when they reach full adulthood they  will look... mostly the same, but 1/3rd the size (the size of a real life furby). Zolgo finds it strange that humans actually get larger as they age, rather than smaller. The intention of this dream from Zolgo’s side is to instil in the Captain a sense that she should sacrifice herself for the Zolgan people (to make way for Flash, who is helping Zolgo more efficiently), and the dream ends as a gunman tries to shoot Zolgo, the Captain jumps in the way, and Zolgo reassures her as she dies (and the gunman dies of sudden cardiac arrest) that she made the right decision, leading to her frantic behaviour in the previous scene.

Vi and the Captain are in a frantic battle with Onyxfinger’s forces, as Vi fights with three swords (one in her tail) and tries to persuade Onyxfinger that they can still end this peacefully. Onyxfinger retorts that the Captain opened fire, and that he will happily negotiate in peace if only Vi shoots the Captain first. Vi cannot bring herself to do it and is gravely wounded by Onyxfinger, but Captain Neuro uses this opportunity to fatally shoot him, and due to Vi’s hesitation is now entirely trusting of her. The Captain drags Vi to the Starseeker, from which they see the Runaway already taking off back towards the SES Cool Tapes.

We flash backwards a little more to Zolgo and Flash also negotiating with Onyxfinger, but more successfully. Zolgo manages to convince Onyxfinger that having Flash will allow Onyxfinger to negotiate with Sunfleet for food, in exchange for stopping his raids on the Zolgans, which makes everyone happy. All that Onyxfinger has to do is help Zolgo replace Captain Neuro with Flash so that he can speak in Onyxfinger’s favour with Sunfleet, meaning that in the previous scene Onyxfinger was never negotiating in good faith and simply wanted Vi to shoot Captain Neuro so that Flash could become Captain in her place.

Now begins a chase to see who makes it back to the SES Cool Tapes first, with one ship containing Vi and Captain Neuro, while the other contains Zolgo, Flash, and a lot of treasure “liberated” from Onyxfinger. None of the other crew who accompanied either team survived, apart from Cyber-Worf, an android who is the only competent member of the bridge team and whose engineering work allows the Starseeker to keep pace even though the Runaway had a pretty big head start.

Unfortunately, Zolgo and Flash are the first to reach the mothership, and Flash announces over the ship communicator that Captain Neuro has executed someone without trial in clear breach of Sunfleet protocol and as a result, that he is taking command of the ship until an inquest can be performed into Neuro’s erratic behaviour.

While moving into his new office (and replacing the captain’s fish tank with his own), Flash finds Zolgo rooting around looking for the treasure that Vi promised would be in there but which obviously doesn’t actually exist. While trying to find out where the treasure actually is, Zolgo learns that there isn’t any, but also that Flash plans to just leave the treasure they took from Onyxfinger locked up in the Runaway, with the reasoning that “it’s pretty well locked up and barely anyone knows how to fly that thing anyway”.

Then it’s time for conclusions!

Chief Vi Quartro got a Black 9 (”Nothing to write home about”) Flash Branson got a White 8 (”Nothing to crow about”) Captain Neuro got a Black 2 (”Brutal”) Zolgo got a White 11 (”Pretty good”)

Chief Quartro spends some time recovering from her wounds in the med-bay, and is promoted to acting first officer by acting captain Flash, but finds herself wondering what would have gone differently if she had just shot the Captain herself. Eventually she requests transfer to a new ship, and aboard the SES Wyldstyle finds herself once again entangled with the machinations of the Zolgan empire. This time, if the situation comes up, she’s ready to kill her boss.

Flash Branson spends some time luxuriating in his new role of Captain, but is unable to enjoy it for too long as eventually Sunfleet bureaucracy catches up and he must return to his old role in favour of a new Captain, fresh-faced and straight out of the academy. He spends his last moments in the camera staring into his fish tank and musing about how he can possibly manage this a second time.

Zolgo absconds with all of the treasure in the Runaway, but the ship is blasted by gunfire and most of the loot is lost before they can make it back to Zolgan space. Nevertheless, they arrive in the capital with the Onyx Finger and also the new concept of “ice cream”, upon which they become powerful and important. Eventually Zolgo is reassigned as diplomat to another species (the same species as Vi Quartro) and lives to an old age there. The last shot of Zolgo is set far in the future, where they are now the size of your average Furby, and are sending back new culinary discoveries from the planet of Vi’s people to the Zolgan empire.

Captain Neuro is fired from Sunfleet and her life collapses entirely. She drinks and sleeps and does little else, apart from scratch the itch from the Zolgan earpiece she is still wearing. The visions she is receiving grow stronger and stronger and eventually she finds herself living entirely through Zolgo and experiencing their life instead of her own. Unfortunately, Zolgo’s feelings of achievement and satisfaction are not mirrored across their link, and Neuro is left alone and bereft.

We had a good time! I would do it again, maybe at Christmas.

#Fiasco

[virtuissimo]

Pride by Ibi Zoboi (Review)

This book is a modern retelling of the Jane Austen’s seminal classic Pride & Prejudice. Zuri Luz Benitez is a black Haitian-Dominican teenager in her senior year of high school whose identity is constructed around her life in Bushwick, a neighborhood with a tight community that is going through aggressive gentrification. Across the street, in one of the new gentrified houses, the Darcy family moves in, including twins Ainsley and Darius, two rich private-school boys sticking out like a fish out of water.

Zoboi’s adaptation creates amazing parallels when compared one-to-one with P&P, but it can’t hold its own very well. The writing is a simplistic and the characterization for most of the named characters is extremely one-dimensional. I was taken a bit by surprise when I found it in the youth section, and the simple writing makes me confused about the age of the intended audience. In any case, I didn’t have a bad time reading this, but I was expecting a lot more than I got.

To expand a little on the intended audience, I think my confusion is mostly because of the conflicting styles. On one hand, Zoboi’s prose is very simple and almost hamfisted in how she handles her characters and story. Other than some nice and age-appropriate poetry from Zuri herself, the rest of the book isn’t very elegant in writing quality. So I said to myself, ok I found it in the youth section. It’s intended for a younger audience. However, all the central characters are in their senior year of high school, and there are numerous allusions to sex and cusses that I’m not sure would fly in middle fiction. I think those who are in this reading level will find the characters too old and teenagery, while those who are the main character’s ages will find the prose to be lacking. Zuri in specific is a voracious reader, and she herself would not have the patience to enjoy reading this book which is far below her reading level.

It’s easier to read this book for what it’s supposed to be saying rather than what it is saying, if that makes any sense. For instance, Darius when he first shows up is quiet and doesn’t offer much information about himself, but he also wasn’t very rude or belligerent upon first impression. I know “prejudice” is half the thing, but Zuri really jumps the gun and kind of started the whole feud in the first place. It just wasn’t that believable that he was some jerk who deserved her hatred like it was with Elizabeth Bennet, and similarly it wasn’t very believable when she later learns that she just misinterpreted his social awkwardness.

Also, I thought it was interesting that the title removed the “prejudice” when to me that seemed like a much bigger aspect of this version than in Austen’s work. For instance, Darius makes a number of disparaging remarks about Bushwick and its “ghetto” people, but even before he makes these remarks Zuri already “hates” him based on stuff she made up about him in her head. And then later, when they begin to get closer, she actually never confronts him about his prejudice and just. Forgives and forgets.

She also forgives and forgets when it comes to Ainsley and Janae. This bothered me a lot more than some of my other nitpicking because it actually changes one of the important themes of P&P. Not that Zoboi doesn’t have the right to alter thematic elements—she absolutely does! But the theme of family and the fact that Zuri would do ANYTHING for her sisters is told to the reader through a lot of exposition, but we don’t actually see it. The moment in the car when she finds out that Darius split up Ainsley and Janae is really representative of that for me. She got angry in the moment, but she never actually investigates to find out WHY he did it like Elizabeth in P&P. On that note, later on when she forgives him, she never asks him to account for it again.

In fact, character motivation and appropriate emotional buildup was a recurring issue in this book. Nothing hit quite like I think Zoboi intended them to.

The talk on gentrification and class difference is good tho. Perhaps incomplete, but there’s only so much space. They really show how class plays a role in a variety of different circumstances and scenarios, and I think Zoboi succeeds here where others have failed.

Some of the parallels that I liked:

-          Warren and Colin took me OUT when they first appeared. You can really see what Zoboi thinks about Mr. Wickham and Mr. Collins from the original lol.

-          The tour of Howard instead of touring the Darcy home was very interesting to me. I think it was a great introduction to how she wasn’t expecting her world to expand so much, and that there’s a lot of different experiences in the world that she’s missing, and she gets introduced to this idea by people who AREN’T Darius and Ainsley. I really liked that.

-          The leopard print and “inappropriate dress” that the Benitez family wore to the Darcy cocktail party. It seems like a good way to show how respectability politics still play into the modern day, and it added a bit of character to the Benitez family as a prototypical Latinx family that I really enjoyed.

-          The Warren and Georgia situation was also a good way to translate this into the modern day.

-          P&P: In order to avoid scandal, Darcy pays for a marriage between a 16 year old and a 20-something known scumbag, and this is seen as a good thing because it saved the Bennet family. Zoboi’s Pride: Darius beats the shit out of Warren. I REALLY CRIED, THIS IS WHAT I WANT OUT OF AN ADAPTATION.

Things I didn’t like so much:

-          Ainsley x Janae is treated like a veeery minor side story instead of being a secondary plot. One of the big things in P&P is that Jane and Bingley are the prototypical pure love story and they think they are the main characters. Ainsley and Janae are not given much space to breathe in the narrative, and their relationship comes across as an afterthought instead of as one of the principal plot threads.

-          The diversion with Darius’ grandmother was also thrown in there like an afterthought. It didn’t add much to the story other than showing that Darius will side with Zuri when push comes to shove. It still felt like it took up a lot more time than it needed to if the grandmother wasn’t going to appear again at the end of the book like in the original. If it’s role to the plot was going to be minimized like that, I don’t really understand why it was included at all.

-          Charlise and Colin as a pair also felt out of place. In the original, Mr. Collins and Charlotte weren’t a major part of the story, but they contributed to the narrative that Austen wanted to tell about marriage and the different types of marriages that exist in English society at the time. Charlise and Colin don’t really have that effect on the story at all. Both characters are completely irrelevant to the plot (except Colin in the last possible moment), and they’re only really there to BE an adaptation.

-          Some of the plot beats were rearranged. I didn’t mind this so much since any number of directorial decisions are valid so long as the have a positive impact on the adaptation’s goal, but I didn’t really see how they added much.

One thing I REALLY liked was the addition of Madrina. I’m not sure if she’s a reference to something I don’t remember from the text or a completely original addition, but I thought she made for some really interesting moments. I especially loved how much connection Zuri felt with her Orisha worship and that they called her “daughter of Ochun.” I would change NOTHING about this, it was pure and really sweet.

One adaptation I WISH Zoboi had made was to have Zuri call out Darius’ hypocrisy. In P&P, the Bennetts are certainly in a different social class from Darcy and the Bingleys, but they’re ultimately still property owners in Britain. The stakes are different here. Darius keeps talking about how things in his life aren’t perfect just because he’s rich (which is absolutely true, especially when Zoboi starts getting into his experience as a black teenager surrounded by white classmates), but he is STILL not really understanding the difference in experience between himself and Zuri. The thing is, although she’s not right to judge Darius’ whole personality, she absolutely IS right about a lot of his privilege at the very beginning, but she kind of lets that go after a while. Zuri confronts Darius about his wealth many times, but to me at least it doesn’t really seem like she was able to convince him that his whole outlook on life is fundamentally different because of his wealth. Idk maybe I’m grasping at straws here. I just wish that Darius had actually talked about like . trying to persuade his parents to donate more to charity, or doing community service, or idk DISTRIBUTING THE WEALTH. Darius doesn’t change much in the story. At the beginning, he’s like “sorry im rich but lmfao you’re being mean to me!” and then at the end he is like “I am simply a rich boy, I cannot change this” which is barely a difference at all.

Anyways. I really didn’t hate this book. I wanted to like it a lot more than I did, which is why I have all these criticisms about it.

I recommend this to anyone who wants to read a thoughtprovoking discussion on class through the lens of one of history’s most overrated love stories (speaking as someone who loves P&P: yea it’s overrated). Read it for Zuri and Darius, who are totally different people from Elizabeth and Darcy. Read it for nostalgia, because even though I don’t know what it feels like to be one of 5 Afrolatine kids in Bushwick, I Felt that family affection.

3/5 for having great ideas but not such great execution.

#book review #ibi zoboi #pride ibi zoboi #pride and prejudice #p&p #my post

[mustlovelance]

a concept: the paladins are all friends who care about each other but aren’t perfect at showing it.

there are three major factors that i believe contribute to skewed perspectives about how certain characters are treated by the rest of the cast, and they all relate to us being a near-omniscient audience. 

we as the audience do not have the fate of the universe on our shoulders distracting us from our friends’ issues. all the paladins have one primary concern, and that’s protecting the universe. that’s a lot of pressure and stress. i can’t even fathom that level of responsibility. to expect them to be attentive to everyone’s emotions when they’d just been worrying about the lives of thousands of people hours earlier is unfair and unrealistic.  

we as the audience are able to rewatch scenes multiple times in order to piece together details. how much did we actually “notice” without a) pausing; b) rewatching; c) being reminded by our peers who paused and rewatched?

we as the audience can see things from multiple perspectives, which other characters are not privy to. the only perspective they see is their own, which is limited by their position and their focus. we can focus on everything at once in a scene by pausing, studying facial expressions, and looking for little details in the background. the characters cannot do that. furthermore, other characters are often absent during pivotal scenes that are cited as “obvious” reasons why another character should know something about them. 

with these three major benefits that we as an audience possess (lack of real-life responsibility, ability to rewatch, access to multiple perspectives), we should be more understanding and more inclusive of every character’s situation. that doesn’t always happen, which is understandable--just as the characters have their focuses, so too do members of the audience. 

personally, especially on the first viewing, i always focus on lance. however, when i start to question whether the team has “wronged” him in some way, i step back and look at the other characters’ situations. 

none of the characters are mind readers, and none of them are in a position to take into account everyone’s feelings all the time. i have the time to devote to writing metas about everything that lance does and feels without the fate of the universe looming over my head, but someone like hunk does not. 

some common examples that i see are:

you could say that lance is a horrible friend to keith for saying he doesn’t remember the bonding moment when it meant so much to keith, but that fails to account for lance not knowing that keith has abandonment issues (or that he’s autistic). even then, lance tries to be understanding, such as when he told keith they’d “work on [the cheer]” instead of calling him an idiot, or when he didn’t snap at keith for jumping the gun on naxzela and instead told him they’d work together to fix it. lance is by far the most perceptive and observant member of the team, but he doesn’t always pick up on everything, and that’s okay! he’s not perfect.  

you could say that keith is a horrible friend to lance for not properly reassuring him when lance approached him in his bedroom, but that fails to account for keith not knowing that lance wanted to hear that, and by extension, not knowing that lance is insecure. in keith’s eyes, lance is great! why would he question his place on the team? that’s just silly! keith doesn’t ever tell lance that he appreciates him likely because he doesn’t know it’s not obvious. (in general, i think a lot of misinterpretations of keith’s motives stem from failing to consider that he’s probably autistic on top of having abandonment issues/being part-Galra/being very isolated until recently. he’s trying his best, guys.) 

you could say that shiro is a horrible person and leader because he overlooks lance and hunk, but that fails to account for shiro suffering from PTSD and having the primary responsibility of saving the universe falling on his shoulders. yes, it’s a flaw that shiro neglects to consider those two as much as he does keith and pidge. yes, a leader should utilize every member of their team. no, this single flaw does not mean that shiro doesn’t care about them. let’s not forget that shiro risked his life trying to defend lance when the castle of lions was taken over. 

criticizing a character’s behavior is totally fair (either because they’re being mean or just not noticing something that they should), but acting like this makes them horrible people who don’t give a shit about their friends is...really harsh. such a mindset assigns malice where no such malice exists and assumes the absolute worst intentions. as members of the audience, with the luxury of overanalyzing every scene while the actual characters are in mortal peril every other day, i think we're in the ideal position to be more understanding. 

i’m not saying we can’t conclude that the team is behaving in a way worth criticizing towards an individual member of the team, but i am saying that i think we need to consider every character’s situation/perspective as well as our own advantages before concluding that the team doesn’t care. 

#vld #voltron #vld lance #takashi shirogane #vld keith #lukapost #lukathinks #shiro #keith #lance #negativity #anyway this is from someone who relates to keith a lot so #lukasmash #lance serrano

[beinglibertarian]

Civilized Society: On the Death of Civility

One of the most influential questions I’ve ever encountered came not from a great philosopher or writer, nor from any inspiring conversation or work. Rather it came from a black comedy at the end of a rant about people throwing used tampons at each other and ripping on American Idol.

The movie (and I highly suggested giving it a watch) was called “God Bless America” and was a story of a man who decided to address the idiocy and (un)culture of the U.S. Of A.

The question: “Why have a civilization if we are no longer interested in being civilized?”

The weight of that question has stayed with me for many years. In all aspects of our lives, we see a continuous shift towards not just tolerating but accepting and rejoicing at the de-evolution of our moral and normative standards.

Before this gets misinterpreted, I am not attempting to start the “objective/subjective” morality debate. Rather I want to touch on this trend, the damage it has and will continue to do, and its effects on not just discourse but human interaction at large.

For the purposes of this piece, I feel that I need to define what I mean by “civilized” in this context.

I am referring here to a standard. A level of culture, of self-betterment, and of social advancement. I am referring to refinement, tact, principles, and all of the other things we have allowed to be eroded from our social norms. The very things that made us as advanced as we are as a civilization are the things that we are allowing to disappear, and it’s primarily due to either apathy, intellectual laziness, or the false belief that these cornerstones of our society are mere relics compared to our own decay.

Make Politics Civilized Again

When we talk about politics we usually end up discussing how terrible one politician is compared to another (which I’ll touch on later). Worse still is attempting to engage with people themselves. Moreso than our politicians, people in general need to be more civilized when discussing these topics.

God forbid one disagrees with someone these days! Outline the belief in an opposed idea and you will be beset by the tribalistic howler monkeys hungry for the flesh of the heretic.

To many, it has become as if the mere existence of opposition is equal to a personal affront or attack.

If one believes or is thinking something different than the hive they are implying that the other is somehow mentally deficient.

Everything gets couched in false dichotomies of us/them, yes/no, right/wrong, all when the world of political ideologies are far more convoluted and nuanced than that. I may disagree with someone’s views on a topic like gun control, but that doesn’t mean that that alone is justification for me to start screeching “Statist!” the second someone suggests some form of restrictions. Just the same I would hope that my opposition wouldn’t immediately jump into saying I support the deaths of children or some other absurdity simply because my stance remains unchanged after a school shooting.

The purpose of debate and civil discourse is to present and challenge ideas; not to pontificate and organize pissing contests.

I find it odd that people will demand to have their voices heard, then squander the opportunities to shift hearts and minds to their cause through empty vulgarities.

Despite millennia of evolution, we still allow ourselves to be put into the little boxes of our self-designed tribes. Even those of us who preach for individualism can be found guilty of this.

Not all is lost here though. I’ve found that much of it lies in approach. If one approaches a discussion from a good faith position with a true willingness to objectively debate and review ideas you will eventually find those on the opposition that are the same. Even the ones that aren’t can eventually be swung into a proper discussion with the right levels of tact and respect.

Obviously, there will be those that are simply there to screech, but that doesn’t grant a license to debase one’s self and do the same. Ideologies can and ought to be discussed on an ideological level. Any lower and one may as well not speak at all.

The Death of Nuance

By and large, this might be the biggest contributing factor to the issues spelled out above and below.

Even those that maintain the ability to discuss, debate and create tend to have lost this necessary skill. The ability to understand and look for the nuance in things.

We design things around simplicity rather than quality. Whether it’s our political arguments or our art, we are constantly aiming to accomplish some form of streamlining that in turn means the frills need to be trimmed.

Arguments are reduced to dichotomies and art reduced to the most easily packaged thing. We see this with our politics especially. We will ignore the nuances of arguments that have vastly different implications because they are outside of our tribes.

There is a massive difference between saying “I’m against the existence of unions” and saying “I’m against government empowerment of unions.” Supporters of unions will treat these as the same thing, even if the latter statement came from a supporter of unions themselves, or if the opposition is some form of left-libertarian. Logical consistency and honest review of the details of their opponent’s arguments are thrown aside for the sake of their tribe.

As I mentioned above, we try to reduce all things into “yes/no” categories and trap ourselves within them. This does far more harm than simply amputating the civilized tones political discourse once held. It also kills our ability to think outside of these dichotomies.

If what one has to say can’t be reduced to a tautology or syllogism then it isn’t worth hearing in the eyes of our generation of pundits and keyboard warriors. As a society, we have stopped our exploration of philosophy and the arts and moved into a phase of rearrangement. We no longer strive to make something wholly new, but simply remix and argue over what has already come before us.

Most of our media and ideas are not our own anymore. They are remixes of ideas and arguments from before.

While it is worth understanding and appreciating what came before us, we should strive to move past it. We should strive to improve rather than regurgitate the ideas that came before us. We should take the time to learn the subtleties of what we engage ourselves in. I brought it up in one of my podcast episodes where I talked about the human habit of overcomplication, yet I am equally astounded by the amounts of those complications and nuances that we add to our interests that we then summarily ignore.

We will spend all of this time debating philosophy, politics and economics, but we won’t take an equal amount of time to review the basis for the arguments our opponents use, or in some cases ourselves. Instead, we will defer to the basics of what we encounter and fight from there.

In art, we will accept a lower quality of music lyrically because we’ve reduced our listening experience to the beat. We examine our world from generalizations rather than attempting to view things as a whole. We discard the whole once we’ve decided what is in front of us. There are some out there reading this that likely saw the repetition of the word “we” and got their backs up. It should be easily understood that the usage of the word here is in a generalized form and thus should receive no contention from those this critique doesn’t apply to. The fact that this likely needs to be explained further illustrates my point.

“It’s Art”

It is saddening when people say this in defense of baseless vulgarity or unoriginal pieces of “art.”

Through the postmodernist lens, we’ve come to accept anything as art so long as it was made in expression of whatever the “artist” whips up as a reason after the fact.

While some pieces can indeed be interesting, on the whole, much of the talent the art world use to hold has been replaced with expression for the sake of expression; no actual skill required. We’ve turned the study of the aesthetic into a scatological field.

The truest shame of this is the amount of true talent that gets passed over in place of these works of “art.” The amount of technical skill and artistic vision that likely went into your phone’s background or those random “cool art” Facebook page posts you’ve seen massively outweighs anything I’ve seen from the “performance art” crowd in recent years.

Outside of the regular talentless hacks that throw the term “avant-garde” around like they actually know what it means, there’s the overpackaged side of this decline as well.

Now it needs to be stated first: I understand that most television, movies, and pop hits aren’t designed to be masterwork expressions of the craft. They’re designed to be popular. The problem is twofold here.

First, we are a very systematic species. We’ve devoted thousands of man hours and resources into the study of what makes certain music or shows popular and reduced these fields to a science rather than the art it ought to be.

Not every TV show needs to be some high-level journey of wonderment, but at least they could stop redoing the Three’s Company formula every time they need a new hit. Even some of the better works that have come out in recent years like Game of Thrones or Breaking Bad, while refreshing, ended up doing little more than creating a new system for companies to flood the market with.

With every repetition of the model, it becomes weaker and more deformed.

Pop music has always suffered this, but the emphasis on it has eroded the usefulness of the media form.

Even older pop hits still had to reach a certain level of quality before we would begin to eat it up. Instead of keeping up with that trend, we’re fed things that are scientifically designed to be appealing; rather than being appealing on its own artistic merits.

Luckily there are definitely acts out there that bring that higher level of quality, but sadly they simply aren’t as big or on the same level of reach as the cookie-cutter ensembles that I’m referring to.

I’m not suggesting we need to go back to some idyllic civilized high society that only listens to classical and jazz (though I wouldn’t really oppose that either), but rather that we pay more attention to the art we consume and demand more than a catchy tune with an appropriate level of compression.

The Pursuit of Knowledge

As of the beginning of this sentence, this article was already at 1795 words. For most of those that read web articles, I’m already over the average attention span by about 1000 words.

Even in libertarian circles, there are tons of people that will fight you to the death on an economic or philosophical concept, yet they’ve never read the source material these ideas came from.

They’ll have gotten their arguments from watching others debate online or by parroting whichever YouTuber they happen to follow.

They’ll attack commies for their ideological views, but have never picked up a copy of anything by Proudhon, Marx, or Kropotkin. This isn’t a libertarian issue alone though as those same commies are just as likely to have never read the material either.

We’ve bred a social order that values the products of knowledge, but not it’s acquisition. Sure, we push our youth to run off and get their degrees, but we do that for the sake of them gaining better  employment rather than to actually learn.

Shows like “Are you smarter than a 5th grader” are only possible in a society where we treat the civilized pursuit of knowledge as a means rather than an end in and of itself.

Even when we do pursue knowledge, we aim for summaries. In order to stand for something one first needs the legs that true knowledge grants you. After reading a single Wikipedia article or listicle people consider themselves educated enough to discuss the finer points of Spinoza. And that’s if they even read non-fiction to begin with.

The average person reportedly reads twelve books per year, though this is largely believed to be inflated with the actual average closer to four. This is out of the nearly one million books published every year. Obviously, it would be physically impossible to read that much per year, but even when we do read the quality is suspect.

Look at the explosion of YA novels. Most of it is average, slightly above dime store level tropes repackaged in slightly different arrangements. These sell millions of copies and get turned into blockbuster movies.

Even “Adult” (no, not that kind) novels tend to follow the same path of repetitive swill. The bulk of the variety ends up coming from the types of characters rather than the plot itself, or the authors will predictably try to over M. Night Shyamalan their works with more twists than a 50‘s sock hop.

All of this may sound like some form of intellectual elitism, but rather it is a call for standards. We can enjoy the odd bit of trite every once in a while (one of my favorite films is still “The Room”), however, we cannot sustain ourselves on it.

Civilization and culture around the world has been built on the backs of the thinkers and the dreamers. If we only feed our brains garbage then we will produce the same. To make society more civilized we need to start by making ourselves more informed and demand of others and ourselves the higher standards that would grant us.

Psuedos: A Cancer on Culture

In listing all of this I feel it is important to list the worst offenders of those that erode all that is civilized: Psuedo-intellectuals.

These are the types that list their IQ and pedigree within the first 5 facts you learn about them. They learned all they need to know about being successful from reading 7 habits of successful people and a handful of Malcolm Gladwell books. They took not one, but two CrossFit classes and are ready to become personal trainers and dietitians. They are plebs in Armani.

The reason I think they are contributing to the uncivilized trend that we have been experiencing is that they steal the limelight from real thinkers in the name of egotistical desire.

They speak less for the purposes of sharing any real knowledge they might, by chance, have gathered, but solely to express that they are the ones that know it. They are not agents of enlightenment, but rather of sophistry.

They make compelling arguments completely devoid of any nuance that could show true thought behind their ideas, and become excessively defensive should their supposed superiority be questioned.

They’re willing to show how civilized they are in a discussion right up until any of their ideas are challenged. In their eyes, to challenge them is to say they are wrong which is tantamount to blasphemy.

Their involvement in a conversation sullies it, which in turn turns people away from engaging in the material at all.

Worst still, it can lead to people quietly settling into their little tribes on the topic.

A true thinker should want people to engage in their material. Critiques help people hone their ideas, add to their knowledge base, and offer perspectives that may previously have been unconsidered. A Psuedo-intellectual wants none of that.

The Psuedo just wants to be right from the start, and acknowledged for it. Most painfully, they are likely to self-victimize. They will claim they argue purely from facts and reasoning, but they will also be offended on a personal level if they are sufficiently challenged.

Most commonly this results in pedantic commentary, condescending remarks and stances, and a transition of the discussion from the topic at hand to an emptier game of linguistics. If one dares stoop to their level they’ll immediately decry that they’re being attacked and turn the discussion towards tone and words to gain some level of superiority out of the exchange.

This erodes not only civilized and intellectually honest discussion, but also the foundations of knowledge in the public sphere. Discussion gets driven not by the wisest voices, but rather the loudest.

I think the best example of this committed to film was in the movie “Good Will Hunting.” In the famous bar scene where the pretentious grad student attempts to browbeat Ben Afflick’s character solely for the purposes of browbeating him and making a spectacle. Matt Damon’s character (Will) comes forward and begins to pick him apart for the ideas stolen from entry-level books, generic stances, and walks him through what his academic and general future will encompass being that way.

He quotes the authors he’s stealing from (and even the damn page number), and generally summarizes all of the issues with this breed of person; all through a thick Boston accent.

I highlight this scene because it perfectly encapsulates what I’m referring to. Unfettered pedantry by those that overvalue their own knowledge and capabilities.

Now, I’m not lacking in self-awareness to the degree to not notice that one might think the same of me for writing such a lengthy piece as this attacking all of these aspects of discussion and society as if I am somehow above it all.

I am the first to acknowledge if and when I slip up on the things listed here, and truly without pretense welcome it when others notice so that I can course correct and improve. Noticing these traits and taking the time to improve upon them is what separates us from those that are simply in it to put on a show. True learning and development start with a real hunger for the knowledge, and a humble willingness to be wrong.

Civilized Office Starts With Civility

Look at the news. Just look at it and weep. People have always gotten heated and thrown mud in the political arena, but it had generally been understood that there are levels to which one simply does not stoop.

As time progresses that notion has been eroded.

Even during the infamous Watergate fiasco, we could still see a level of civility in the commentary and discussions on Nixon’s actions, and what should follow. I doubt that reporters from most MSM outlets could sit down through an interview with Trump and remain as civilized yet to the point as Frost could.

Even amongst the general public, we’ve seen this shift. After Clinton and that little blue dress, the respect for the presidency as an office plummeted as seen with the open hostility towards Bush, the baseless attacks against Obama (which tended to ignore the large list of factual reasons to criticize him), and the circus around this current presidency.

I welcome the reduction in the worship of the office as much as the next libertarian, however, I cannot support the lack of civilized discourse regarding it.

One doesn’t need to pretend these politicians are good people (generally they aren’t), but debasing one’s self for the sake of attacking them is unnecessary and pointlessly negative as well.

Civilized discourse is built around maintaining a level of decorum and mustering enough respect to effectively and fairly engage an opponent. As we remove our respect and decorum we also erode our expectations.

You don’t get a Trump (or a Hillary, or Bernie) in office if you actually demand a higher quality from these offices. While one may be on the anarchist side and against the existence of the offices themselves, that doesn’t mean we should treat the offices so poorly as to turn them into a joke. When we do that we don’t reduce the power these offices currently hold; we only reduce the quality of those who hold them.

Put another way, one can question the legitimacy of these offices and want them abolished, but simply treating them sloppily only results in lower quality people hold these positions of power, making them that much more dangerous. Conflating that these offices ought to be removed or reduced with the idea that they hold no power is a root cause of the continuous degrade in the quality of people that hold them.

Conclusion

This also needs to be said: I’m not dictating that we need to make these changes by force. That’s an important detail that is likely to be missed by some on first glance.

Cultural direction works the same as markets in the sense that changes only happen three ways. They happen by environmental factors (abundance of a resource in one area, natural disaster, etc), by the force of an interloper (such as the government), or by the sum of the actions of the individuals of society.

The environmental influence on civilized societies are mostly immutable (note: mostly), and, while there are those that attempt to enforce their cultural views via force and law (From the Puritans of old to the archetypical SJWs of today) I am attempting neither.

I write this in an attempt to get people on a different track and to change how the sum of our culture will look. Between these three factors, I personally will always bet on the individual as being the greatest genesis of change. It’s the individual I seek to showcase this to, and to engage. At the very least I hope this sparks a discussion and consideration of the points herein.

The Dalai Lama had a book titled “How to see yourself as you really are” that I think is apt to mention here. The book discusses the concept of self-knowledge, and removing the biases that attribute to both false negative and false positive interpretations of yourself.

The goal of the exercises and philosophy presented is to direct the reader towards being able to see the reality of themselves, and act accordingly rather than from empty pretenses they might have of themselves.

While I most definitely am nowhere near his levels of understanding or wisdom, my intentions here are the same.

It is my hope that those that read this will aim for more civilized heights than they had before, and will look for opportunities to improve the way we function.

I hope that you will self-reflect and take something away from all of this. It is my hope that we can answer the question of whether to have a civilization anymore with a resounding yes, but that will only be possible if we as individuals are willing to fulfill our parts.

* Killian Hobbs is a writer for Think Liberty.

The post Civilized Society: On the Death of Civility appeared first on Being Libertarian.

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