#that said the ir is as much to blame for this as the actual murderers and it needs to end

[littledead-ridinghood]

Jason’s final monologue in Under the Red Hood is so impactful and important because he’s being honest. His speech hinges on the fact that he’s being open and honest with his feelings on how the last few years affected him. I’ve seen many people argue that because Jason is an unreliable narrator at times, that means he is an unreliable narrator all the time, therefore nothing he says can be trusted. Unfortunately, this feeds into the “anything can be canon behavior for Jason because he’s written so inconsistent therefore I don’t care and besides fanon is better anyway so there” argument where actual consistent character traits often get ignored.  

While, yes, Jason can be an unreliable narrator, and while, yes, Jason is written incredibly inconsistently, this doesn’t mean there’s nothing consistent about him. I remember a couple of years back, some people were arguing how absurd it was for Jason’s opening line to be: “Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me” because it would be impossible for anyone, especially “someone like Jason” to not hold a grudge against a person for not making it in time. They couldn’t buy the fact that someone could concede like that. Of course, Jason is lying here, how could he not, in some part, blame Bruce? But this completely side-steps that Jason does that all the time, pre and post-death. Some of his last words were forgiving Shelia for murdering him and apologizing to Bruce for not being good enough. He doesn't blame Catherine for forcing him into the parental role for both him and her and Jason usually places Willis strictly in the “it’s complicated” box. He constantly takes the fall in his tumultuous relationship with Bruce like his apology letter to the man at the end of TFZ. It’s not out of character for Jason not to place the blame on Bruce, but rather forgive him and dictate his ire to where the real blame falls: the Joker. Again, he doesn’t even place the blame fully where it belongs because he doesn’t mention Shelia’s role. (yes, DC wants us to forget about her role in his murder. Especially in UtRH as can be seen in all the bad robin!Jason rhetoric, but that outer world meddling affects the inner story) 

It’s a cop-out to claim that because Jason is unreliable at times and inconsistent at others that means you can subscribe whatever meaning you want to his words and actions. He’s not his own character anymore, he’s an OC to fit you’re narrative which strips him of his story. By saying he’s actually lying(whether over if he forgives Bruce or so he can blame Bruce later on because “he needs something to be angry over”), it strips away the farther-son tragedy of this moment.

Jason is having a contained breakdown. He’s trying to keep it together, and that’s why when his voice breaks on “doing it because–because he took me away from you” and he starts crying, it’s impactful. He’s raw and alive and it’s still not enough to be seen. He has no point to soften the blow with “I forgive you.” He has no reason to lie about that when trying to get his father to see him. If it was just about the joker then Jason could’ve said “I blame you for not saving me and to redeem yourself, you have to kill the Joker.” But Jason Doesn’t ask him to kill the Joker but instead demands to know why he’s free without consequence, why he is still breathing.

If Jason wanted “to push his goalpost farther with Bruce,” he would prey on Bruce’s blaring guilt complex. It’s incredibly telling and significant of Jason's character that he doesn’t do that in this moment. Therefore, we can assume that if Jason had succeed in killing the joker, he still wouldn’t use that to guilt Bruce.

Jason instead talks about how much he loved Bruce–still loves Bruce–and how the man meant the world to him, and how he feels used because he thought he meant the same to Bruce. By saying he’s lying in this moment to trick and ruin Bruce, you are undercutting some of Jason’s most consistent behaviors: his desire to love and be loved, his desire to be a part of a family, his desire to be important to someone, and how he will put up with almost any and all maltreatment to get that connection.

Jason “pushing his goalpost” further highlights how many don’t understand his emotional distress tied to his murder and instead want to place him solely in the “completely delusion” category where his victimhood is undermined. It’s not about getting Bruce to kill, at the end of the day, the ultimatum was to kill Jason, not the Joker, it’s about wanting his father to understand what he needs to feel safe. That is Jason’s request. Not the clown. Him. He’d rather his father kill him with his own hand so he’s not forced to live on the same earth any longer with and share the same air as his murderer. What makes this as an ultimatum is that Jason fully believes that Bruce loves him too much, therefore, the man would never kill him allowing Jason to achieve his peace. Whether you agree with Jason’s methods or not is a different matter, but that is the tension in this contained scene.

Furthermore, a lot of meta lately says that if Bruce had let Jason kill the Joker then he would guilt Bruce by saying “why would you let me do that? You tainted my soul and hands!” which ignores: 

A. Jason’s actual legitimate reason for wanting the Joker dead. The former belief falls back on the “Jason is so delusion and dramatic!” trope, the “he’s not the right kind of victim” trope because he’s angry instead of submissive and “actually has no good reason to be angry, he’s just being difficult for the sake of.” It completely undercuts Jason’s actual trauma with getting no justice. Bruce preaches Judge and Jury, but Jason got neither. So many victims get neither, and Jason’s anger represents that. What gives Bruce the right to say Jason’s not allowed to play his own executioner in relation to his victimhood when he never got the morals and ideals that Bruce himself preaches so thoroughly? 

And B. more obviously, Jason killed in UtRH before their big confrontation? Famously, the duffle bag of right-hand mans’ heads. He killed in front of Bruce already as well? Captain Nazi? Like, also in lost days, which is a prequel to UtRH, he kills? What’s the actual argument here? Loosely, It reminds me how everyone wants to blame the entirety of Jason’s takeover on pit madness. This “you’ve tainted me” argument sounds as if Jason is not aware of his actions and traumas. Not to say he’s completely sane or not delusional at times throughout his publishing history, but to think Jason would be pissed at Bruce for letting him kill the Joker is to dismissively say “no, you don’t know what you need, but I do.” 

No, the Joker being dead won’t fix everything, but with the joker dead, it would literally be removing a real-life constant trigger of Jason’s. Yes, Jason is a synecdoche for victims, but he is also that himself: a single victim. Joker is a stand-in for everyone who’s ever gotten away with a vicious crime free of judicial step-in or failure, but he also is just that: Jason’s murderer. Yes, they both metaphorically represent something bigger in this scene, but on a fundamental level, the Joker is also just the person tormenting Jason and nothing more. By saying Jason doesn’t actually want what he wants stands in for saying victims are too wrapped up in their trauma to understand what’s causing it. It’s mitigating and demeaning how bad it actually was/is. Jason’s murder in comics still holds such power over the mythos today even though “everyone’s died. He’s not special” for a reason and it’s because his life is actively shown to be affected by it.

Jason has been shown to have PTSD-induced panic attacks around the joker (Lost Days), and about the joker (famously the rebirth issue where Jason hallucinates murder victim him), it’s not far off the say that whenever Joker commits a mass atrocity, that it affects Jason in some way. 

And we canonically know that it does! In Lost Days, Jason breaks down in tears in the streets over all the families that have been and will be destroyed by the Joker. So that Survivor's Guilt train of thought is canon for him: “those people are never coming back, I’m here and I’m not supposed to be, but they’ll never return”-esque

No, killing the Joker won’t fix all of Jason’s issues and trauma surrounding his murder, but that’s obvious. Yet, have you ever been in a bad relationship and part of the issue is literally just being around that person? The healing process starts when you step away. You can’t heal in the same environment that’s harming you. This goes hand in hand with how Jason will only begin to heal as a person when away from Bruce because he’s such a dominating, constant trigger in Jason’s life (again, proven in canon when Jason backs away from Gotham and the Bats). No, the joker being dead won’t fix everything, but it will allow the process to begin where Jason isn’t constantly rehashing his trauma every time the Joker escapes. Jason has tried to heal on his own except the clown keeps coming after him. Whether it’s him attempting to burn off his face or in his mind when Bruce physically drags his murder to the forefront of Jason’s thoughts shoving him into a breakdown over how he’s trying so hard to heal. Part of the reason it’s so hard for Jason to move on is because his trigger buttons are constantly being held down for extreme amounts of time. It’s not that he heard or saw something that brought him back to his murder, it’s that Jason is literally being held in a constant state of panic, grief, fear, and unsafety.

By saying Jason is looking for something to be angry over and he’d find that in Bruce if he let him kill the clown, it frames the moment as a winning vs losing moment that Jason will always lose no matter what. This is a faulty understanding of how healing works and is reminiscent of Three Jokers. You can’t win at healing like Geoff Johns tries to say Barabara did and Jason failed at. Healing is something you do with ups and downs. At the end of the day, it’s a son yelling at his father to help him. It’s not about winning or losing, joker tries to make it about that (“everyone still loses”), but that frames the interaction in a much pettier light. This strips the moment of both Jason and Bruce's raw, exposed wire in water, vulnerable emotions. This looking to be angry argument is also reminiscent of the fandom's love for pit madness which strips Jason of his righteousness. Jason has very understandable reasons to be angry. His life was stripped and stolen away from him. It’s like when people say Robin Jason had anger issues which completely ignores what he was angry over! He hated rapists and pedophiles and big, authoritative tough guys who beat on women! He wasn’t angry all the time over everything; he had very real, systematic issues that upset him in overwhelming ways. Boiling him down to “he needs to be angry” wipes Jason of his motivations.

Jason doesn’t plan for a future. Really, he never even thought Bruce would kill for him in the end. When he first came back, sure, he thought Bruce would kill the joker and make Jason “the last person he ever hurt”, but in their final confrontation, Jason just asks “why on God’s earth is he still alive?” and then “I’m going to blow his deranged brains out and if you don’t like that you’ll have to kill me. Shoot me right in the face”: his ultimatum. In the confrontation, Jason doesn’t even believe he has a full claim to be upset over the Joker for just himself. He talks about Barabra being hurt by the clown and is pretty rescind to his murder in the fact that he says he was one of so many corpses filling dozens of graveyards made specifically by the Joker. Again, “last person he’d ever hurt,” Jason is fairly fine with being dead and doesn’t even think he deserves to be back, but because he wasn’t the last person the clown hurt he pushed that as his climax for why he’s angry. 

Really a better commentary focuses around “well, what does Jason think is going to happen after?” because Jason clearly doesn’t want to be alive. He sets up like four ways of suicide in his final scene. One of my mutuals a while ago posted their thoughts on what they wanted the after to be. They said they wanted to see a story where Jason killed Joker in this showdown. They believed he would probably enter this dissociated shock over the joker’s dead body, over the fact that it was just that easy, that it’s over. But, this fact would lead Jason to the realization that he doesn’t need Bruce to “save” him (i.e. protect him/keep him safe). This has literally been rotting in my head for months, you have no idea. And I truly see this as the outcome of the showdown if it had gone that way. Sure, Bruce didn’t stop him, but he also didn’t stand up to protect Jason from his murderer. Jason, just like in every other aspect of his entire life, had to protect himself. Once again, he has performed his own emotional labor, and that would probably break him away from Bruce’s chains. He got what he wanted and he didn’t need anyone else to do it for him. This interaction further shattering the heroic image he upheld Bruce to. I think that’s a much more realistic outcome based in Jason’s characterization rather than him throwing a fit over the fact the Joker’s dead therefore he has nothing else to be angry over when Jason is shown to be angry over a lot of other things as well.

#hello discourse! I am participating after seeing this drag on for like a month #jason todd #jason todd meta #this is more a combo of what I've been wanting to talk about for a while(the importance of Jason being honest in UtRH) #mixed with the current discourse(jason's just looking to be angry over something)

[writtenfangirl]

Miracles

WOWZA THIS IS A DOOZY

I’ve written longer fics but this one’s pretty long too! 7623 words long.

Anyway, ENJOY!

“Why do you hate me?”

Y/N looked up and blinked in surprise, the paper she was sketching on momentarily forgotten.

“What?” Y/N managed to say cooly.

“You hate me. And don’t deny it,” Loki said quickly when he saw Y/N open her mouth to refute Loki’s statement. “You speak to me in clipped tones and you have never, not once, looked at me with anything but contempt in your eyes. What have I done to deserve your ire?”

Y/N pursed her lips before she slowly closed her sketchbook, her pencil stuck between the pages. She gathered all her strength as she stood up, raveling her breath like spun thread before she met Loki’s deep penetrating gaze.

There was fire in her eyes, a searing well of hate so deep that it took him aback. Loki could have drowned in her hate as easily as it could have burned him.

“2012,” Y/N said evenly without so much as a hint of heat in her tone. “74 people were killed in the Battle of New York. In the grand scheme of things, 74 lives lost are pretty good odds considering that millions of people lived in New York. We were told to be grateful to the Avengers for saving our lives. It’s hard to be grateful when everyone I loved died that day.”

And before Loki could react, Y/N had walked away.

It seemed, her ire was well deserved.

“So you hate them as well?”

“What?” Y/N asked, no longer bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. Her brow furrowed in annoyance, her lips slightly parted as air whooshed in and out in controlled even breaths. Her sketchbook was once again momentarily forgotten with Loki breaking through her once peaceful reverie.

“You said, ‘We were told to be grateful to the Avengers for saving our lives. It’s hard to be grateful when my whole family died that day.’ Those were your exact words.” Loki said, pulling up the chair across from Y/N despite her deep scowl telling him not to. “Your words imply that you hate the Avengers and, by extension, my brother. If there is anyone to be blamed for your family’s demise, it should be them. Their inadequacy caused the death of 74 people. And yet, here you are, a part of the very institution you despise.”

Y/N was such in a deep state of shock that for a moment, she forgot to be angry. Was he really blaming the Avengers for her family’s death? Then the rage began to settle in her. Her blood became hot, her skin suddenly feeling the hard bristles of anger poke within her as if her emotions were fighting for release. “What? You think I would blame the Avengers for what happened to my family?” She released a harsh bark of laughter, one that had Loki’s hair rising on end.

“I would have assumed—“

“You assumed wrong,” Y/N said viciously, any sign of mirth in her face replaced with cruelty. The fire in her veins was singing now, a savage song of nails and broken glass that had Y/N’s breath hitching in her throat.

She could throttle him, she thought. She could actually wrap her fingers around the god of mischief’s neck and squeeze as hard as she could and no one would be the wiser. The compound was currently empty with the rest of the team off on a mission, leaving only Y/N and Loki alone in their base of operations. Y/N had thought that with the compound being as large as it is, it would be more than easy to avoid Loki but it seemed, the god of mischief was eager to seek her out. If she killed him now and buried his body in the woods, no one else would know. She could kill him and she would do it with alacrity, she thought to herself.

Judging by Loki’s earnest face, he seemed oblivious to Y/N’s murderous thoughts. Maybe he just didn’t care.

Y/N took a deep shuddering breath. Even though Loki deeply unsettled her, he was still Thor’s brother. Thor likely wouldn’t appreciate it if Y/N went and offed his brother. In a fair and even fight, Loki would likely be able to fend Y/N off all by himself but Y/N rarely fought fair. She was a survivor and if there is one thing every survivor knew it was the futility of trying to fight fair. Life was never fair and a person should never limit their options by trying to be honorable. You fight with everything that you’ve got with anything you can reach and with whatever thing you can do, consequences be damned.

She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She packed her stuff as she spoke in the hopes that maybe keeping her hands busy would mean that she would be unable to kill Loki.

“The only person to blame for New York is you,” Y/N huffed as she slammed her sketchbook shut. She gave Loki a steely glare. “The Avengers were the good guys. You weren’t. If there is anyone to blame for what happened to my loved ones, it would be you.”

And she walked away one again before Loki could say anything.

The chair across from her scraping against the floor had Y/N’s eyes rolling so hard, she was sure she saw her brain inside her head. Only one person would bother her while she was trying to finish her sketching.

“Loki, I would like to be left alone, please.” She said the words coldly, her voice unflinchingly hard. She kept her gaze steady on her pencil as it moved around the page, the shavings darkening her fingers as she used it to shadow and shade her drawing.

She really didn’t want to deal with Loki right now. Any time Loki came to speak to her, her memories attacked her, consuming her very thoughts until all she could think about until the wee hours of the night was her family. Reliving those memories were a special kind of torture Y/N wouldn’t wish on anyone, not even Loki.

But Loki didn’t leave her alone. Instead, he sat in the chair across from her, silent.

Y/N didn’t so much as acknowledge him. She couldn’t make him leave, that much was true, but she could ignore him.

“I wasn’t myself.”

Y/N’s pencil stopped on the page, her eyes still wholly focused on her drawing but her ears trained on the god before her. She waited for a breath and then another, her mind counting the seconds before Loki decided to speak again.

“I wasn’t myself when I attacked New York.”

Y/N glance up at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Loki’s face seemed impassive, his mouth set in a tight line, his eyebrows without any creases. But his eyes, so impossibly blue, swam with an emotion Y/N couldn’t describe. There was sadness there, yes, and perhaps there was even a little bit of regret but most of all, there was anguish.

Yes, that had to be it. Anguish. Anguish so deep and haunting, it was like seeing a tortured ghost in a haunted house. It would have been frightening had it not been so sad. She’d only seen that look on someone’s eyes on one person before and it was every time she looked at herself in the mirror.

He wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were downcast and faraway, his mind in the thrall of whatever unpleasant memory made him look so haunted.

“I do not know if you are aware of the history I have with my brother but I can guarantee, it had not been easy.” Loki said, his voice even, betraying none of the sorrow in his eyes. “When we fought for control over Asgard, I fell off the rainbow bridge and found myself in Thanos’ presence. He…” Loki hesitated, his eyebrows creasing. He cast a glance towards Y/N and when he saw that she was listening intently, he continued. “I was tortured. The knowledge of how long I was tortured was kept from me. A hundred years could have passed and I would never know. All I knew from my time with him and his brood was excruciating pain. There isn’t a day that goes by when I do not regret my actions in New York but they were the actions of a scared and broken man. It does not excuse me, I know but I am sorry, for whatever my apology is worth.”

Y/N often imagines what grief would look like if she decided to draw it. She could easily draw happiness, it was sunshine and flowers in bloom, the thawing of ice as spring began to awaken. She could draw anger, all broken glasses and smashed windows and fire consuming everything it touched. She could imagine envy, silken green sheets that wrapped around a person’s throat, stealing the breath out of a person’s lungs. She could even draw sadness, the image of a sputtering flame, smothered by a torrential rain. But she could never imagine grief. It was hard to imagine something abstract to compare it to when she saw grief in her face every day.

Right now, if she tried to draw it, all she would see was Loki’s face. His face turning soft, almost disheartened, a singular tear falling from his eye, as solitary as he most likely felt.

It was the first time Y/N saw him without any hint of his usual bravado and somehow, that thawed something in herself.

Her own eyebrows furrowed, a frown dashing the once impassive expression on her face. She gently closed her sketchbook before her hands reached across the table and clasped Loki’s hand around her own. He looked at their clasped hands, his skin pale against the darkness of the pencil shavings in her hands and Y/N could almost note the exact moment when hope crept in his face like a trickle of water.

“I forgive you,” Y/N said softly.

And before Loki could say anything, Y/N was already on her feet, rushing towards her room in an effort to hide her fast beating heart and the rock that lodged itself in her throat.

Forgiveness was no easy thing, of that Y/N was certain. It left her breathless, the memory of the event, sitting in the kitchen table, Loki’s mournful eyes, replaying itself in her mind like a movie.

She has forgiven him. She was sure of that.

But the anger that had become a leech in her life suddenly didn’t know where to go.

It felt like a beast trapped under her skin, a slithering monster constricting around her heart, fangs pierced through it and continuously pumping out copious amounts of venom, filling her with wrath.

It was funny how her powers manifested itself as fire, flames consuming everything around it. Her rage felt like that. Fire consuming anything good she could ever feel, would ever feel, in her life.

With a scream of rage, her arms swung, the fire that erupted in her fingertips flying through the air in a graceful arc that hit the target square in the chest in an explosion of sparks and flame. It consumed the target, its heat licking at the plastic of the dummy until it became a melted mess on the floor.

“Someone’s angry.”

Y/N spun, her anger momentarily forgotten as she stared at Loki, who’d been watching her from the entrance of training room.

“I must admit, it’s nice to see your anger directed at something other than me.”

Y/N turned her back to him, another crackle of flame erupting from her fingertips as she hit another plastic dummy with a blast of fire.

“Silence,” Loki noted as if Y/N’a silence was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Loki’s voice was starting to become grating. She wanted to be alone, as she always wanted to be when she was training.

Unfortunately, Loki didn’t get the memo.

“I thought you’d forgiven me.”

Another dummy went up in flames.

“I have,” Y/N said, her tone clipped and devoid of emotions.

“And yet, you are upset?” Loki’s words ended in such a way as if he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer to his own question.

“Not with you.”

It was the most Y/N could say before she sent another dummy into its burning grave.

“Then with who?”

Y/N sighed. She wasn’t sure why she was so angry and in truth, she wasn’t really angry at anyone. She just needed an outlet to release all of her negative emotions and she’d rather kill plastic dummies than hurt any of her friends in a sparring session.

Y/N turned to Loki, ending her session for the day. Hurting defenseless dummies wasn’t doing anything for her rage anyway. “I just have a lot of negative emotions and I needed an outlet. Better I hurt these dummies than my friends. I’ve burned them enough times to know how painful it is to fight with me.”

“Have you burned my brother too?” Loki asked with a wry smile.

“Him more than most,” Y/N answered with a small smile of her own, “he always thinks he’s some kind of indestructible god so he always steps up to the plate whenever I need to train with someone. Unfortunately for Thor, fire hurts more than lightning. He’s been burned so often, it’s a miracle he isn’t covered in scars.”

“Asgardian skin is tougher than you Midgardians think.”

Y/N simply shrugged. “My sparring partner needs to be more than just indestructible. They need to be fire proof.”

At that, Loki seemed to smirk. “Perhaps I can be of assistance. Has my brother ever told you of what I am?”

“Frost giant, right? Not really Asgardian.”

Loki nodded. “I am a prince of Jotunheim. It lends me abilities that most do not have. We are creatures of ice, you see. Your fire would have no effect on me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’d like to offer up my services as your sparring partner. If you’d have me, that is.”

Y/N considered this. Though she’s forgiven Loki, there was no denying that she was still upset with him. After all, she is only human and she lost her family because of his actions. It would take a saint or even an angel in order to truly forgive Loki for everything he’d done.

And she was anything but an angel.

“Alright then,” Y/N said as she walked towards the center of the room, “let’s see what you got, Loki.”

Loki seemed surprised at Y/N. “You wish to train with me now?”

“No time like the present. Now are you going to fight me or not, Loki?”

Loki stared at her as if wondering if she was truly serious. After finding Y/N’s face devoid of heistation, his pristine black suit transformed into full Asgardian fighting leathers as he walked towards Y/N, his skin shifting into a frigid blue, his eyes an enchanting red.

Y/N didn’t so much as blink at the strangeness of his alien form. She’d seen scarier and stranger aliens and Loki’s vaguely humanoid features was enough to remind her that underneath all of the strangeness was still Loki.

“You should know, Loki, I don’t let up,” Y/N said as she crouched, her body poised and graceful like a jungle cat.

“Let up?”

She often forgot that Loki and Thor were Asgardian, unfamiliar with Earth’s little turn of phrases. Seeing his brows brought together, his faced scrunched up in thought at her words had a wry smile stretching her lips. “It means I don’t stop until I win.”

At that, Loki grinned. “I should hope not. I would like a worthy fight, after all.”

“You never did say how you got your abilities.” Loki’s voice filled the quiet space, sucking Y/N out of her reverie.

Her eyes snapped towards him, heavy with lethargy. “What?”

“Your abilities. Midgardians aren’t born with the ability to control fire.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped towards the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the flurry of snow fall from grey sky. Loki and her sat on one of the expensive couches Tony purchased for the compound, a roaring fire crackling on the fireplace, their only source of light. They were alone again, the compound empty save for the god of mischief and the peculiar human. The team had decided to spent the holidays in their respective homes and with Y/N being alone and Loki refusing to come home to Asgard for the winter solstice, the pair had been forced to spend the holidays with each other.

It wasn’t as unbearable as Y/N initially thought. After the hours they’d spend training with each other, Y/N’s contempt at being around Loki had thawed. It wasn’t gone by any means but it wasn’t as bad as it was before. She can have a civil conversation with him now without feeling the urge to stab him in the chest.

She couldn’t remember the last time she spent Christmas with someone other than herself and if Y/N was being honest with herself, it was nice to not be lonely for a change.

Today, she woke up feeling better about herself in days, good enough that she even had the energy to put up a Christmas tree.

Well, she only had half the energy and so the tree was bare on one side and the side that did have decorations was a little disorganized but in Y/N’s defense, she hadn’t decorated a tree in years.

In fact, despite how unappealing the tree looked, it looked pretty against the orange light of the crackling fireplace and the backdrop of the falling snow.

“I don’t think you’d like the story of how I got my powers,” Y/N muttered, leaning forward to grab her mug of mulled wine. It had gone cold quickly despite the roaring fire but it wasn’t anything Y/N couldn’t fix. Her hands easily warmed up the beverage, heating it up until steamed danced in the air before her.

“I am bored and I will welcome any story you tell no matter how horrendous you think it to be.”

Y/N glanced at him, her previous feeling of tiredness melting away. She suddenly felt on edge by Loki’s words. What was it about Loki that had alarm bells pealing in her head despite her best efforts to remain calm?

She took a sip of her mulled wine, the alcohol like a shot of liquid courage straight to her veins. She placed the cup back down to the coffee table before facing Loki, who was looking at her with a peculiar expression.

“If I tell you this story, you have to swear to me that you would never repeat whatever I say to another person.” Y/N’s eyes flashed in severity, one that had Loki’s interest piquing.

Loki simply nodded, his own face losing the once mirthful expression upon seeing Y/N’s own seriousness.

Y/N took a deep breath, a faraway look gleaming in her eyes as she began to tell her story.

“I was always ambitious when I was a kid. I had big dreams for myself, the biggest dream being that I could follow into my parents’s footsteps. They were scientists, you see. The best in the world. So good in fact that SHIELD gave them grant after grant to continue their research. They were thermonuclear scientists. My parents thought that they could find a way to infuse the power of a nuclear bomb to people.

“I always thought their jobs were so cool. I strived hard to be as good as them, as smart as them. I graduated high school at the age of 15 and college at 18. I received my PhD for Physics and Chemistry when I was 22 and I worked under my parents ever since.

“On the day you attacked New York, I was away on business and on the way home for my birthday. They planned a party for me, my parents, my sister and even my friends were all there. Everyone that I loved was in our little loft, waiting for me to arrive from the airport after my plane was delayed. Then you attacked and they died and—“

The ball that lodged itself in Y/N’s throat left her silently gasping. Talking about New York, about her family and her friends, about how much she lost that day, always brought a fresh wave of tears in Y/N’s eyes. It didn’t matter how many years have passed since the genesis of her grief, her grief was a monster lodged in her heart, hissing and spitting poison at anyone who tried to dislodge it.

Something in Loki’s eyes shifted. He reached for her and Y/N briefly wondered if being comforted by Loki was what she wanted.

Before her mind could make up a response, her body acted instinctively. Her body seemed to cave in, allowing Loki to briefly touch her cheek to wipe away the solitary tear that rolled down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Loki whispered, his eyes full of sorrow tinged with regret.

“Anyway,” Y/N said hastily, wiping away her eyes despite Loki’s frown. “I threw myself into my work and completed my parents’ life work. Unfortunately, there isn’t a long line of people willing to be turned into a nuclear explosion and so I buried myself underground and experimented on myself. Not exactly something I recommend. After three days of pure agony, I emerged and became a completely different person. Contacted Nick Fury as soon as I realized what I became and I’ve been working with the Avengers ever since.”

Loki was silent for a while as he processed Y/N’s words. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

Loki frowned, as though to say, isn’t it obvious? “How do you act as though your past doesn’t haunt you? I saw you when we first met. You hated me. There is no other word for the fire in your eyes. But you never said a word to the others about how you felt and even after I stayed here, encroached on your space, pestered you with questions about the past that you would rather forget, still you never said anything to the others in the hopes of relieving yourself. Why is that?”

“I distinctly recall yelling at you several times.”

“You said plenty to me but not to them. Not to your friends. Not to the people who could easily cast me aside and turn me away whether Thor wants them to or not.”

Of all the things he could have asked, that was the one she least expected. She lifted a shoulder in response. “I don’t know. I’ve spent a lot of my time dwelling on the things I wish I could change. The past… it sucks and it’s messy but I can’t do anything about it anymore. I can only control the now, change the today. I figured, since you joined us, you’d want to change too. Who am I pass to judgement on you because you want to change?”

Loki looked as though he wanted to argue with her and so Y/N spoke again before he could. “Enough talk about me. Tell me about you.”

If Loki was jarred but Y/N’s sudden change in topic, he didn’t show it. But she did get the lingering sense that their conversation wasn’t over.

“You wish to know about me?” Loki said with an eyebrow raised in question.

She nods. “It’s only fair, I think. I say something about me, you say something about you.”

Loki seemed ti hesitate before he spoke. “What would you like to know?”

“Do you have a girl back home?” She didn’t really want to know but it was the only thing her mind could conjure up at the moment.

“A girl?”

“Or is it a boy?”

Loki grinned at that. “Neither. I have no one. I am… alone.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes. No. Y/N wasn’t sure. Loki was handsome, too handsome really. Thor once told her that the Royal family was good looking, even by Asgardian standards and though Y/N had never seen Odin or Frigga, she had to agree with Thor the first time she saw Loki. Not only was Thor incredibly good looking, but Loki was too. But he was also the god of mischief and he couldn’t have been too popular back in Asgard.

She shrugged. “I figured there has to be at least one person you’ve fallen in love with before.”

“There has been a few individuals,” Loki said slowly. Like he’s picking out the right words to say. “Near immortality is too long to bear it alone. But, as of this moment, no. I don’t have anyone. Do you?”

At that, Y/N let out a derisive snort. “I’ve never even been kissed before.”

Loki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well believe it because it’s true.”

“I don’t understand,” he said with a quizzical frown, “I have seen how you act when you think no one is watching and your soul, despite the anger that resides in you, is one of the purest I’ve ever met. Surely someone else has noticed you.”

Y/N quickly stamped down the warm heat that blossomed in her chest at Loki’s compliments.

“I’m not exactly beautiful. I’m pretty much average in the looks department.”

“You Midgardians and your shallow definition of beauty,” Loki said with a frown.

She raised an eyebrow, almost in challenge. “Why? Do you think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes.” The word tumbled out of his lips as quickly as if he were saying the sky was blue. Like it was an absolute truth of the universe that couldn’t be contested. The sun was a giant ball of gas, the grass is green and Y/N was beautiful.

Fighting the rising blush in her cheeks, Y/N shrugs again. “I’ve never really found anyone worth it before.”

“Oh?”

“I want love, I do. I want the kind of love that could stop war in its tracks. The kind of love that is both the disease and the cure. I want the kind of love that could cheat death and breathe life into the earth. I want the kind of love that people write about in books. But I’m not stupid. That kind of love doesn’t come too often and I refuse to settle for less. I know what I deserve. I am not afraid of loneliness but I am afraid of wasting my time.”

“I thought you humans believe that it is better to have love and lost than to never have loved at all?“

“Most people do,” Y/N said as she took another sip of her mulled wine, ignoring the creeping flush on her cheeks. “I don’t.”

A thoughtful look passed over Loki’s features as he contemplated her words. Y/N wasn’t entirely sure what that meant so she continued sipping her mulled wine, still warm in her hands.

The quiet was nice. The crackling of the roaring fire, the warm scent of the candle she’d previously lit filled the room with the scent of Christmas. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the laughter of old Christmas mornings with her family filling her.

For a moment, she almost forgot Loki was there and it was his voice that startled her out of her reverie.

“Do you think I’m a good person?”

She peered at him through a single eye, past her lashes. Despite the blur, Y/N could see that Loki’s eyebrows were furrowed into a frown, his mouth almost pouting as he looked at her expectantly.

“Does it matter, what I think?”

“It does to me.”

That had Y/N’s eyes snapping open.

“Your opinion of me matters very much.”

“Why? Why do I matter?”

Loki raised his shoulder in a shrug. “If someone who I’ve hurt—have taken everything from—can still think I’m worthy of redemption, then perhaps, I am.”

“God, what is with you and Thor and worthiness. I’m going to have to have a talk with Odin about drilling worthiness into his sons heads.”

“Y/N.”

She let out a sigh. “Alright, if you want my opinion so badly.”

“I do.”

Y/N let the mirth from her face drop. “I think everyone is worthy of being redeemed, even you. Especially you. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. Shame coats this building thicker than paint. All of us who have ever lived in this building, have done things we regret and yet people call us heroes. Imagine how much they’d love you when they forgive you.”

“Do you think they can forgive me?” A look of hope filtered through Loki’s face, lighting up his features. Against the orange glow of the crackling fire, it made him look beautiful.

“I think that if I can forgive you, then they can too.”

Slowly, the Avengers began to trickle back into the compound. She greeted her friends with open arms, feeling lighter than she had in days.

Spending the holidays with Loki was a more pleasant experience than she initially thought it was going to be. After their… talk (it was more like a heart to heart, really) Y/N could comfortably be around Loki without wanting to tear her hair out of her head or cry or punch something.

In fact, in the rare occasions she could find some time for herself to draw, Loki was there, watching her in silence. Sometimes, he’d bring a book with him, a Midgardian book more specifically. Y/N wasn’t sure what he was reading, as Loki always magicked the book’s cover away into a generic leather-bound tome but he seemed to be enjoying it.

It was a little awkward at first. Truthfully, she found the parallels of their past situation hilarious. Wasn’t it only 6 months ago that Y/N was yelling at him for the murder of her loved ones at this very table? But it’s been nice, too. Quiet. Almost peaceful.

And that’s where they sat today, Loki and Y/N. It had been a grueling week of mission after mission and Y/N was thoroughly exhausted. So much so that Steve had even ordered her to stay in and rest while the rest of the team dealt with the problem alone.

Not that she was complaining. Time alone was rare and though she wasn’t technically alone, what with Loki mere inches away from her, it was still time she treasured.

He was reading again. His eyes scanning through the words on the page, his face almost earnest as he devoured his book. The sound of the pages of his book turning sliced through the quiet scraping of Y/N’s pencil against her sketchbook.

She’d been staring at him for the past fifteen minutes, her sketch momentarily forgotten, her eyes trained on the Asgardian whose eyes were furiously going from one end to the other of his book.

She wondered how long she’d have to stare before Loki finally realized that she’d been watching him.

Apparently, long enough for Y/N to grow impatient.

“Loki, what are you reading?” She asked, head cocked to the side in question.

Loki tore his eyes from the page almost reluctaantly. “Pardon?”

She fought a wry grin. “What are you reading?”

His once open face, turned sharp. Red tinged his cheeks, his smiling lips suddenly pursed, his eyes wide in… was that embarrassment? “Nothing.”

Oh it’s definitely something. “Loki, you look like a fourteen year old kid who was caught shoplifting. What are you reading?”

Loki slammed the book shut, schooling his face to be as still as stone. The only thing giving him away was his reddened cheeks. “Nothing of your concern, Y/N.”

“Ah. Is it smut? It’s okay if it is. I promise not to tell.” She said in an attempt to goad him into some kind of reaction.

But rather than reacting the way she thought he would, Loki’s brows pulled in puzzlement. “What is smut?”

Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to particularly describe that to Loki. “Never mind. I’m not sure I’m ready to get into that with you. You’re reading a Modgardian book?”

“Yes.”

“Do I happen to know this book?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at her and she watched, almost in amazement, as he stood up and walked away without another word.

“Are you seriously just going to ignore me?” Y/N called out, almost gobsmacked.

“Enjoy your sketching, Y/N.” Was Loki’s only reply before he disappeared from the dining room and into the living room.

“And then, he just walked away from me like a petulant child!” Y/N exclaimed, her hands flying everywhere as she recanted the story to Wanda and Natasha. “It was the weirdest thing ever!”

Natasha smirked. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Oh please,” Y/N said with a derisive snort, “I have never walked away.”

“I don’t know about that, you do it quite often,” Wanda chimed in teasingly.

“Yeah, Y/N. You tend to avoid confrontation.”

“I do not.”

“Suuuuure,” Natasha said before shooting Wanda a knowing look.

“Besides, who even taught Loki about Earth’s customs and literature.”

“I did,” Wanda said, causing Y/N eyes to snap to her in surprise.

“You did?”

“Yeah. He came to me for help. He said he wanted to get to know Earth more. I lent him some of my books.”

“What were the books you lent him?” Y/N asked, a morbid sense of curiosity seizing her.

“The classics. Austen and Shakespeare to name a few,” Wanda replied with a shrug. “I lent him some modern books too but all I had were romances. I even managed to get him to read the bible. I wasn’t sure if he’d be interested but he took them from me anyway.”

A giddy smile spread across Y/N’s face at the thought. “You lent him romance books?”

“And the Bible?” Natasha’s eyebrows shot straight to her hairline in surprise.

Wanda nodded. “I did. He didn’t really like the Bible but he seems to be enjoying the romance novels. He gives it right back after he’s done with them so he can start another one. Finishes about three a week. I’m actually running out of books to recommend.”

“I didn’t realize he’d like reading romance books,” Natasha quipped.

“Neither did I.” And the grin that spread through Y/N’s lips could only be described as mischievous.

“You could have told me you liked reading romance books, you know,” Y/N fought the teasing smile that threatened to erupt from her lips.

Loki feigned indifference as he glanced at her from the top of his book. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you are talking about.”

“Jigs up, Loki. Wanda told me you’ve been borrowing books from her.” She pulled herself a chair, sitting down next to Loki, the image of casual grace.

“Now I understand your previous irritation with me upon my interrupting your reverie,” Loki muttered with an eye roll.

“I didn’t take you for a romantic,” she said, ignoring his jibe.

Loki didn’t so much as react, his eyes focused intently on his book.

“It’s alright, you know,” Y/N continued, ignoring Loki’s indifference. “I like romance books too. I enjoy them immensely.”

Y/N could almost feel Loki’s hesitation. “I quite like Austen.”

“She’s one of my favorites. My mom’s too,” Y/N grinned. “Though I prefer Pride and Prejudice to my mom’s Sense and Sensibilities.”

“I’m partial to Pride and Prejudice as well,” Loki said evenly. “Though I find many of its characters irksome.”

“Lemme guess. Mr. Collins, Lydia and maybe even Lady Catherine?”

“To name a few.”

“So what possessed you to start reading Midgardian romance novels?” As she said this, she maneuvered her chair until she was facing Loki, her legs coming up to rest on his lap almost absentmindedly.

If Loki was bothered by Y/N’s sudden feeling of comfortableness around him, he didn’t show it.

The seconds that passed before Loki spoke again had Y/N briefly wondering if she should repeat her question. “You once told me that you want the kind of love people write about in books. I wanted to see what that love meant.”

Of all of the things Loki could have said, that was the one Y/N least expected. “What? Why would you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Care about what I want.”

“Truthfully, I do not know,” Loki’s face was troubled, as though the very idea of caring about Y/N was concerning to him. But then he smoothened his expression with finality, as if in the span of a few seconds, he had come to accept that he truly cared for her.

Y/N didn’t know what to make of it and she ignored the fluttering butterflies that roiled in her stomach.

“I have come to care for you, Y/N,” Loki’s voice was soft and low, like Y/N was some wounded bird with a broken wing who needs soothing. He leaned forward earnestly, encroaching on her personal space. “I do not know when my heart decided to care for you or even why. I do not even know how you have accomplished where so many others have failed. But I do know that I care for you.”

“You care for me?” Y/N echoed dumbly.

“Most ardently.” Loki’s hand reaches for her, his knuckle brushing the hollow of her cheeks before his thumb glided across her open lips. “My body craves you, do you know that? It seeks you even when my mind does not. Every time I enter a room, I find myself looking for your familiar figure. When you laugh, it is the sound of my world hurdling through its axis. And when you smile at me… not even the explosion of a thousand suns could describe the warmth that burns in my chest at the sight of that smile.”

Y/N’s mouth was still hanging open at Loki’s words, her eyes wide and gobsmacked.

“I once thought you beautiful,” Loki’s eyes darted to her lips. His pupils were blown, the black like an island in the middle of a vast sea. “Now I know there are no words in any language to describe what you are. Your Midgardian customs, they are foreign to me. But I would gladly become a scholar and learn them all if it means learning you.”

Y/N had to swallow down the lump in her throat. Her tongue darted to her lips in an attempt to stave off the dryness but Loki’s heated gaze turned burning at the sight of her tongue.

She didn’t like how he made her feel, not after he said those things to her. But she would be a liar if she ever said she wasn’t the least bit affected by them.

She was too affected by them.

If this is how Lucifer felt before he fell then, my god, Y/N would have rebelled against Heaven too.

But rather than saying anything, Y/N quickly pushed Loki away, swiping her legs out from his lap and ran out of the dining room.

She left the matter alone and now it is a festering wound ripe with infection.

Loki’s been stealing glances whenever they were in a shared room and so she’d spent her free time holed up in her room, only leaving when her needs call for her or her job demands that she leaves.

She hadn’t spoken to Loki in a week and when she told Wanda and Natasha what had transpired within them, all her two friends din was smirk at each other.

“What?” Y/N demanded, her face pulled in a scowl of annoyance.

“Just that you proved us right again.” Natasha said nonchalantly.

“You ran away from him. That is avoiding confrontation.” Wanda added.

“I didn’t run away.”

“Pretty sure you did.”

“Nat!”

Nat raised her hands placatingly, further irritating Y/N. She was sitting by the desk in Y/N’s room, watching as Y/N wore the carpet down with her pacing.

“You can’t avoid him forever,” Wanda said.

“I know that,” Y/N said with a groan as she plopped on her bed next to Wanda. “I don’t know what to do.” Right now, all she wanted to do was hit something and with her avoiding Loki, she didn’t have her favorite sparring partner. It was enough to drive her nuts.

“Why not be truthful?” Natasha suggested. “How did Loki’s confession make you feel?”

Natasha’s question was enough to give her pause. She hadn’t actually thought about her emotions all that much.

Truthfully, Loki’s confession had her emotions racing. She couldn’t understand how she went from hating him, to reluctant allies, to liking him enough to be friends to this. Though, she wasn’t entirely sure what this was.

How did Loki make him feel?

There was only one answer to that question and upon realizing her feelings, she ran out of her room, ignoring Natasha’s irritated grumble. “There she goes again.”

Her feet ran throughout the compound, searching room after room for Loki’s familiar figure.

She felt like a thousand butterflies were ready to burst from her chest. Like laughter had been bottled up inside her for years and was finally yearning to be uncaged. Hers was a monster finally feeling the sun on its face for the first time in its life and she didn’t want to cage it again.

She skidded to a stop upon seeing Loki’s familiar figure, resting on one of the dining room table chairs.

The golden light from the setting sun hit him from all angles, casting him in a glow that softened his features. His body was relaxed, his breathing even but his eyes were far away. Y/N wasn’t even sure he noticed her watching him. But despite how quiet she was, something broke his reverie and his eyes slid towards her. It lit up in surprise at the sight of her and he stood up quickly. Loki’s lips began to form the first syllable to Y/N’s name but she interrupted him before he could.

“You make me feel alive.”

Loki paused, Y/N’s words silencing him.

“I am not a poet,” Y/N said, ignoring her fast beating heart, eyes focused on the man before her. “I don’t know how to use words like you can. I don’t know how to describe how I feel but I do know this. When I’m with you, I feel alive.”

Loki’s eyes widened in surprise at her words. He took a step towards her, one that had Y/N taking a step back, hands flying up to stop him. “I’m not done.”

Loki simply pursed his lips and let Y/N continue.

She took a deep breath before continuing. “When I’m with you, I feel alive. And… it scares me. I have never felt this way about anyone before and a part of me hates that of all the people I could have fallen for, it was you. You, who have hurt me more than anyone in this universe has. You have the power to hurt me even more than anyone ever will. And it scares the living crap out of me. I am terrified.”

Loki took another step forward and the look in his eyes had Y/N taking a step back, arms held out before her. As if to placate her, he bowed his head, attention to his feet but his ears still trained to her.

Without Loki’s penetrating gaze, the words came easily. They tumbled down from her lips like the dying leaves of autumn, falling slowly at first before you look up and realize just how bare the trees look. “I am terrified of the hurt and the pain. I am scared that you’ll make me feel alive and once you leave, you’ll leave me for dead. I can’t do that again. I can’t lose people like that again. But I am so tired of running. If I’m not too late and you’re still willing to try out whatever this is, then I am too.”

Ignoring her thundering heart, Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath. “You can say something now.”

But Loki stayed silent and Y/N’s pounding heart sounded like war drums in her ear.

“Loki?”

At his name, he looked up grinning like devil. He threw his head back, eyes trained to the ceiling, as if silent prayer. His lips were moving silently, saying words in a language Y/N couldn’t decipher. The glow from the windows made him look like an angel and it left Y/N breathless.

He finally met her eyes and his expression was lighter than she’d seen it in days.

“Loki, are you praying?” Y/N asked curiously.

“I am,” Loki confirmed as he closed the gap between them. “I do not believe in your gods but your words may finally convert me to religion. It’s nothing short of a miracle, I think, to hear you say what you said.”

“Funny you say that, I keep thinking you look like some kind of ethereal angel.”

“Angel? Darling, I am the furthest thing from it.” Loki was so close now, Y/N could feel the permanent chill emanating from his body.

“I know. I still think you look like one.”

He clasped his hands around her, that light smile on his face never leaving. It had the heart in Y/N’s chest thudding so fast, it was almost hard to count the beats.

“Thank you,” Loki said and Y/N knew nothing could wipe the grin off of Loki’s face at this very moment. “I am still unfamiliar of your Midgardian customs but I believe that in a situation such as this, confessions of love end in a kiss. May I kiss you?”

That elicited a laugh out of her ans Loki’s already light expression became even more joyful. “What I would do to hear you laugh like that everyday.”

“Yes, Loki. You can kiss me.”

And so he did.

#avengers fanfic #avengers imagines #avengers oneshot #loki x y/n #loki imagine #loki fluff #loki (marvel) #loki show #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #lokius #loki series #loki oneshot #tom hiddelston loki #loki odinson #loki #loki god of mischief #tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine

[holsten-from-hasa]

echo watches dominion smp

viking pilot pov (hello tumblr jumpscare man)

anyway immediate thoughts: this guy is an embodiment of a wet rag, i want to wring him out and hang him up to dry. nice voice.

honestly more put together when confronted with thefacthes real now than i would ever be. 'hi yes ive been watching you for a while. hello' also set on fire so much. grilled viking

everyone on this server is slightly insane. i love them

viking has. the wildest sense of loyalty ive ever seen. like yes hes fix's friend. yes hes just vibing while the others spawn a warden. yes he told taneesha peoples favourite things. yes hes immediately telling said people where they are. hes just So.

little ghost boy. what crimes will he commit.

the iou collection?? hermitcraft enjoyer in me still remembers horse head farms and the head canons of those being souls. viking the soul collector i guess

he is in your walls. he is in my walls. he is skittering around between the bricks listening in on you.

how far is he willing to go for a legundo iou. because so far seems like fix is one of his actual friends.

also just realised. he is wearing his own severed head to let people see him. that is both really wholesome and. freaky.

taking the blame. for tax fraud. does our favourite ghost boy not know that you do not fuck with the irs.

'you comitted several crimes' his reaction to crouch and look at them. god.

i am losing my mind.

ALL OF THIS FOR AN IOU

this mans priorities.

GRADY UNDER THE SLAB. HIDING. he looks so sad.

grady is so.

he got the worst deal. viking youre so dumb.

love how his outro just. has his channel icon cover his face. someone just slapped his own sticker on there.

episode 4: viking loses his goddamn mind

legundo shivering the whole time makes it so much better.

'I DO NOT FEEL SAFE IN THE MURDER GRAVEYARD' whats wrong, legundo? do you fear death? do you fear confrontation with your own mortality? run. perhaps you will find safety under the burning sun. but perhaps you will not be alone.

i have no idea what im saying any more.

oh no.viking once again tkaing the fall for a crime. taneesha is a bad influence.

'wow whatcrimes did viking commit' 'oh, yknow, all the ones we tried blaming taneesha for' 'huh, wild'

GRADY IS THERE

this web of lies. my god.

grady just like 'youre full of shit yknow'

oh hey is now a good time to mention i tend to associate phantoms with cats.

i am so glad he told nuke. still viking has the wildest allegiances ive ever seen.

people i need to watch after viking: nuke and grady. they have such vibes, actually

changing taneeshas base from snowy wonderland toliteral hell.... beautiful.

'not a cult' idk guys might be a cult. but also void is such a good aesthetic

feeding the void. crunchity munchity

vikings one cncern is that theres no contact card. yeah ok nice priorities ghost boy. im having the time of my life here.

'take it to your grave type thing' 'oh wait i have a thing for that' because yes phantom man has a grave for his servermate. in the murder graveyard. normal person thing the have. definitely.

he literally just murdered someone. nice. i support him.

now they are bullying the man who is constantly trembling.

no object permanence.... they are best friends

casually blowing a hole in the wall of the irs' tax bunker. after being told repeatedly to not do it. just hot girl things ig

JUST PUT A BLANKET OVER IT SHE WONT KNOW

AND NOW THERES A WARDEN

beautiful. wonderful. they are so dead

vanessa....

'yeah btw jamie mightbe being corrupted by void'

also fun fact! i am guessing everyones origins as we go. i know nothing i went in blind. its great. nothing is explained i love life

this episode is a train wreck. its so so great

'SNEVE WERE GODS'

'yeah this is a good place' 'so what about the queens head right there' 'dwbi'

'i have a wish no one on the smp is prepareed for' oh no.

'it kinda transformed into its own, evil throne room' yeah ok thats perfectly normal. sure. vaults always turn into evil throne rooms. thats normal.

whats your plan viking. viking whats your plan

oh no hes gonna set legundo and fix againsteach other. i cant wait

lmao their concern over his laughs. dw guys hes just a silly lil guy. a buddy. not a murder ghost at alll

my new skrunkly is going insane. good for him

oh. good noises.

i love his evil laugh.

he got the carpet echest thing from tango!!! :D

for the record i am a tango tek enjoyer. he is my Guy tm

taneesha jumping around. bouncies.

LEGUNDO JUST SHIVERING. THE ENTIRE TIME

'the queen doesnt scare me' sir. poor move. probably.

YOU DO NOT FEAR THE VOID? THE ALL CONSUMING NOTHING? THE ETERNAL DARK?

oh. oh he just wants his memories back. hm what is going on here.

'i dont want to be a ghost forever. its lonely' ow. ow

viking the puppetmaster.... pulling the strings of chaos

finale time. oh god. im not ready actually

the PODIUM..... my god

JAMIE NO

'THIS MIGHT BE REALLY BAD' yeah the queen just got possessed by the void and flew off with the egg. and you think it MIGHT be bad???

'for chaos to be fun theres gotta be a world left' yeah. true

IT WORKED IT WORKED IT WORKED IT WORKED

he got nuggies!!!!

'nothing could possibly go wrong' legundo said, before everything went wrong

oh shit. ok. yeah ok that was. shitt

conclusion: viking dominionsmp is a pathetic wet rag and also a catboy who deserves to Kill. i fucking love this smp

#export.txt #dominion smp #'echo why did you say the most batshit things knowing you are flirting with ajumpscare' #well this is my house. and if the man wants to read my diary he does not get to judge the horrors contained within

[teaveetamer]

Something among others that bothers me in this fandom is how many blame Rodrigue for anything and everything while saying that Felix is blameless in their issues. Like how when Rodrigue dies, they blame Rodrigue for never reconciling with Felix first when irs Felix who pushed away his dad for years and Felix who never wanted to reconcile. They act like Rodrigue is a dick to focus on Dimitri while dying when he literally died saving Dimitri and Felix isn't in that scene. (Part 1)

Now I'll admit, I think AG handled Felix and Rodrigue 10x better now. Because Rodrigue is playable, he has support, he interacts with Felix more often, and this Felix is more mature too. But simultaneously it does seem to be fixing the issues I had. In the alt path where Rodrigue dies, that cutscene is everything I wanted from AM: Rodrigue even focuses on both Dimitri and Felix, too, while Felix speaks to his dad before Rodrigue dies. AG does both characters very well IMO (part 2)

Oooooh yeah that one always rustles my jimmies. I did a whole post about it awhile back.

TL;DR: While yes, Rodrigue is the adult in this situation, there is still only so much he can do if Felix isn't willing to meet him in the middle. He can't force Felix to be okay with him, and trying could potentially drive the wedge between them further.

Also the argument that Dimitri "stole" Rodrigue from Felix is completely ridiculous on his face. It is 100% undeniable directly stated canon that Dimtiri hasn't even seen Rodrigue in two years when 3H's academy phase begins.

And no, even before that he didn't "steal" Rodrigue. He committed the heinous crime of... checks notes... being a literal child who was traumatized by the massacre of his friends and family and then traumatized again by being forced to witness the genocide that followed (which, despite his best efforts to stop it, he was only able to save one person).

You can argue that Rodrigue should have paid more attention to Felix after Glenn's death if you like, but you are a monster if you genuinely argue that Rodrigue should have just completely ignored this 12/13 year old he viewed as a second son after Dimitri experienced an assassination attempt, dozens of people he was close to (including his own father!) being murdered in front of him, being orphaned, and then a literal genocide... all because Felix had his feelings hurt over the Faeghus equivalent of "he's in a better place now". Is it valid for Felix to have his feelings hurt and be grieving his brother's death? Absolutely. Does it make Rodrigue a bad person to look at Dimitri and say "you know what, this kid needs me right now too"? No, it absolutely does not.

Additionally, Felix's issue with Rodrigue is never about how Rodrigue treated Dimitri after Lambert was murdered. It was entirely about what Rodrigue said to him about Glenn's death. Similarly, Felix's issues with Dimitri are never about Rodrigue. I don't even know how people twisted it so that Felix just hates Dimitri for "stealing his dad". Felix's issue with Dimitri is completely separate from Rodrigue.

And yeah, his death scene in AM has problems... but that's 100% a consequence of permadeath needing to permadeath. Can't have Felix in the scene if Felix is dead (and lol you think they have the budget to make two of these CGs and record an actual meaningful difference in the dialogue? Nah, nah, we had to put that budget into tea time).

I haven't seen the alt path of AG where Rodrigue dies for myself, but I think his relationship with Felix is handled fairly well in AG. I think it does at least demonstrate that Felix needed to grow up and mature a bit before he was in a place where he was able to understand where Rodrigue was coming from (and forgive him). Even though I don't think it was handled perfectly, it was definitely handled better.

#fe3h fandom discourse

[barkingpanther]

Oh, my sweet Lord but did I have too much of a day today. First, I don’t remember what we were talking about but grammy said something about ‘It’s a free country’ little knowing that’s one of my most hated phrases because it sure as fuck isn’t. That flipped a switch in me and I admittedly got very loud. To the point that she got scared because I was ‘so angry’. Like, obviously I’m angry about it, who wouldn’t be?

But then she continued and said ‘Well, what are you going to do about it? Nothing?' Like what the actual fuck? Does she think there’s a whole lot I can personally do that I’m not currently doing? And what? Would she not pitch an absolute fit if I decided to attend a protest? She doesn’t even want my talking a walk through the neighborhood by myself (Which was another thing we got into recently-her victim blaming that woman who was murdered while jogging). Anyways, I got all het up and she said she wouldn’t bring those up with me again because I ‘get too scary.’

Then, when it was time for dinner , my aunt again made another fucking comment about my eating. And I just SNAPPED. Well, bent. See, grammy didn’t hear what she said and I told her 'Oh, [aunt] just thinks she can comment on how much I eat even though she eats more in a day than I do in a week’ and my aunt just laughed like it was all a big joke. And just fyi, her comment made me get as little food as possible even though there was plenty and I ended up hungry because I hadn’t eaten all day, thank you very much.

When I saw grammy after dinner I told her again she needs to talk to my aunt because I’m at the end of my tether and will absolutely destroy that bitch. Grammy said she would and told me she didn’t realize how mean she was being !?!?! I TOLD you! I told you she was making these comments! I TOLD you I have an eating disorder! Why the Hell didn’t you believe ME when I told you! The only good that came of it was grammy was really pissed off. But like, where was that ire when I told you about it a month ago? Just Jesus Christ, the shit I have to put up with.

[aquillis-main]

No blame, only a pointed finger. (Which is no longer pointed as I am choosing to take your word on your meaning.)

If you agree with someone without a "but" you are agreeing with their entire statement...that is how it will be read by everyone on the outside. If someone says, "I love cheese. And everyone who doesn't like cheese deserves to die." and you say, "Yeah." without specifying that you were only agreeing to the first part you can't expect anyone else to know that you weren't referring to the whole statement.

Immediately? My first ask was rather benign. It was only after your sarcastic reply that I gained any sharpness (which wasn't the best approach, admittedly.)

I DID read the entire "thread," multiple times.

As it stands, I don't understand why you can understand the nuance of Shadow but can't for the movies? It feels like you watched it only once or something. Because you've got the completely wrong angle and there's some story and character stuff that aren't quite correct.

Honestly, I thought we were getting somewhere in understanding one another, but I was shocked by the ire radiating off of your last post. If you want, we can part ways here, since you're mad at me and we're not getting anywhere... :I

All caps 'now', using a morality argument ('the would-be-child-murderer'), and making a false equivalence between me saying that the script for the Sonic Movie was poorly thought out, to me not liking people joking about a fictional character's death I would not call 'benign' in the slightest sense. In fact, your tone was extremely accusatory, and going 'how dare you act like this isn't okay, when you acted like this earlier!' doesn't make me feel willing to chat to someone who only wants to be an ass about my opinion on things. Forgive me for being rude, but I'm seeing someone be rude to me, so I act as such.

Also, is clarifying what I specifically find egregious about what I have an issue with along with posting another person's ask not also showing my opinion on the subject as well as adding onto what I agree with, even if it's contradictory to what the anon stated? I only fully agreed with an anon once, and all of the other 'agree' asks have extra bits that have additional bits that says 'I have a beef with this'.

Also, I have watched the movie once, and all the stuff I have said about the movie could be glossed in the first run. I don't have to go back and watch it again when I know the points, especially about the random turtle Sonic saves. Maybe some things are fuzzy about the movie, like the bit about the stuff Sonic had in his cave, but you got to admit they never explained where Sonic got any of his stuff from, nor is it given an explanation in general. You can think up stuff like that because of the lack of focus on Sonic as a character, and more as a plot device in general.

I can understand the nuance with Shadow because it's there. With the movies, there's not much nuance in the First Movie, and the Second movie abandons almost all the concepts introduced in the first movie entirely.

And now you're telling me I'm mad, when I'm actually frustrated with you and your refusal to read between the lines and your constant telling me about how you 'can't read' every time. I feel like I'm clearer than glass with you, yet you refuse to open to the possibility that some people are going to walk away from the first Sonic movie feeling like Sonic seems like a jerk, and not in a good way. That refusal you need to let go, and grow up to realize that you have to look in more than one angle about the media you consume. Don't follow what the narrative pulls you into, look at what you enjoy and what you don't like.

#aquillis answers #shady guy

[reddancer1]

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

January 11, 2023 (Wednesday)

Watching the news today, I suspect I am not always going to report all the twists and turns of the House Republicans for the next two years. They campaigned in the midterm elections on so-called kitchen-table issues—inflation, primarily—but upon taking control of the House, they instantly reverted back to the culture wars that are their bread and butter. This is largely performative for their base, since the Democratic-led Senate will never pass their extreme measures.

On Monday evening the new Republican-controlled House of Representatives passed a bill to cut funding for the Internal Revenue Service that the previous Congress included in the Inflation Reduction Act, funding intending to add workers to clear a big backlog of unprocessed returns, overhaul technology, and improve customer service. Republicans insist that funding the IRS will send bureaucrats to hassle ordinary Americans, but in fact, Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen has directed that none of the new resources will be used to increase audit rates for small businesses or households with an annual income below $400,000.

If the House measure were to become law—which it will not because the Senate will not pass it—it would add significantly to the deficit. The nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office said that the Republicans’ bill would increase the deficit by nearly $115 billion over ten years.The Biden administration has focused on tax evasion among the wealthy and has sought since the beginning of Biden’s term to crack down on tax cheats. 

The administration responded to the House measure with uncharacteristic saltiness. “With their first economic legislation of the new Congress, House Republicans are making clear that their top economic priority is to allow the rich and multi-billion dollar corporations to skip out on their taxes, while making life harder for ordinary, middle-class families that pay the taxes they owe,” responded the Office of Management and Budget.

  “That’s their agenda; not lowering costs or cutting taxes for hard working Americans—as President Biden has consistently advocated. If the President were presented with H.R. 23—or any other bill that enables the wealthiest Americans and largest corporations to cheat on their taxes, while honest and hard-working Americans are left to pay the tab—he would veto it.”

Today the House followed up on its IRS bill with two antiabortion measures. With only three Democrats joining the Republicans, they adopted a resolution condemning attacks on “pro-life facilities, groups and churches.” Democrats pointed out that abortion providers and women seeking to obtain abortions have suffered deadly attacks, including the 2009 murder of Dr. George Tiller of Kansas. Mini Timmaraju, the head of NARAL Pro-Choice America said: “If you’re going to put a resolution out on violence against churches and fake pregnancy centers, why are we not also addressing violence against abortion providers and violence in general?”

The second measure is called the Born-Alive Abortion Survivors Protection Act and requires doctors to care for infants who survive an abortion. Opponents of the measure point out that such a scenario is exceedingly rare and that doctors are already required to do what the bill requires. The new measure adds new penalties for doctors.The first of these measures is not a law; the second will not pass the Senate. Still, both are much less extreme than what Republicans planned to offer when they expected the 2022 elections to go their way. 

A week ago, Bloomberg’s editors blamed the Republican Party’s dysfunction on the fact that the party has ignored public policy. “After a campaign in which culture-war issues took the place of an actual governing agenda—and in which the GOP nominated numerous on-message candidates who were clearly unfit for office—House Republicans have found themselves in power without a plan,” they wrote. Washington Post columnist Jennifer Rubin today called out the elephant in the room when she wrote that “there are no moderate House Republicans.”

The positions of the extremist Republicans in the fight over House speaker often made people talk of the rest of the party as “moderate,” but in fact, as Rubin points out, they all supported Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) for speaker, and McCarthy is an election denier. They also voted for the extremist rules package that threatens to bring the country to the unthinkable: a financial default.

Rubin pointed out that with the House as closely divided as it is, a few of these so-called moderates could defeat the radicals and force the party closer to the mainstream. So far, though, they have shown no inclination to do so. But there has been a sign that a new crop of Republicans might someday demand the party clean itself up (which doesn’t sound like much, but a fight against corruption was what launched Theodore Roosevelt’s political career in 1884). Today, four new Republican representatives from New York called on Representative George Santos (R-NY) to resign. During his campaign, Santos lied about his education, work experience,  and also apparently about his finances, which could involve him in legal trouble.

Republican officials in New York’s Nassau County also demanded Santos resign, saying: “This scandalous behavior does damage to all of our reputations because there is a part of our public that is cynical about politicians and public officials.” But Republican House leadership, including McCarthy and Elise Stefanik (R-NY), who is the third most powerful Republican in the House and was a key endorser of Santos, have stayed silent. For his part, Santos vows to stay in office. 

As I say, I may well not follow all the performances of House members going forward unless a performance seems like it will change the larger story of the country, in part because I worry that letting them take up all the oxygen will crowd out other crucial stories, like this one:

Since late last year, California has been pummeled by storms traveling in what are known as “atmospheric rivers,” powerful bands of water-filled clouds that the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) describes as “rivers in the sky.” These storm systems have created floods and mudslides, especially on land scarred by recent fires, and brought 70-mile-per-hour winds to Sacramento, knocking out power for more than 345,000 people. More than 4.5 million Californians have been under flood watches, and at least 17 people have died. According to San Francisco area meteorologist Jan Null, this has been the third rainiest period in San Francisco since the 1849 Gold Rush. On January 4, California governor Gavin Newsom declared a state of emergency, and Biden issued an emergency declaration on January 8. The warming climate is intensifying both droughts—which feed fires—and storms like those currently creating such destruction.

January 12, 2023 (Thursday)

After news broke yesterday that President Joe Biden’s lawyers had found a second batch of documents in his home in Wilmington, Delaware, Attorney General Merrick Garland today appointed Robert Hur as special counsel to investigate Biden’s handling of classified documents. After law school, Hur clerked for Chief Justice William Rehnquist and then served as special assistant to Christopher Wray—then an assistant attorney general, now FBI director—before being appointed by former president Trump as the U.S. attorney in Maryland. Since he left office in February 2021, he has been in private practice.

Accepting the post, Hur said: “I will conduct the assigned investigation with fair, impartial, and dispassionate judgment. I intend to follow the facts swiftly and thoroughly, without fear or favor, and will honor the trust placed in me to perform this service.”

The appointment of a special counsel seemed inevitable considering what Garland called “extraordinary circumstances”—likely a reference to the fact that former president Trump is being criminally investigated for his own handling of documents marked classified—and it serves to reinforce the idea that the Department of Justice treats everyone the same. This is a good thing.

But it presents a problem for MAGA Republicans. Unable to attack Biden for having documents marked classified in his possession without also faulting Trump, Republicans have tried to suggest that Biden was being treated differently than Trump is. The appointment of a special counsel undermines that. It also takes away from House Republicans the publicity they could get by investigating the issue themselves. House Speaker Kevin McCarthy said this morning that he did not “think there needs to be a special prosecutor,” and that Congress should conduct its own investigation.

This evening, Republicans appear to have settled on the talking point that Hur is tainted by his time at the Department of Justice under Wray—although Wray was appointed to the FBI directorship by Trump—and that his appointment is further evidence of the “political weaponization” of the FBI and the Justice Department. (Just to be clear: people writing about these cases keep referring to “documents marked classified” rather than “classified documents” because classification status can change, as Trump argued when he said he had declassified the materials found in his possession despite their markings. It’s awkward phrasing, I know, but it marks an important distinction.)

So far, anyway, Biden’s possession of documents marked classified appears very different from Trump’s. Biden’s team offered up to the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) the information that Biden had documents in his possession, has apparently been zealous about searching for them, and is apparently cooperating with the Justice Department. 

Here’s the story Garland laid out today: 

On November 2, Biden’s lawyers found a batch of documents from the time of the Obama-Biden administration when they were cleaning out Biden’s office at the Penn Biden Center for Diplomacy and Global Engagement, the Washington, D.C., think tank where Biden worked after his time as vice president. They immediately contacted NARA, which took possession of the documents the next morning. On November 4, NARA’s inspector general contacted the Justice Department to notify it of the document exchange, and on November 9 the FBI began to assess whether Biden had illegally mishandled classified information.

According to journalist Matthew Miller, classified documents often get taken from government facilities by accident. Those errors are reported, the documents recovered, and a damage assessment made to determine whether further action needs to be taken, all of which took place here.

On November 14, Garland assigned U.S. Attorney John Lausch, a Trump appointee, to consider whether Garland should appoint a special counsel. Meanwhile, Biden’s team had continued to search for more documents, and on December 20, Biden’s lawyer told Lausch they had found more documents with classification markings at Biden’s Wilmington home. On January 5, Lausch told Garland he thought it was a good idea to appoint a special counsel. 

Finally, on January 12, Biden’s lawyer told Lausch that Biden’s lawyers had found one more document, apparently in his personal library, but that a thorough review had turned up nothing else. This afternoon, the White House counsel said: “We have cooperated closely with the Justice Department throughout its review, and we will continue that cooperation with the Special Counsel.”While there is still a great deal we don’t know about either case, there are obvious and key differences between Biden’s and Trump’s handling of documents.

In Trump’s case, NARA repeatedly asked him simply to return the documents it knew he had. He refused for a year, then let NARA staff recover 15 boxes that included documents marked classified, withholding others. After a subpoena, his lawyers turned over more documents and signed an affidavit saying that was all of them. But of course it wasn’t: the FBI’s August search of Mar-a-Lago recovered still more documents marked classified. Even now, none of Trump’s lawyers will certify that they have turned over all the documents they are required to. Trump is apparently being investigated for obstruction and for violations of the Espionage Act, which makes it a crime to withhold documents from a government official authorized to take them.

On his social media network today, Trump wrote: “Merrick Garland has to immediately end Special Counsel investigation into anything related to me because I did everything right, and appoint a Special Counsel to investigate Joe Biden who hates Biden as much as Jack Smith hates me.” In a different post, he called Smith an “unfair savage.” 

Garland’s appointment of Special Counsel Jack Smith came only after Trump declared he was running for president in 2024, an announcement Trump likely made because he thought it would shield him from potential indictments. But news is coming daily that Smith’s subpoenas have been far ranging and widely spread, and that those who have testified before the grand jury found the questioning “intense.”

Meanwhile, arguments began today in the trial of five Proud Boys for their actions associated with the events of January 6, 2021. This is the third trial for seditious conspiracy associated with those events. Nine indicted Oath Keepers had to be broken into two groups because there was no courtroom in Washington, D.C., big enough for all of them. In the first Oath Keepers trial, a jury found five of the defendants guilty of various crimes, and two of them guilty of seditious conspiracy. The second Oath Keepers trial is going on right now. 

The Proud Boys defendants are charged with a variety of charges, including seditious conspiracy, conspiracy to obstruct an official proceeding, obstruction of an official proceeding, and conspiracy to prevent federal officers from performing their duties.

Roger Parloff of Lawfare, a legal correspondent who is covering the January 6 cases closely, writes that this trial “could well be the most important and informative of all.” The Justice Department today argued that the Proud Boys led the attack on the Capitol, while defense attorneys in turn argued that their clients were being used as “scapegoats” for Trump. “He is the one who unleashed that mob at the Capitol on January 6,” the lawyer for Proud Boys leader Enrique Tarrio said.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: someone of the (good-ish) mdzs cast is a serial killer. Why? Who else knows? Could be modern au, could be canon verse

Serial Killer - ao3

“So what are you going to do about it, Xichen?” Jin Guangyao heard Nie Mingjue demanding, and paused, tilting his head to the side to listen rather than proceeding to enter the room.

Nie Mingjue had gotten increasingly irascible as of late, no doubt in large part to the growing influence of the Song of Turmoil that he’d been playing for him, and much of his ire was (correctly, although unknowingly) aimed at Jin Guangyao. Most of the time, given Nie Mingjue’s straightforward nature, it was directly aimed at him, rather than through an indirect method, such as trying to convince Lan Xichen to turn away from him – and yet that was a method that Jin Guangyao was far more concerned about, given that Nie Mingjue had the benefit of a very old friendship with Lan Xichen that could be used to his benefit, if only he were a little less blockheaded about manipulating people.

Jin Guangyao absolutely refused to lose Lan Xichen, delighting as he did in the man’s faith and trust and benefiting from his influence and repeated interventions on his behalf; as a result, he would treat any such attempts by Nie Mingjue to drive a wedge between them very seriously. It therefore would be better to stay outside and listen, to figure out what argument Nie Mingjue was using and design appropriate countermeasures – to convince Lan Xichen that Nie Mingjue was, as usual, making a fuss when there was no reason, and that it was safe to simply ignore him or downplay his concerns.

Lan Xichen would believe him, as he always did, and never realize that he was helping push Nie Mingjue along the road to ruin – or indeed realize that he was pivotal to Jin Guangyao’s plan. Without Lan Xichen to support Jin Guangyao and make Nie Mingjue mistrust his own instincts, it would be much harder to isolate him from the few people he was willing to turn to for help, subtly influencing him not to believe his own symptoms, to doubt himself…to not realize what Jin Guangyao was doing to him.

“Da-ge…”

“Don’t da-ge me! He’s killing people!”

Jin Guangyao tensed.

How had Nie Mingjue discovered that?

Jin Guangyao had taken every precaution, going to great lengths to misdirect attention and cover up those deaths, whether it be the clans he’d fed into Xue Yang’s noxious experiments or else the ones he’d just had quietly executed somewhere no one would notice because they represented a threat to the rising power of the Jin sect. He’d known, of course, that he’d be held responsible for those deaths if anyone ever found out, there was no doubt that he would scapegoated by his father in that case, but he knew that it was especially dangerous to him if the person who discovered the truth was Nie Mingjue. Sure, he had his excuses ready in the event that Lan Xichen ever heard about it and found some evidence – he had a plan: to first deny convincingly, and then if that didn’t work, deny increasingly unconvincingly, and finally ‘give in’ and confess that he’d been driven to it by his father, that he’d been under duress, the sort of thing that Lan Xichen would happily swallow rather than believe that he’d been so fundamentally mistaken about Jin Guangyao.

Nie Mingjue, though – he’d been concerned that if Nie Mingjue ever found out about it, even the rumor of it without any evidence, he wouldn’t bother waiting for Jin Guangyao to explain or to blame his father. No, that brute would rather just take his saber and come and execute him on the steps of Jinlin Tower, if that was what it took to satisfy justice in his own mind, and never mind the consequences or costs. That Nie Mingjue would likely commit an honorable suicide thereafter for having misjudged and then executed his sworn brother was not, in fact, anywhere near as comforting as Nie Mingjue might think it was.

If anything, Nie Mingjue going to Lan Xichen with his concerns first was highly unexpected.

Jin Guangyao hated the unexpected.

“Da-ge, please, calm down,” Lan Xichen said, and his voice was – oddly calm, really. Jin Guangyao would have expected him to be a little more agitated, a little more demanding for details…was Lan Xichen’s faith in him really so strong? “Think this through before you do anything rash.”

“Rash!” Nie Mingjue fumed. “Rash..! Xichen, really.”

“You know he’s a good person,” Lan Xichen insisted, and Jin Guangyao smiled. “He has always meant well, strived to do good, regardless of whether it was commonly accepted – even you have to admit it.”

“I don’t have to admit anything,” Nie Mingjue grumbled, but Jin Guangyao could hear the rage dying down to something more of a simmer, rather than a roaring boil. Truly only Lan Xichen had such remarkable abilities, soothing the fierce beast with nothing but his presence and voice, no magic songs required – even Jin Guangyao found himself soothed by his presence.

There was a reason he wouldn’t give him up.

“You’ve known him for years, da-ge,” Lan Xichen said, voice soft, convincing, persuasive. Jin Guangyao didn’t have to be inside the room to imagine the scene he would see: Lan Xichen would be leaning forward, the slightest curve adding softness to the rigid posture required of Lan sect disciples, his eyes curved in a smile, his head a little dropped so that he could look up at Nie Mingjue with an expression of cheerfulness livened by a touch of mischief – full of charm, the way the women in the brothel practiced all day to do, but superior to any of their petty tricks. Lan Xichen was pure as a breath of fresh air in the lonely mountaintop, a benevolent god above the concerns of the world and yet determined to reach out his hands down to the needy – truly it was no wonder that Jin Guangyao was determined to take all that benevolence and joy and keep it all to himself. “For years, da-ge. And more than that, you know how hard he’s had it – how hard things have been, how much he’s suffered, all those things that other people don’t understand. You know that even when he’s strayed and been confused, he’s always returned back to the right way of doing things in the end.”

Nie Mingjue sighed, a great exhalation of breath.

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, and Jin Guangyao felt the sharp taste of joy on his tongue – there were few feelings in the world so great as this, to have started with nothing and risen so far, to have so thoroughly deceived these men, even Nie Mingjue who ought to know better after having seen him. “And yet, I can’t help but worry – this doesn’t seem like the rest of it. Isn’t he going too far this time?”

“Da-ge, if you have concerns, why not raise them with him directly?” Lan Xichen suggested, and Jin Guangyao nodded in approval. If Nie Mingjue came to him first with any concerns, he would be able to devise the appropriate response to those concerns – whether it was through coming up with some method of assuaging the concerns or in preemptively eliminated whoever had raised them, that was his business. Either way, it would be much easier to take action when he had prior warning, whereas some sort of unexpected public confrontation would be much more difficult to deal with.

“I don’t know, Xichen. You know he doesn’t listen to me.”

“That’s not true! Your opinion means so much to him – he’s always admired you, looked up to you. He wants you to approve of him.”

That was nonsense, of course. Jin Guangyao hadn’t cared one whit for Nie Mingjue’s opinion of him since the day the man had lost his usefulness – the Nie sect had been a necessary hurdle for him, the only Great Sect that allowed for promotion purely on the basis of merit without a thousand and one other rules, and Nie Mingjue himself was known to promote men quickly if they had skills he could use. Jin Guangyao had needed that back then, when he’d had nothing, and he’d been able to parlay it into additional use in the future: first, by getting Nie Mingjue’s recommendation letter to enter the Jin sect troops, although that hadn’t ended up working out, and then later, by using it to leverage himself a position with the Wen sect, courtesy of Wen Ruohan’s strange fixation on the Nie sect leader.

Would he like Nie Mingjue’s good opinion? Certainly, especially after he’d traded his somewhat dubious claim to a life-debt for Nie Mingjue swearing brotherhood with him; it would be extremely helpful if Nie Mingjue would support him the way Lan Xichen did. But since it didn’t seem likely that he’d be able to get on Nie Mingjue’s good side again, there was no point in expecting anything further from the man.

Well, no, that was wrong. He also expected great things from Nie Mingjue’s upcoming death, which would tally in quite nicely with many of his plans for domination in the cultivation world.

“I’d like to approve of him,” Nie Mingjue said. “I really would, Xichen, you know that. He’s smart and he’s capable and he has so much potential for goodness – I greatly admire him, really, I do. I would even go so far as to say that there are things for which I would trust his word over the evidence of my own eyes.”

Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but preen a little.

What an idiot, he thought, smiling. Truly there was nothing in that man’s brain but saber, and everything else had long ago rotted away – the Song of Turmoil boiling him alive until he was pickled with rage, leaving nothing else behind. Certainly not any critical thinking skills.

That final qi deviation must not be far away, now.

“But at the same time,” Nie Mingjue continued, presumably that last bit of self-preservation instinct trying to ring the alarms. “At the same time, I really do think that this is different in kind. It’s literally murder, Xichen. He’s murdering people. Not just killing, the way you do in wartime – actual murder. Premeditated, pre-planned murder. How can you just look away from that?”

Lan Xichen was quiet for a long moment, and Jin Guangyao tensed a little, his head tilting towards the door, awaiting the answer with both anticipation and fear.

“I think it’s a little more complicated than that,” he finally said, and Jin Guangyao’s eyebrows arched a little in surprise and wholly unanticipated pleasure. “It’s not just his actions that I look at, but those that died, too – we killed many people during the war, da-ge, didn’t we? Not all of whom had done evil against us, but who had to go because of the evil they represented…”

“Xichen!” Nie Mingjue cried, and for once Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but side with his reaction, his shock. “Are you suggesting that the victims deserved it?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Lan Xichen asked. Jin Guangyao had to admit that he was deeply impressed – he wouldn’t have thought Lan Xichen, the perfect gentleman, would have had it in him to side with him quite so deeply as that. “I’m with you, Mingjue-xiong. I’d believe him over even myself in just about every case – every time I’ve questioned what he was doing, he explained, and when he explained, I understood. It isn’t as black and white as all that.”

“I mean…I guess,” Nie Mingjue said, still sounding shocked and a little appalled. “But murder – so many murders…Xichen, are you sure it’s not some sort of qi deviation, something that gives him pleasure in taking lives? Are you sure each one is justified?”

“Those are two separate questions,” Lan Xichen said delicately. “I do think he takes pleasure in the act, and although I don’t understand it myself, I can understand that it helps him deal with…everything, really. Everything that’s happened to him. The tragedy, the senselessness of it…maybe it helps him feel better about it, helps comfort him. Maybe it’s some sort of sense that he’s evening the scales, perhaps? Some overall karmic balance?”

Jin Guangyao nodded along. He could certainly see Lan Xichen talking himself into believing something like that, and who knew? Maybe it was even a little true. He certainly enjoyed taking out the trash that had seen itself as above him, enjoyed stamping their lives into the mud – he wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t a necessity, a part of his power play, and he wouldn’t have described himself as taking pleasure in it, but at the same time, he certainly didn’t regret any of it. If it made Lan Xichen feel better to think that he had some sort of complex psychology driving his actions, well, so be it.

As long as he continued to support him.

“But as for whether it’s justified…” Lan Xichen sighed. “I’m not perfect at telling good from evil, Mingjue-xiong, and neither are you. No one is. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Nie Mingjue grunted. It almost sounded as if he really were agreeing.

Was Lan Xichen really convincing Nie Mingjue that Jin Guangyao ought to be allowed to murder people with impunity as long as he came up with a good enough reason for it in advance? How delightful.

Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder – although he’d never actually take the risk of it – whether he could convince Lan Xichen that Nie Mingjue’s death, too, had been justified. It was an amusing enough thought to make him genuinely smile, a smile full of all the bloodthirstiness he normally kept hidden deep down: truly, if he had his choice in the matter, he’d love to see Nie Mingjue’s expression if he ever found out what Jin Guangyao was doing to him, ideally once it was too late for him to do anything about it or alert anyone to what was happening.

Maybe, if Jin Guangyao could arrange to be there to push him over the edge, he might even get to see it.

Maybe he’d even remind him of this little conversation, and ask if he found his own murder justified.

“All right, then,” Nie Mingjue finally said, exhaling slowly, and Jin Guangyao bit his lips to keep from laughing out loud. “I see what you mean, and…yes, I suppose you’re right, Xichen. I may not understand all the motives behind the murders, and I may not like the idea of just – trusting that he knows what he’s doing in killing them, but at the same time…”

He sighed.

“At the same time, I can’t disagree that if there’s one person I trust to have a good reason to kill someone in some deserted place for their undiscovered wrongdoings, it would be Wangji.”

Jin Guangyao’s smile faded away.

Lan Wangji?

What in the world were they talking about? How had Lan Wangji entered into it?

It wasn’t as if Lan Wangji were going around randomly killing people for, what, sport – killing them, and then justifying their deaths as having been deserved because they had supposedly done bad things –

A hand fell on Jin Guangyao’s shoulder, and he jumped a little, surprised: he hadn’t realized that anyone else was there with him in the deserted hallway or seen them come up behind him, much less close enough to touch.

He turned around: it was Lan Wangji himself, pale-faced and miserable the way he’d looked since the Massacre at the Nightless City, since he’d missed the Siege of the Burial Mounds on account of being confined – miserable, but upright, hale and hearty and righteous as always, his eyes bright with passion that verged on obsession.

He had his sword in his hand.

It was unsheathed.

“Wait,” Jin Guangyao said, taking a step back, his eyes going wide as he realized something. Surely he didn’t mean to – surely they hadn’t really meant – surely not – “Wait, Wangji, don’t..!”

#mdzs #jin guangyao #lan xichen #nie mingjue #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #serial killer

[shumaiseyeliner]

“Hi! Uh~can I make a request? I feel real angsty rn so let's do Nagito, Post-game Izuru/Hajime (sorry), Makoto, Fuyuhiko and Kokichi and a Dying reader who dies in their arms confessing :) Also I love your stories so much~”

a/n: y’all know that I’m bad at writing for them (hajime and izuru) but you just enjoy seeing me struggle 😭🤚I’M DOING THEM SEPARATELY BC I FEEL LIKE A DUMBASS WHENEVER I WRITE FOR THEM TOGETHER, also writing nagito for this prompt made my heart hurt, komahina vibes and I cried a lil

warnings: yandere, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy mindsets, unhealthy behavior, angst, death, spoilers for nagito’s freetime events, suicide mention in nagito’s, his part is longer but there’s too much to unpack with nagito 🥲, murder mention

Komaeda Nagito

☘︎︎ he’s literally dying from dementia and another disease, so I feel like while Nagito craves a relationship with his darling, he definitely pushes them away a lot due to having the (fair) idea that he’s going to end up dying before his darling. It’s a really sad truth about Nagito that he doesn’t acknowledge much, but he’s extremely lonely and afraid that he’s going to end up dying alone, but I think he’d eventually just want to spend what time he has left servicing his darling. That’s how he wants to die, truly. So, you can imagine his absolute despair once he realizes that his darling is going to die.

☘︎︎ whether it’s from a disease or not, Nagito knows that his darling is going to die before it’s actually happening. He’s absolutely convinced it’s due to his luck cycle, so the dread he feels is absolutely crushing. Nagito, due to his illnesses, lacks empathy, but as his darling is dying in his arms, he’s sobbing his heart out. He doesn’t know how to process what’s going on, and while this may sound harsh, his darlings confession just makes it ten times worse. Nagito is closed off because of the severe amount of trauma he’s gone through, so coming to terms with their death is quite literally going to be impossible for him.

☘︎︎ hate to say it... but he won’t last long after his darling dies, especially knowing that they loved him. The only thing keeping Nagito from the deep end had been his darling, so I don’t think he’d live very long afterwards. He’s the type that would say that he wouldn’t be able to live without his darling in his life, and it was true, technically, and Nagito proves this through his actions. He becomes reckless, and I don’t think his luck cycle could ever keep up with that in the long run. He’d end up dying, eventually, and while it could be counted as an accident, it most definitely was not.

Kamukura Izuru

☘︎︎ he does not deal with this well, and this is because Izuru knew that his darling was going to die already. It messed worh his brain, and he hated knowing that they’d die eventually. He left his darling alone - see, avoided them - because he specifically did not want to be there when it happened. Izuru is still very new to emotions, so when they’re forced out of him, he can become rather... angry. That being said, he doesn’t accept the fact that his darling is going to die very easily, Izuru tries to help them in his own way, but he’s literally incapable of stopping it from happening.

☘︎︎ needless to say, he’s pretty much seething when his darling dies in his arms. Like... this is something he cannot emotionally comprehend and it bothers him a lot knowing that he was helpless in this situation. Their confession of loving him just makes it worse for Izuru, especially since he doesn’t fully grasp what that would have meant for him if he had caught onto his own feelings earlier on. He reaction is just kind of him being numb, if I’m being completely honest, because he doesn’t understand. Izuru wasn’t built for these types of things, literally, he wasn’t.

Hinata Hajime

☘︎︎ he’s got a lot of issues, especially if you look into the fear of being inferior that he has. After the program, I think Hajime had a lot more confidence than he did before, so he was confident in his ability to protect his darling and he wanted to love them, genuinely. He was trying to work on his issues in order to be a better person for his darling, so this happening is like a slap in Hajime’s face. He’s still afraid of being less special, less strong, so his reaction to his darling dying in his arms is a pure emotional one. Frankly, he’s a mess, but why wouldn’t he be? The love of his life has died, after all.

☘︎︎ overall, though, Hajime is angry. It’s bad for his mental health, but he most definitely blames himself, and remembering his darlings confession makes Hajime’s heart hurt. He’s just so... emotional about the whole thing. A more innocent reaction, but he’s still undeniably angry. He’d have two different reactions, though, depending on his darling cause of death. An illness would cause him to become angry at himself and horribly self-deprecating. However, if they were killed by someone else, things would not be the same for Hajime. He’s seething with rage, and he’s going to kill whoever did this to his darling.

Naegi Makoto

☘︎︎ like Hinata, he has one of the more emotional reactions, but they’re very different. Makoto is very attached to his darling, they genuinely mean the world to him, and his mindset is much like Komaeda’s, just not including the self-depreciation. Makoto, however, knows for a fact that if anything bad ever happened to his darling, he’d die. So, when his darling does end up dying in his arms, Makoto is completely broken up about it. He’s inconsolable afterwards and he pretty much just falls apart at the seams, which is pretty disturbing to witness considering how he usually acts.

☘︎︎ he’s just so... sad. Makoto genuinely adored every single thing about his darling, so their confession along with their death was like an emotional gut punch for him, especially when he gets to thinking about how it would have been like if he had found out about their feelings beforehand. Makoto is just full of regrets, irs very sad to see, actually. I feel like Kirigiri would try to help him out of the emotional ditch that he’s been thrown into, but it’s really no use, especially considering how he thinks about it constantly. His darling is all he ever thinks about in general, but after their death it becomes worse.

Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko

☘︎︎ also apart of the overly emotional reaction group. Fuyuhiko does not deal with this well, and relives seeing his darling die in his arms daily in his head. Fuyuhiko isn’t very open worh his emotions in the first place, so I think much like Komaeda he’d go through a period of time during his infatuation where he simply pushed his darling away, they just do it for different reasons. Rather than doing it for his darlings sake like Komaeda, Fuyuhiko does it because he doesn’t like the fact that he’s fallen for someone, he becomes offended. So, his darlings death hits him hard.

☘︎︎ despite how he might’ve acted around his darling, Fuyuhiko had fallen for them hard, so even the idea of them being inconvenienced made Fuyuhiko angry, so just imagine how them dying in his arms went. He’s crying and screaming at them at the same time and he’s a mess, a lot of emotions are flowing out of him so he most likely accidentally lets out that he loves them as well, but he won’t remember saying it once everything is over, he’ll be too busy mourning. Receiving a confession from his darling like this is going to make Fuyuhiko furious, and I think he’d be kind of angry with his darling afterwards, but that doesn’t last.

Oma Kokichi

☘︎︎ not emotional... outwardly. Kokichi is constantly putting up a mask of not caring, and his darling is not an exception to this whatsoever. It’s just what he does, so when he’s faced with a situation like this he isn’t too sure what he’s supposed to do. Kokichi is kind of freaking out when he realizes that his darling is literally dying because that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen... like, ever. Kokichi is usually pretty lighthearted about most things, but this is something he cannot handle normally like he usually would. His mental state is pretty much falling apart the moment he realizes what’s happening.

☘︎︎ he wouldn’t cry at first, but the confession from his darling feels like he’s being killed. Kokichi truly can’t understand why they love him in the first place, because he’s admittedly pretty terrible to them sometimes, but just the fact that they care for him is breaking Kokichi’s resolve and it’s only after his darlings death that it becomes clear to everyone else around him that he’s definitely not okay after everything that happened. He still teases people, but there’s an obvious shift in his attitude and how he holds himself. Frankly, he’s depressed, and he’s never going to stop being depressed until he dies.

writing nagito’s had me like

this made me SAD

#yandere komaeda nagito #yandere kamukura izuru #yandere hinata hajime #yandere naegi makoto #yandere kuzuryu fuyuhiko #yandere oma kokichi #yandere danganronpa #yandere sdr2 #yandere drv3 #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere #shumaiwrites

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift appears to be waging war over the serial resale of her old master recordings on two fronts. She recently confirmed that she is already underway in the process of re-recording the six albums she made for the Big Machine label, in order to steer her fans (and sync licensing execs) toward the coming alternate versions she’ll control. But now that she’s followed the surprise release of “Folklore” with the very, very surprise release of “Evermore” less than five months later, the thought may occur: If she keeps up this pace, she may have more new albums out on the Republic label than she ever did on Big Machine in a quarter of the time. Flooding the zone to further crowd out the oldies is unlikely to be Swift’s real motivation for giving the world a full-blown “Folklore” sequel this instantaneously: As motivations for prolific activity go, relieving and sublimating quarantine pressure is probably even better than revenge. Anyway, this is not a gift horse to be looked in the mouth. “Evermore,” like its mid-pandemic predecessor, feels like something that’s been labored over — in the best possible way — for years, not something that was written and recorded beginning in August, with the bow said to be put on it only about a week ago. Albums don’t get graded on a curve for how hastily they came together, or shouldn’t be, but this one doesn’t need the handicap. It’d be a jewel even if it’d been in progress forevermore and a day.The closest analog for the relation the new album bears to its predecessor might be one that’d seem ancient to much of Swift’s audience: U2 following “Achtung Baby” with “Zooropa” while still touring behind the previous album. It’s hard to remember now that a whole year and a half separated those two related projects; In that very different era, it seemed like a ridiculously fast follow-up. But the real comparison lies in how U2, having been rewarded for making a pretty gutsy change of pace with “Achtung,” seemed to say: You’re okay with a little experimentation? Let’s see how you like it when we really boil things down to our least commercial impulses, then — while we’ve still got you in the mood.Swift isn’t going avant-garde with “Evermore.” If anything, she’s just stripping things down to even more of an acoustic core, so that the new album often sounds like the folk record that the title of the previous one promised — albeit with nearly subliminal layers of Mellotrons, flutes, French horns and cellos that are so well embedded beneath the profuse finger-picking, you probably won’t notice them till you scour the credits. But it’s taking the risk of “Folklore” one step further by not even offering such an obvious banger (irony intended) as “Cardigan.” Aaron Dessner of the National produced or co-produced about two-thirds of the last record, but he’s on 14 out of 15 tracks here (Jack Antonoff gets the remaining spot), and so the new album is even more all of a piece with his arpeggiated chamber-pop impulses, Warmth amid iciness is a recurring lyrical motif here, and kind of a musical one, too, as Swift’s still increasingly agile vocal acting breathes heat into arrangements that might otherwise seem pretty controlled. At one point Swift sings, “Hey, December, I’m feeling unmoored,” like a woman who might even know she’s going to put her album out a couple of weeks before Christmas. It’s a wintry record — suitable for double-cardigan wearing! — and if you’re among the 99% who have been feeling unmoored, too, then perhaps you are Ready For It. Swift said in announcing the album that she was moving further into fiction songwriting after finding out it was a good fit on much of “Folklore,” a probably inevitable move for someone who’s turning 31 in a few days and appears to have a fairly settled personal life. Which is not to say that there aren’t scores to settle, and a few intriguing tracks whose real-life associations will be speculated upon. But just as the “Betty”/”August” love triangle of mid-year established that modern pop’s most celebrated confessional writer can just make shit up, too, so, here, do we get the narrator of “Dorothea,” a honey in Tupelo who is telling a childhood friend who moved away and became famous that she’s always welcome back in her hometown. (Swift may be doing a bit of empathic wondering in a couple of tracks here how it feels to be at the other end of the telescope.) One time the album takes a turn away from rumination into a pure spirit of fun — while getting dark anyway — is “No Body, No Crime,” a spirited double-murder ballad that may have more than a little inspiration in “Goodbye, Earl.” Since Swift already used the Dixie Chicks for background vocals two albums ago, for this one she brings in two of the sisters from Haim, Danielle and Este, and even uses the latter’s name for one of the characters. Yes, the rock band Haim’s featured appearance is on the only really country-sounding song on the record… there’s one you didn’t see coming, in the 16 hours you had to wonder about it. Yet there are also a handful of songs that clearly represent a Swiftian state of mind. At least, it’s easy to suppose that the love songs that opens the album, “Willow,” is a cousin to the previous record’s “Invisible String” and “Peace,” even if it doesn’t offer quite as many clearly corroborating details about her current relationship as those did. On the sadder side, Swift is apparently determined to run through her entire family tree for heartrending material. On “Lover,” she sang for her stricken mother; on “Folklore,” for her grandfather in wartime. In that tradition the new album offers “Marjorie,” about the beloved grandmother she lost in 2003, when she was 13. (The lyric videos that are being offered online mostly offer static visual loops, but the one for “Marjorie” is an exception, reviving a wealth of stills and home-movie footage of Grandma, who was quite a looker in a miniskirt in her day.) Rue is not something Swift is afraid of here anymore than anywhere else, as she sings, “I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be / Asked you to write it down for me / Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt / ‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me,” lines that will leave a dry eye only in houses that have never known death. The piece de resistance in its poignance is Swift actually resurrecting faint audio clips of Marjorie, who was an opera singer back in the day. It’s almost like ELO’s “Rockaria,” played for weeping instead of a laugh. Swift has not given up, thank God, on the medium that brought her to the dance — the breakup song — but most of them here have more to do with dimming memories and the search for forgiveness, however slowly and incompletely achieved, than feist. But doesn’t Swift know that we like her when she’s angry? She does, and so she delves deep into something like venom just once, but it’s a good one. The ire in “Closure,” a pulsating song about an unwelcome “we can still be friends, right?” letter from an ex, seems so fresh and close to the surface that it would be reasonable to speculate that it is not about a romantic relationship at all, but a professional one she has no intention of ever recalling in a sweet light. Or maybe she does harbor that a disdain for an actual former love with that machinelike a level of intensity. What “Evermore” is full of is narratives that, like the music that accompanies them, really come into focus on second or third listen, usually because of a detail or two that turns her sometimes impressionistic modes completely vivid. “Champagne Problems” is a superb example of her abilities as a storyteller who doesn’t always tell all: She’s playing the role of a woman who quickly ruins a relationship by balking at a marriage proposal the guy had assumed was an easy enough yes that he’d tipped off his nearby family. “Sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘ Til someone’s on their knees and asks you / ‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride / What a shame she’s fucked in the head’ / They said / But you’ll find the real thing instead / She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.” (Swift has doubled the F-bomb quotient this time around, among other expletives, for anyone who may be wondering whether there’s rough wordplay amid Dessner’s delicacy — that would an effing yes.) “‘Tis the Damn Season,” representing a gentler expletive, gives us a character who is willing to settle, or at least share a Christmas-time bed with an ex back in the hometown, till something better comes along. The pleasures here are shared, though not many more fellow artists have broken into her quarantine bubble this time around. Besides Haim’s cameo, Marcus Mumford offers a lovely harmony vocal on “Cowboy Like Me,” which might count as the other country song on the album, and even throws in something Swift never much favored in her Nashville days, a bit of lap steel. Its tale of male and female grifters meeting and maybe — maybe — falling in love is really more determinedly Western than C&W, per se, though. The National itself, as a group, finally gets featured billing on “Coney Island,” with Matt Berninger taking a duet vocal on a track that recalls the previous album’s celebrated Bon Iver collaboration “Exile,” with ex-lovers taking quiet turns deciding who was to blame. (Swift saves the rare laugh line for herself: “We were like the mall before the internet / It was the one place to be.) Don’t worry, legions of new Bon Iver fans: Dessner has not kicked Justin Vernon out of his inner circle just to make room for Berninger. The Bon Iver frontman whose appearance on “Folklore” came as a bit of a shock to some of his fan base actually makes several appearances on this album, and the one that gets him elevated to featured status again, as a duet, the closing “Evermore,” is different from “Exile” in two key ways. Vernon gets to sing in his high register… and he gets the girl. As it turned out, the year 2020 did not involve any such waiting for Swift fans; it’s an embarrassment of stunning albums-ending-in-“ore” that she’s mined out of a locked-down muse.

#taylor swift #evermore #review

[thebiscuiteternal]

“A Safe Place To Die” Madwoman In The Attic, Forced Seclusion, Slow Death By Misplaced Kindness, Nie Huaisang tried to tell Lan Xichen his suspicions about his brother’s death and it Did Not Go Well, Not-Quite-Sangcheng.

__________

Three times, Jiang Cheng has informed the servants that he only wants a pot and some cups, and yet when he arrives at the door of the tiny house at the edge of the Cloud Recesses, there is a maid waiting with a fully-made tea tray. Well aware that he is already treading on thin ice with having demanded this visit, he bites back the acrid comment that threatens to bubble up behind his teeth and focuses his ire on the wards of the door instead.

Inside, Nie Huaisang sits on a cushion on an otherwise empty floor and doesn't so much as turn his head away from the window at the intrusion.

Jiang Cheng waves the maid over to put the tray down, then scowls thunderously when she putters at it for too long.

Point taken, she flees.

Once he's well and sure she's gone, he picks up the teapot, walks over to the window, and unceremoniously dumps the contents onto the bushes outside. Nie Huaisang hasn't moved, but Jiang Cheng is well aware that he's being watched as he takes a cloth from what he assumes is the bathing area and thoroughly wipes out the pot. He refills it with new water and presses a heating talisman to the ceramic, then sets it down and fetches another cloth. Settling himself onto the floor across from the other man, he begins wiping down the cups as well.

"I brought some of that spice tea from the southwest that you like," he says a little too roughly to be purely conversational. The cups now clean and clearly safe, he pulls a pouch from his sleeve and begins producing small, tightly wrapped packages to lay between them. "Nie Hengbai insisted I bring you these as well."

That finally makes Nie Huaisang turn his head a little, rather than observing him from the corner of his eye or through his eyelashes.

Good.

That's good.

He takes out the box of loose tea and opens the lid so that the other man can observe it for himself, setting it close enough that he won't have to lean too far to peer in.

"I actually had to explain all this to Sect Leader Lan, you know." Nie Huaisang blinks up at him, expression still unreadable. "Apparently the concept that you would fear being poisoned by the same people who locked you up for insisting your brother had been murdered never once occurred to him."

That earns him a snort, followed by a weak and rasping huff of not-quite-laughter that is both encouraging and a little unnerving. Apparently satisfied by his efforts, Nie Huaisang reaches out of the blanket he has cocooned himself in and gently pushes the box back.

Jiang Cheng focuses on the prep work of measuring and brewing the tea and adding the honey he has also brought. Focusing on that keeps his mind from dwelling on the thought that he could count the bones in his friend's wrist, or that the hollows of the other man's cheeks remind him uncomfortably of-

"How are they?"

The faded crackle of the other man's voice brings him out of his focus. "Who... the disciples?" he asks hesitantly. At the small nod he gets in return, some of the tension in his back eases. "They're... pretty pissed about all this. Nie Hengbai only took the leadership position three days ago after literally no one else would accept, and he's insisting he's only an interim leader."

Nie Huaisang blinks at him, confusion written all over his face. "Why?"

"Well, they're not happy with the elders rolling over for Lanling Jin and Gusu Lan, that's for sure, but mostly they want you back."

"Why?"

Jiang Cheng offers a teacup, keeping his hands around Nie Huaisang's when the other man's fingers tremble trying to hold it. "Is it so hard to believe?" he asks as he carefully helps his friend drink. "They know you. They know you'd watch over them no matter how much you complained about it."

Nie Huaisang swallows the last mouthful, then hesitates for a moment before letting him have the cup back. "And you?" he asks, so very softly and cautiously. "What do you know?"

"That you lie about things like hiding junk food from Grandmaster Lan, not about another sect scheming for your brother's life." He takes a deep breath, then picks up the pot and refills the cup. "I voted against the seclusion," he says quietly. "Even if you were losing your mind the way the others believed, and I don't think you were, being locked up alone wasn't going to do a damn thing to help."

"Oh, I have regular visitors," Nie Huaisang murmurs, and gods above, Jiang Cheng is glad to hear the sarcasm in it. He bites back the briefest smile before he picks up the cup and holds it to the other man's mouth again.

"When the vote passed, I offered..." He swallows hard. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry. Not at you, at any rate."

"You should be," he argues, but Nie Huaisang gently pushes back the cup so he can shake his head.

"It's not your fault. Not when you have to share Ling-er."

They fall into silence then, not quite companionable but not uncomfortable either, until the second cup is empty. Then Jiang Cheng opens the first of the little bundles sent from Qinghe. The sight of several rice flour balls, clearly made by an expert and caring hand, draws a broken little sob from his friend that makes his own chest tighten. Partially to give Nie Huaisang what laughably little privacy is available and partially to keep from breaking down himself, he turns away to examine their surroundings with a more critical eye.

The first thing he notices is that there is no bed frame. Several extra pallet mattresses have been added to make up for some of the lost height, but that's all the bed is. Pallets and a few pillows.

In fact, there isn't anything sturdy in the room. He'd picked up on the lack of a table, but now he sees that there are no shelves or a wardrobe; he sees a few boxes made of layered paper that might contain books and robes, but that's all. There's no tub, nor a privacy screen to go with it. The cloths are cut so small that they'd be useless for tying together. There is nothing remotely sharp to be seen anywhere.

This is, he realizes, a room entirely designed to keep the occupant from having anything they could use for a suicide attempt.

He inhales, keeping his breathing deep and slow, in order to swallow back the sudden and intense urge to vomit. He's not entirely surprised; Nie Huaisang has been painted as having gone mad and Sect Leader Lan genuinely seems to believe it. Of course he would want to keep his dearest friend's little brother safe after losing said friend to a violent madness of his own.

But this place is a nightmare cloaked in kindness.

Hell, if they'd locked him in here by himself, he probably would have been trying to tear down the walls after the first few days.

"Jiang-xiong?"

Another deep breath, then he turns back to find that Huaisang has finished the first of his gifts, his eyes red but the tears dried.

"I'm sorry, but I can't get the knots open," he says, looking somewhere between dejected and deeply embarrassed as he indicates another of the bundles. Trembling fingertips are red from his attempts to do just that.  Just a few months ago, Jiang Cheng would have rolled his eyes and called him lazy. Here and now, he simply nods and picks it up, and the irony is thick enough to choke on.

"I'm going to meet with Nie Hengbai as soon as I leave," he mutters as he pulls apart the strings. At the questioning head tilt, he continues. "We're going to get you a cook from Qinghe or Yunmeng. Someone we'll both vet. They'll handle all your meals and the delivery of them. And the Lans are going to accept them whether they like it or not."

"Are you sure that's-"

"I'm going to visit more often. I should have been visiting already."

"I told you, I don't blame-"

He takes a piece out of the pile of spiced and dried lamb in the package and pops it into Nie Huaisang's mouth, then grins when the other man sulks at him while chewing. "There you are. I was worried you wouldn't come back."

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes and swallows, then sinks in to rest his head against Jiang Cheng's shoulder. "You're going to be stubborn about this, aren't you?"

"I am."

"You might get in trouble, too."

"Might not be so bad if they throw us in together."

It's a joke of incredibly poor taste, considering their situations, but at least it gets Nie Huaisang to actually laugh.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #sangcheng #fanfic

[kitkatopinions]

Is it bad that i want ironwood to be alive in the show and travel with the ace ops and have a redemption? I know most of his fans are happy that he is dead so they cant ruin him anymore but still, his ending is so wrong to me like they redeemed cordo, emerald, FUCKING HAZEL, but not james? I was pulled back into rwby because of james and the atlas arc. v6 last episodes pissed me off so much i didnt even watched the finale to this day but then i saw scenes of james and winter and the ace ops in v7... and now i just want him to swim up from the ruins and be the amazing character he was before v8. His death is so fucking sad to me even with how much they ruined the character... he deserved a redemption arc the most (and better writers, sorry the ask got so long but james ironwood gives me so much feels)

You know, I am right there with you, anon. Here's the thing about James. We didn't see an on screen death and the writers kept his semblance completely unmentioned in volumes seven and eight, but made it public. Yes, Miles Luna said 'rest in pieces' (the total douche) when talking about him in a cameo, but tbh, Miles Luna is sloppy and unprofessional, he could straight up say whatever to try and make the next 'twist' in RWBY surprising.

In fact SPOILER ALERT. I don't remember who, but after Avengers Infinity War when Loki died, people in the project 'confirmed' that Loki was good and truly dead this time, and of course no one believed them and of course no one was surprised to see some version of Loki escape alive in End Game. They had a better ability to twist a not-quite lie out there, due to multiple universes and time travel or whatever (idk the details, I stopped paying attention after I watched and hated Thor Ragnarok.) But still, it stands that if you want to make a character death believable in today's day and age when 'character death' is taken back so regularly and sometimes multiple times per character, writers should A. show the death/show a body (which they didn't do for Ironwood or Watts,) and B. Not leave any character threads hanging.

With Ironwood, they didn't delve into enough emotional responses to things (like Oscar/Oz getting shot off a cliff, or Qrow ever confronting him,) which leaves his story feeling like it lacks a solution and like there's still a lot to be resolved there already. But confirming his semblance outside of the show proper, which seems to act as a form of at least partial mind control, is obviously one giant thread too. Of course, this is MKEK, so the likelihood that they were foolish enough to give Ironwood a semblance that forced his actions at least in part and then not address it, kill him off, and expect everyone to just be happy with that on top of the lack of emotional depth they bothered to give other characters in regards to his 'fall' is high. However, that doesn't make James feel dead, he still doesn't feel like a dead character to me, yet, even if I know a lot of the reasons for that feeling stem from bad writing.

But on top of his semblance being a very big thread that was left untouched, his semblance also would be a very easy out if the writers did want to bring him back or if they wanted to bring him back and redeem him. His semblance could help him survive Atlas and Mantle falling, and it could easily be explained as having pushed him into his acts of villainy. It would still feel like a big ol' retcon (especially with how hard they tried to convince everyone he's pure evil,) but for once, I would like a retcon that actually goes my way in this show. XD

On top of that, you're absolutely right that in the show where Hazel can get 'death equals redemptioned' and tell life lessons to Oscar, Ironwood could be able to be redeemed even without the semblance. In the show where Hazel can beat a child while victim blaming the already-a-victim-of-abuse guy in the kid's head for *checks notes* training young women to be able to fight the soulless monsters who will devour anyone (four to six year old child or not,) and then get redeemed within 24 hours of that... yeah, Ironwood could be able to be redeemed. Emerald can murder Penny, try to kill everyone else at Haven, try to murder Penny again in Atlas, and then join the friend group enough that everyone good naturedly ribs her, including Penny who giggles over Emerald saying 'switched sides' despite the fact that Emerald never once apologized for literally murdering her in cold blood. So yeah, I don't think it'd be off brand of the show to have the 'does bad for good reasons' guy get redeemed even if they did make him express regret that he hadn't tortured children. Clearly, the standard isn't 'if they apologize they're worthy of redemption,' and the standard isn't 'if they only always had good intentions they're worthy of redemption' or 'only kids who are villains can get redeemed,' or even 'so long as they haven't tortured or tried to kill children they're worthy of redemption.'

However, here's where things get a little tricky. Because the standard in RWBY seems to have much more to do with what was done personally against the main group that made them mad or sad, rather than actual moral standings, harm done to the world, intentions, etc. I've talked about that idea in another post, that the show (whether intentionally or otherwise) is treating going against Ruby and her team as worse than actual criminal acts. Emerald's actions are easily brushed aside without her ever admitting she was wrong or trying to apologize, but Ozpin's act of not explicitly trusting Team RWBY with dire secrets months after knowing them is so unquestioningly bad that he has to give an in-depth and very serious apology while explicitly saying he was in the wrong, which the mains then begrudgingly and seriously accept (even though they were laughing with Emerald mere seconds before.) Which isn't to say that I don't think Ozpin had anything to apologize for, just that the framing of Ozpin's dialogue and reception versus Emerald's is ridiculous. Therefore Ironwood being redeemed after wishing he could torture, shooting a child off a high place, and threatening to destroy a town... In the narrative of the show, that can be brushed aside fairly easily. But both the show and the FNDM at large have constructed a narrative where going against the mains is what's treated as hard to come back from and worthy of all the ire and disgust in the world - unless the character comes crawling back, bowing to Ruby's whims in every plan, and regretting ever doubting Ruby's amazing simple soul and the protagonist approved goals she's decided on.

If the price of Ironwood coming back and being redeemed is him kissing up to Ruby and joining the gang of people who just pat her on the back and assure her she doesn't ever need to change or listen to others... I might kindly ask MKEK to keep him dead. Ironwood belongs to his fans now as far as I'm concerned.

They can bring James back, and they even have an easy way to redeem him in their back pocket. But I don't trust them as far as I can throw them, and with the way they've been writing their show, I'd just as soon let James rest.

#rwde #anti rwby #pro james ironwood #pro ironwood #ironwood defense #good ironwood #pro general ironwood #pro IW #IW antis please leave me alone #rwby hate #anti mkek #anti fndm #rwby bashing

[dastardlydandelion]

medium luci

ao3 link

content warnings: homophobia, comphet, child abuse, abusive relationships

It’s rare that Susan and Neil have the same weekday off. Neil typically works five days a week and she three or four, depending who’s on staff, being that she’s only part-time. But he’d had a dentist appointment midmorning so he’d taken today off and decided to make his hours up by volunteering for a double next week.

Susan doesn’t typically care to spend any extra time alone with her husband. They have so little to talk about these days, now that he doesn’t try to butter her up or feed her honey sweet lies as much as he used to. Now that Neil doesn’t care to talk much at all unless ranting or complaining about the various things he doesn’t like, his son’s style of dress, women who sit with their legs open, cab drivers who don’t speak English. Susan doesn’t even remember the last time Neil had to take a cab but he has strong opinions on them nonetheless, and the list goes on and on.

He thankfully hasn’t done much of that today, however. He’d parked himself in front of the television after coming home from his appointment and simply nodded when Susan announced she was going out to garden. She only comes inside when she hears the phone ring and by the time she’s walking up the back steps, Neil’s already answered it.

She watches his expression change as he converses with whomever’s on the other end, nervousness fluttering in her chest as his eyes widen, then harden.

“I’ll be right there,” Neil concludes as he hangs up, turning those hard eyes onto Susan. “That was the school.”

“Oh dear…what’s Billy done this time?”

“Not Billy.” Neil shakes his head and Susan’s heart drops with the realization her husband isn’t just irritated but seething, knuckles blanched as his hands ball into tight fists. “Maxine. Did you know the Sinclairs have a girl around her age?”

“N-No, I didn’t. I’m not very familiar with them, Neil.” Susan never had much luck getting close to anyone anymore, not in the least because of Neil himself.

“Apparently Maxine is,” he declares icily. “A teacher caught her and the Sinclair girl fornicating under the bleachers.”

Susan’s heart turns to stone and sinks into her stomach.

No.

Please, no.

Neil has very strong opinions about sexuality in general and homosexual conduct in particular, and Susan can practically feel the outrage radiating from him. It crackles in the air like the promise of a lightning storm. Neil’s fists are still clenched and his posture goes taut like it always does before he explodes.

“W-Well,” Susan begins, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

She hates herself for what she is going to say. She says it anyway.

“Well, you know where she learned that kind of b-behavior from, don’t you?”

Because if Neil is going to explode, Susan can’t stop him. But she hopes she can at least encourage the worst of it away from Max. She watches Neil’s eyes flicker and knows they’re both remembering the day they came home early from the short vacation they’d taken for their fifth anniversary, a girl and a boy sneaking out of Billy’s bedroom window, neither particularly clothed. She watches the angry bulge of the vein pulsing in his neck and knows they’re both thinking of that short young fellow with the skateboard who worked at the used car lot during the day and spent his time with Billy during the night.

“Yes, I know exactly where she learned it from. I’m picking both of them up and we’re all going to have a family discussion.”

“I should come with you.”

“No.” Neil holds up his hand. “Stay here, Susan. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Neil has gun powder in his gaze and she dares not argue. She lowers her head and steps aside when he walks past to fetch the truck keys from the hook. He stomps down the steps and slams the backdoor shut behind him.

Susan watches through the window as he gets into the truck and pulls out of the driveway, feeling dreadfully ill. She doesn’t mean what she’d said, of course. There are a number of behaviors that Max has picked up from Billy, but that isn’t one of them. If anyone is to blame, Susan supposes it’s herself for passing it along intrinsically.

She has her own secret desires locked away within the chambers of her heart. Desire she dares not confront for her own sanity, for her own safety. She’s never acted on her wants, always chose to play private games of hide and seek with them in her head instead, those insidiously innocent wishes of hers. Never spoken aloud let alone pursued those urges that flush hot beneath her skin when she finds her eyes drawn to other women’s lips, hips, breasts.  

Susan gave it to Max and unlike her, Max is brash and bold and brave. God save her, Max does what she wants to do and doesn’t care what other people think. Susan would admire her for it if it didn’t scare her to death.

Because Neil does care what other people think. He cares very much. And Susan’s seen him annoyed with Max in the past. She’s seen him frustrated with Max, displeased, exasperated. But never has she seen the silent stirring of a reign of rage to come where Max is concerned, never has she known that particular look in Neil’s eye to be directed Max’s way. She can only hope—

Oh, it’s such a despicable thing to hope for. Susan has poison in her soul, she swears she must. But Billy isn’t remotely hers and Max very much is.

* * * 

Susan doesn’t know if it was actually her remark that spurred Neil to turn the blame on Billy or if this was the conclusion he would’ve come to anyway. Neil often blames Max’s mishaps and mischiefs on Billy. Billy being the older sibling meant to lead by example. Billy being the older brother, meant to keep his younger sister out of trouble to begin with.

Her remark or Neil’s default thought process, in any case, it’s Billy he’s glaring at in the living room. Angrily dictates that Billy take off his shirt, belt in hand. Susan grabs a very pale Max’s shoulders and begins to usher her down the hall.

“Where are you taking Maxine?”

Susan freezes, mouth going dry.

Neil’s looking their way now, brow arched, stern and skeptical.

“I-I—“

“She isn’t going to learn if she doesn’t watch, Susan,” he declares with no room for argument. “Bring her back.”

Susan swallows, hands tightening on Max’s shoulders. Something dies inside her when she turns her daughter around. She buries it silently as she’s buried so many other pieces before and avoids Max’s eyes boring into her as she marches her back to the living room. Neil motions for them to sit on the couch, sunlight glinting off the metal buckle. Billy doesn’t bother to disguise his disdain, glaring murder, nostrils flaring like an ornery bovine. Susan suspects he’ll pay for this too.

“Your behavior today was beyond inappropriate, Maxine,” Neil tells her coldly. “Unnatural, disgusting, absolutely unacceptable.”

Max squirms next to Susan, hands tucking under her thighs. She is stone faced but this close, Susan can feel her shaking.

“Now, I know it’s not all your fault. Big Brother here’s taught you—“

“I didn’t teach her shit!” Billy cuts him off, sharp and acidic. “I told her to steer clear from Sinclair, this isn’t on me!”

Neil punches his son in the stomach with all the affect of swatting a fly, once, twice. Susan flinches. Billy’s gasping, breath knocked out of him. He staggers and Neil viciously shoves him to the floor.

“She saw you with that faggot’s tongue down your throat, don’t think I don’t know! I know you, I know the kind of shit you think you can get away with behind my back!” Neil roars like thunder. “Well, now it’s my turn to teach her a thing or two! Pay attention, Maxine!”

Max stiffens beside her. She opens her mouth to protest and Susan grabs her arm, sinking her nails in. Startled, Max's eyes dart to her. Susan gives a tiny shake of the head, urging her not to speak. Max bends her elbow like a chicken wing and jerks her arm out of Susan’s grasp. Ire flares in her gaze but she holds her tongue. She does not challenge Neil as he begins beating Billy with the belt.

Susan can’t watch. She lowers her eyes to the floor. She can see the movement in the shadows, Neil’s rapid whipping of the improvised weapon and Billy’s form jolting with the blows. Susan shuts her eyes to the shadows but she can still hear it, thick, hard leather striking bare flesh.

“Don’t turn away, Maxine,” Neil barks at some point between the sounds of violence.

Billy doesn’t cry out. Eventually it’s over. Susan raises her head and cannot bear more than a glance at her stepson braced on his hands and knee. The belt now rests at Neil’s side and still, her stomach is churning.

“If there is ever a repeat of the conduct you displayed today, there will be consequences. Is that understood, Maxine?”

Max looks to Susan. Her eyes are wavering. Then they glean whatever it is they were searching for from Susan’s and harden.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Yes, what?”

Max clears her throat.

“Yes, sir,” she corrects, louder and clearer.

“Both of you to your rooms,” he commands. “I want both of you to reflect on your actions until it’s time for dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy answers this time, climbing to his feet in the corner of Susan’s eye. She remains on the couch as her daughter rises and plods down the hall, cheeks as red as the cherry atop a sundae. Flushed as red as the welts on Billy’s back that have Susan’s stomach in ropes even though she only spares a brief glance.

Neil sets the belt aside and plops down in his armchair. “Can you get me a beer, Susan?”

She nods and rises, quietly fetching one. Pops the tab and then passes it to him before she excuses herself. In times like this, Susan wants to leave more than anything. She wants to grab Max and take her far, far away. But she can’t imagine they would get anywhere, truly.

Neil controls the finances. Susan makes less money than he does and every cent she does earn inevitably winds up under Neil’s attentive purview. In a distant, ostensible kind of way Susan understands there are shelters for women in her situation. Shelters out there, somewhere…aren’t there? For her situation?

Neil hasn’t actually put his hands on her. Not yet. Not like what he just did to Billy. Hasn’t actually done so to Max, although the threat of that unfolded in the living room in a way that could not be more crystal clear. The threat alone feels like a fist to Susan, invisible fist clenched tight around her insides and squeezing so hard she's nauseous.  

Is the threat enough? Would Susan and Max be accepted on the basis of threats alone?

Provided she could ever find such a place to begin with. Susan doesn’t have the faintest clue of where to look for what feels more like a nebulous fantasy of a sanctuary than a tangible reality. A shimmering oasis in the desert. Even if she were to locate such a place, what if it were at full capacity?

What if she and Max got turned away?

That would mean choosing between being homeless or going back to Neil. Going back to Neil after a failed escape would certainly mean him making good on all those threats of his, the ones verbal and non. The examples explicit in his words and implicit in his actions. Above all, any failed escape would certainly ensure there would be no second escape.

Susan isn’t going anywhere. And neither is Max. The very notion is abstract and distorted, floating just out of reach in a gaussian blur of a wish. Their home isn’t a good home. But it is the home they have and so, Susan will simply have to do her best to make sure Max never does anything like this again. That Max never does anything to get Neil’s attention like that, nothing to stoke the coals always smoldering in his choleric soul. That as painful as it's sure to be, Max learns to keep certain parts of herself under lock and key.

When dinner is in the oven and Neil is engrossed in his program, Susan slips off to Max’s bedroom. She knocks quietly and lets herself in. Her throat knots up at the tear tracks on her daughter’s cheeks, far more gutting than the way she bristles as Susan steps closer, the sheer hurt in her eyes.

“What do you want?”

The same things as you, Susan thinks irresistibly. And I’d go after them too, if I didn’t know better.

“I’m sorry, Max.”

Max huffs and turns away. “Whatever.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not. You’re just like Neil, you think I’m disgusting,” Max spits, hiking her legs up on the bed and hugging her knees to her chest. “You think Billy’s disgusting too, you couldn’t even look at him.”

“No, I don’t…oh, Max.” Susan swallows and lowers herself to a sit beside her on the bed, gently placing a hand on her knee. She swallows her heartbreak when Max’s eyes flash as though the touch scalds her. “Neil and I disagree about many things. This is one of them.”

“Then why didn’t you say that?” The blaze in Max’s eyes dies down, voice softening to cinders. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Oh, he’s so much bigger than me, Max.” Susan sags with familiar defeat. “And I— I don’t think it’s wrong, you and this girl.”

“Lucy.”

“I’m sure Lucy is lovely,” leaves Susan’s lips, this fragile whisper she dares not tempt fate to speak above. “I could never think that you’re disgusting. But I’m just me, Max, and Neil is bigger, and the world…the world too, is so much bigger than I am. You can’t— never, ever in public.”

Max’s eyes widen. Susan shifts on the bed and moves her hands, finds both of Max’s and squeezes tight.

“You cannot be open with feelings like that. You can’t take girls to your school dances, you can’t kiss them where other people could see.”

Max lets out an angry growl even as her eyes well up.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“I know.” She knows, oh, she knows, she’s never not choking on it.

Max chews her lip, scarlet and fuming. Susan halfway expects her daughter to headbutt her or holler right in her ear until she deafens. But after a moment it’s almost as if Max can decode all the things she cannot say because her hands twist under Susan’s and intertwine their fingers.

#my fic tag #susan hargrove #max mayfield #neil hargrove #billy hargrove #kinda an inversion of that one fandom trope #ig

[arcticdementor]

Taking a break from mismanaging the rapid resurgence of COVID-19 in a country that was until recently praised as a world leader in beating the pandemic, Israel’s prime minister and foreign minister found something else to be very worried about: Poland.

Last week, the Polish parliament amended an existing law by setting a 30-year limit on all legal cases involving attempts to reclaim seized property, as well as terminating all restitution claims that haven’t reached a final decision in the past three decades. Such limitations are not rare among European nations, and yet the Polish law struck Israel’s leaders as nothing short of Holocaust denial.

“It is a shameful decision and a disgraceful contempt for the memory of the Holocaust,” Prime Minister Bennett said in a statement. His coalition partner, Yair Lapid, translated the Israeli government’s ire into action, recalling Israel’s top diplomat in Warsaw, and instructing the Polish ambassador to Israel, who was vacationing in his native land, to remain there until further notice.

“Poland,” thundered Lapid, “has tonight become an anti-democratic, nonliberal country that does not honor the greatest tragedy in human history.”

All right. We’ll bite.

So Israel’s foreign minister doesn’t believe that property claims following seismic shifts like major wars, large-scale border changes, and other transformational historical events should be time-dependent—or that countries have a right, indeed a moral responsibility, to draw a line under the past and move on in order to ensure the happiness and prosperity of the people who actually live there. Instead, he imagines generations of Jews brandishing the rusty keys to their family homes in Krakow, or in some no-longer existent shtetl, and vowing to one day obtain their ancestral properties, which have since become homes to other people, who are trying their best to build a future for their children.

Sound like anyone we know?

We have a word for endless attachment to mythic property claims while whining and beseeching and denouncing and appealing to tortured interpretations of international law while blaming other people for their problems: Palestinian. This strategy of perpetual pining and playing the victim and demanding compensation for history’s injuries has turned the Palestinians into political losers at literally every turn in their short and miserable collective history. So it’s nothing short of mind-boggling that a senior Israeli official would now giddily embrace the same backward-looking logic. In fact it’s doubly mystifying, because this way of being in the world is precisely what Zionism is meant to replace.

…

If the point of Zionism was instead the infinite revival of ancient real estate claims, why stop with Israel? We should now, following Lapid’s logic of infinite grievance, turn our eyes on Cordoba and Madrid and reclaim the haciendas that once housed our ancestors. Ah, the golden age of Spain! And why stop there? What about Sura and Pumbedita, the Babylonian homes to the twinned Talmudic academies that between 589 and 1038 CE gave birth to much of what we now know as Judaism? Surely, we have claims there, too—as well as in Aleppo. How about Maimonides’ house in Cairo?

Does any sane Jew today wish to make his or her life in Iraq and Syria? No. Those countries belong to their citizens. The flip side of Zionism is that Babylonia belongs to the Babylonians, just as modern-day Poland belongs to the people who today call themselves Poles, and who are rooted in Polish history, language, and culture. As blinkered, touchy, and insensitive as its representatives can sometimes be, Poland is their country and not ours.

…

How to course-correct from all that Trump-love that was Bibi Netanyahu’s signature political move? Here’s one possibility: Join Secretary of State Antony Blinken in condemning the Poles. Warsaw, you may remember, hosted former Prime Minister Netanyahu, together with Arab and American diplomats, in a 2019 conference dedicated to combating the Iranian threat. Now that cozying up to the murderous mullahs is once again America’s core Middle East policy, it’s time to put those pesky Poles back where they belong, in the box labeled “antisemites.”

What a shame. But Jews—in Israel, in America, and everywhere else—mustn’t be disturbed by all this muddle-mindedness. The reality here is clear: Poland, a nation that suffered like few others from the twin evils of Nazism and communism, has every right to place a sensible limit on people—Jews and non-Jews alike—who think that history must be frozen in time and made to respect their claims to property that belongs now to the people who live and work there every day. Poland has every right to reassure its citizens that restitution claims will have limits. And it has every right to feel indignant for being cast, again and again, as somehow the center of historical European antisemitism, while Germany is hailed as a model of historical atonement, even as it continues to heap love and cash on a foreign regime explicitly committed to denying the Holocaust and bankrolling the murder of Jews worldwide.

Poland is right in this particular skirmish, but, even more importantly, Israel is blatantly and painfully wrong. Jewish historical suffering shouldn’t be converted, like so many casino chips, into cheap currency to be gambled away on some clever-seeming political move. Jewish history—or, more accurately, Jewish memory—is meaningful precisely because it has always resisted such crass transactions. We must keep it that way.

#liel liebovitz #tablet magazine #poland #yair lapid

[chriswritingstuff]

Old RWBY OC Stuff (for reasons), Pt 1

So I was going through some of my old fanfic stuff for my OC Timber - from here- and decided to upload some of the better snippets of a story that never coalesced.

I wrote all of this before V3 (oh, such innocent days), and was set during a very different version of V4 (ugh), where Team RWBY are second-years at a not-at-all-Grimm-filled Beacon. These are also disjointed, so don’t be surprised if a snippet starts in the middle of a conversation.

Note: these include some other OCs - Timber’s teammates: Gabonica, Ranee, and Nivicola; and Priscilla, the alpha-bitch we thought Weiss was in V1.

---

Huge

(The night before Initiation, Ruby meets Priscilla and Timber during a lonely walk)

“Big talk coming from a bipedal house cat!”

“Says the two-legged cow.”

Ruby’s eyes widened to the size of small dinner plates. Did I really hear that? Did she really say that?

Priscilla glowered at the tiger Faunus, as if that would somehow make her beg for forgiveness – or burst into flames. Timber just stood there, her weight shifted onto one leg, arms crossed, and the smuggiest of smug grins plastered on her face.

Ruby hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor, her gaze nervously shifting between Priscilla’s indignant ire and Timber’s triumphant I-so-got-you look.

Ruby fearfully squeaked when Priscilla turned her rage on her.

“Listen here, you insignificant speck! If you so much as look in my direction…”

“Oh bohze moy, will you just shove off already, Prissy? Go get some ice for that burn, or something. Or do you need milking instead?” Timber interrupted with an exasperated, condescending tone.

Priscilla shot Timber a murderous glance, before turning and storming off.

Ruby watched as the girl stomped her way back to the ballroom, her head still spinning from the last minute.

“You okay?”

Ruby jumped in surprise, looking up at the young woman who defended her from the irate girl. The tiger Faunus was looking down at her, an inquisitive yet bored expression on her face.

“I, uh… Yeah, I’m – I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Cool.”

The of them stared at each other in silence.

“… Need help getting up?”

“… Oh!” Ruby blinked, snapped out of her reverie, “No, no. I can get up myself.” Ruby got to her feet, brushing down and straightening out her sleeping pants. “I’m Ruby, by the way. What’s your… Your…” Ruby’s voice trailed off when she looked up, and then had to look further up when she found herself level with breasts covered in a loose grey shirt. “You’re…”

Timber felt herself tense up, her expression hardening at the small girl’s sudden hesitation. She mentally prepared for the usual racist reaction: it wouldn’t be the first time someone she helped freaked out when they realized she was a Faunus. This girl wasn’t the first, and she definitely wouldn’t be…

“… Huge.” Ruby finished, her voice filled with awe.

Timber blinked. Well that’s a new one. “Well that’s a new one.”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” Ruby said in a panic, an embarrassed blush on her cheeks, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it! It’s just that I don’t know many girls who are so tall and wide… I-I mean, you’re, like, three times my size… I-I mean… You’re just… really, really big?”

Timber stared at the girl in front of her actually touching the tips of her index fingers together nervously – That’s a thing? – her eyes flittering between the floor and the Faunus.

“Uh, thanks?” Timber offered, slightly bemused. “And you’re really really small?”

The small girl looked back up at the Faunus, indignation on her face.

“Hey! I’m not that small! I grew half an inch since last year, thank you very much.” She crossed her arms and held her chin high.

Timber waited for the girl who called herself Ruby to realize how lame that comeback was before speaking. “So you’re just ‘really small’.”

Ruby nodded, “Yes – Hey!”

Timber held up a placating hand. “Whoa now, don’t blame me: you set yourself up for that.”

“Yeah… Well…” Timber watched as Ruby struggled to come up with a response, her lips curling in a small smirk, “… It wasn’t very nice.” Ruby managed finally, pouting. “So, uh,” She continued shyly, “Thanks for, you know, helping with that ‘Prissy’ girl.”

Timber shrugged. “Meh, no biggie. I just like knocking jerks down a few pegs.” She turned to Ruby, “Well, good night. Big, important day tomorrow, and all that.” She muttered humorlessly, heading to the ballroom.

“Um, okay,” Ruby said watching the retreating form of the Faunus, taken off guard by the curt farewell. She recovered fast enough to realize something, “Oh, wait! I didn’t get your name!”

Timber glance back. “The name’s Timber. ‘Night.” The tiger Faunus gave Ruby a small wave before continuing down the hallway.

“Okay! Good night, Timber!” Ruby said cheerfully.

Cute kid, Timber thought as she turned into the ballroom. Not sure how she’s gonna survive Initiation.

#rwby #fanfiction

[disneydreamlights]

Across the Stars: Chapter 1

AO3 | FFN

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

Summary: Tensions between the Separatists and the Republic are climbing as the Senate debates whether there is need for an army. Anakin Skywalker, Senator of Tatooine, has recently returned to Coruscant to speak against its formation, resulting in an assassination attempt that forces him to reunite with long time friends Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and the newly knighted Padme Naberrie for his own protection. [Anidala]

(Or, an Attack of the Clones Roleswap AU)

A/N: What’s this? I’m publishing a multi chapter that’s actually a part of a series? Yes, yes I am. Updates should come every Wednesday since I actually completed this one before getting the genius idea to post it. After that it’ll just be whenever I finish another fic for it will be when the next one is posted. 

The air around Anakin felt charged as he worked on piloting it down for a landing. Normally, he was eager to return to Coruscant after a few days away from the capital planet, Tatooine still far from his favorite planet (though it got better every day. He was proud of Beru for all the help she provided, and he was doing a lot of effort on his own since he’d been voted into the Senate) but tonight was different. The air around the city had felt tense, prompting Anakin to be glad of his decision to fly a small, inconspicuous ship down to the planet. Somebody was after him, he just wasn’t really sure why.

He felt a flash of something, a warning in the air to be careful and wary. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what Obi-Wan and Padmé had taught him years ago, and immediately turned the steering wheel, rolling out of the way of a projectile that had nearly caught his ship. That would’ve grounded it instantly. “Kriff.”

He heard the beeping of his Astromech companion and security detail, yelling at him for his risky flying. “Come on Artoo, we’re fine.” More angry beeps. “I didn’t get hit.”

More beeps, this time sarcastic and irritated from Artoo. “If you’re just going to try to yell at me, be useful and call Mom.”

A holographic projection of his mother appeared moments later. “What is it Ani?”

“You’re already landed, right?”

“Ani?”

“Mom please.” He felt it again, the same disturbance, and this time swerved out of the way of the second attack.

Shmi Skywalker shook her head. “Of course we have, the last person on the cruiser just disembarked. Is something wrong?”

Well, if he was honest, he wanted to say everything was wrong. But he wasn’t about to worry her, plus it wasn’t like he didn’t have things under control in regards to whoever was firing at him. “I think somebody let slip that I wasn’t flying in with the rest of the delegation from Tatooine. I’ve got the situation under control and I have Artoo with me, so I’m fine. We’ll still be landing soon.”

“You ask me not to be worried, but it’s never easy.”

Anakin chuckled. “I promise I’m fine mom. Leave the worrying to Threepio. He’s always been better at it. Just make sure to clear the landing platform. If this goes wrong I don’t want our friend hurting anybody else.” Before she could respond, he hung up, not wanting to worry his mom more in case another attack came. “Ready Artoo? Time to make a landing.”

He was pretty sure R2 was ready to kill him by the time they finally touched down on the platform as he approached rapidly, wanting to avoid a third fire from their mysterious and very murderous new friend. In fact, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t in the ship at all as the bad energy continued to flow around him. “Artoo, let’s go.”

The droid and Anakin emerged from the ship, Anakin pulling up a hood on his cloak to hopefully avoid detection from whatever assassin has his trail. Barely a minute after he was off the ship and approaching the entrance to the building, he was pushed forward, scarcely out of the blast radius with his faithful droid. And he looked behind himself to see the small ship that he had arrived on was absolutely destroyed. “Message received.”

Somebody didn’t want him on Coruscant.

They’d regret trying to get him to leave.

-x-

“Peace is our objective here, not war.” Palpatine’s voice pulled Anakin out of the stupor he’d fallen into as the senator from Malastare concluded his request for aid from the Republic to deal with the Separatist threat coming onto the planet. If he was honest, had the senator not been pushing for the Military Creation Act, Anakin might have felt sympathy, but the creation of an army was not an action Anakin would ever defend. Not one founded on individuals forced to join an army.

He felt his mom squeeze his hand, though she stepped back before he moved the pod out, not wanting the attention on her, but rather on everything Anakin would say. “My fellow senators, when I arrived on Coruscant today to come to this very meeting, an assassin made an attempt on my life. I was fired at three times, and while my skills behind the wheel of a ship saved my life today, had the assassin only been slightly quicker on the uptake when I landed, it’s likely I wouldn’t have made it off the ship alive at all.”

The crowds started to talk amongst themselves, a sign to Anakin that he needed to push. “The reason I was targeted today was because of the bill we’re supposed to be voting on today. Of all the senators against the creation of the creation of an army, I’ve been the loudest, most open about my displeasure, and the one who everybody knows is willing to do anything to get the results I want. Somebody here wants to take that a step further, just to make sure that the bill gets through.” He looked over the other pods, and felt Bail’s approval much to his relief. The speech hadn’t been gone over or discussed with his former mentor, and Anakin had been slightly worried that bringing it up in the Senate would be unwelcome, but it seemed to have been a good idea, even if no prior words had been drafted.

Despite the approval from Bail, the Senate was getting tense, and shouting was beginning. “Ani–” His mom put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. He had to make his statement clear to the others.

“You’re all booing me, and for what? This whole idea is a joke. You don’t raise an army for protection. You raise an army if you want to start a war. It won’t deter the Separatists. It will embolden them, and then the fighting will be brought right to our planets. Our systems. Our people. You have to stop living in your delusions.” He slammed his fist on the pod in front of him. Not his best move, but far from his worst in the Senate. “People will die. Civilians drafted for combat will die. The people you force to fight this battle will be nothing but slaves.”

He had people’s attention, and their ire judging by the ever increasing yelling from the other pods. Which was good, it was what he wanted from the other senators. He wanted them to remember his words. “This ‘security measure,’” he said the words full of disdain, “that we’re all voting for is nothing short of a declaration of war on the Separatists, and unless you want to claim that you were the one who brought war to the Republic, you’ll vote with me against this bill.”

The outrage in the Senate was tremendous, but Anakin smirked, having done his job at riling up the chambers. Voices rang against each other as Mas Amedda called for order within the Senate to try to regain a semblance of control amongst the Senators.

After a few minutes, the Senate calmed down, and Palpatine spoke. “Due to the lateness of the hour and the seriousness of this motion, we will take up these matters tomorrow. Until then, the Senate is adjourned.”

-x-

Unsurprisingly, within an hour the Loyalist Committee was summoned to the Chancellor's office. Not a surprise, if Anakin was honest. He’d stirred up a storm in the Senate and even if Palpatine wasn’t mad at him (unlikely) the announcement that he’d nearly been a victim to an assassination attempt less than an hour ago was likely not welcome for him to hear, especially since Palpatine had been trying to get Anakin’s favor since he’d arrived on Coruscant five years prior.

Much more surprising to Anakin, was the presence of several Jedi in his office. Council members, if he recalled the faces correctly. He looked them over for Obi-Wan or Padmé in their midst, and quickly squashed down his disappointment at neither of his friends being present. “Senator Skywalker.” He looked down to see Yoda walking over. “Your tragedy on the landing platform, terrible. Seeing you alive brings warm feelings to my heart.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda. I’m just thankful I’d chosen to fly myself into Coruscant. The loss of life had I been on a transport with the rest of the members of my delegation would have been much greater.” Admittedly, a small part of Anakin still stung with resentment over the fact that Yoda refused to accept him into the Jedi Order, but he had mostly put it behind him. “Do you have any idea who may have sent the assassin?”

Windu approached as well, joining the conversation. “Our intelligence network thinks it may have been remnants from Jabba’s gang seeking revenge against you from when you overthrew them and brought Tatooine into the Republic.”

Anakin shook his head. “I think you’re wrong, Master Jedi.” He watched Windu raise an eyebrow and took it as a sign to continue. “I think the Separatists are behind these attacks.”

The room was silent, as though they were processing what Anakin had said. He didn’t blame them. Accusing the Separatists of wanting to kill the single person who was actively against the formation of a military against them wasn’t logical. But every part of Anakin just knew it was right.

“You mean to imply Count Dooku?” Windu asked, clearly skeptical of Anakin’s accusation.

“Not one hundred percent, but nobody else in his Confederacy would have the means or motive.” Or motive. He thought of Senator Bonterri for a moment. Onderon was a member of the Separatist movement, but she was certainly unlikely to try to level an attack on him given how closely they had worked when he’d been a teenager running around the Senate floor. He had little doubt the other senators who had left would be similar. Almost no other member of their group would have an interest in killing him if his hunch was correct.

“Count Dooku is a political idealist, not a murderer.” Master Mundi corrected Anakin, but he said nothing, letting the Jedi have their say.

“He was also once a Jedi, Senator. He couldn’t assassinate anyone. It’s not in his character.”

“Once.” Anakin frowned at Windu’s defense. “As in he’s not a Jedi any longer. There’s no reason to believe he would still hold to Jedi beliefs, and even then, I’m not arguing that he’s the killer, only that he hired one out.”

Before Windu could respond, Yoda spoke up. “Matters not, the killer’s identity does. For certain Senator in grave danger you are.”

“Master Jedi.” Palpatine looked away from the window he had been near to give a kind smile to Anakin, as though he truly wanted to protect him. “May I suggest the Senator be placed under the protection of your graces.”

“You really think that’s a wise decision under these stressful times.” Bail spoke up, and he was right, the Jedi council didn’t need to spare anymore Jedi from whatever peace keeping mission they were on.

“Chancellor, with all do respect, I don’t need protecting, I can handle myself–”

“I’m sure you can, Senator.” The Chancellor cut him off. “I know you are a great pilot, and have a lucky streak, but the situation right now is dire. I understand that you do not want the help of the Jedi, but perhaps you might be willing to accept the extra security if it were Jedi you were familiar with. Perhaps an old friend like Master Kenobi, or Knight Naberrie.”

Anakin clenched his hands into fists, feeling his nails dig into the palms of his hand. He desperately wanted to see Obi-Wan and Padmé again, that much was true, but he having his friendship with them used as a weapon against him soured his mood for a possible reunion, which further sank as Windu revealed that the two had just returned from a border dispute.

“Please, Anakin. You know how much I’ve desired to look out for you since you asked for our help. Allow me to arrange this one thing for you, my boy.” There was nothing more he could do with Palpatine’s plea like that, and while Anakin was sure there was some ulterior motive to what was going on, he had his hands tied.

With nothing else he could do, Anakin turned to face Windu. “Tell Obi-Wan and Padmé I’ll be in my apartment, and that I look forward to seeing them again.”

It wasn’t until he left the office that he smiled as he realized just exactly who he was seeing again.

[Next Part]

#Star Wars #Anakin Skywalker #Anakin #Padme Amidala #Padme #Obi Wan Kenobi #Obi Wan #Anidala #Heather Writes