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silkling · 3 years

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This is part two of an ask box fic. For part one, click below.

Part 1

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Cody had been expecting to see Blades sitting in front of the TV when he and the others returned. He had not been expecting to see the large bot the team had rescued holding the copter while said copter made a sharp, painful sounding noise. When he, his siblings, and the other three bots had returned to the firehouse, they’d been chatting and teasing Heatwave about his increasing frustration with his difficulty at contacting Optimus. Then when they’d gotten down to the bunker, the three Cybertronians had abruptly stopped talking, before they’d looked concerned and panicked and rushed ahead. The humans had followed as quickly as they could, and the group arrived to see Blades in the large bot’s grasp, making that noise that Cody didn’t know the meaning behind.

The large bot noticed the, first, and a sharp, red gaze snapped to the group. “More younglings, little one? I suppose I should not be surprised, the Rescue Force did tend to match teams within the same age bracket.” he remarked.

Cody didn’t know what a “youngling” was by Cybertronian standards, but to human ears it sounded like the new bot was calling Sigma-17 kids. Or at the very least, younger than adults.

Heatwave clearly didn’t care about what the bot had to say. “You let Blades go!” he snarled, stepping forward and looking ready to tackle the larger bot.

Blades had startled and gone silent when the bigger flyer spoke, but at Heatwave’s words he jumped and pulled himself free, gathering his pedes under him and standing between his team and the larger bot. “Wait!” he protested. “He wasn’t hurting me. I was kinda…collapsing, and he kept me front falling.”

Cody frowned. “Why were you collapsing?”

“He told me something that Optimus should have told us a long time ago. Something very bad.”

“And what was that?” Kade snipped, eyes narrowed.

“I’d be curious to know too.” Dad’s voice came from behind them. Cody turned to see his father stepping out of the elevator. “But first, maybe we should sit down. Something tells me this news isn’t going to be pretty.”

“You are a clever human.” The stranger rumbled. “I believe that would indeed be best.”

Heatwave growled, but nodded stiffly. “This way.”

He led them to the lounge area, where everyone got settled and comfortable. The stranger sat on the floor, Blades and Boulder took the couch, and Dani and Graham sat beside their respective partners. Heatwave sat leaning against the couch, and Kade sat leaning against him. Chase pulled over a Cybertronian sized beanbag Graham and Boulder had made, and Dad squished in next to him. Cody, after a moment of consideration, stepped in and sat in front of the newcomer. The large bot shot him an arched brow, and the human just smiled and waved in response.

“So.” Heatwave grunted. “What’s this news?”

“We’re the last Rescue Bots.” Blades cut in, voice quiet.

Chase was frowning. “That is not entirely news. Optimus implied as much when we asked him about the rest of the Rescue Force. I assume the rest of the Rescue Teams were folded into the Autobot ranks when the War began.”

Boulder frowned. “That would make sense, though I have a hard time believing the others would just….abandon in the oaths of neutrality we all took.”

“They did not.” The stranger cut in. “When the War began, the Rescue Force remained neutral. They aided and rescued mechs from both factions. Megatron offered them the chance to join the Decepticons, and they refused. They wished to hold true to their oaths to serve and protect all who needed it. Megatron did not take kindly to the refusal. In order to make an example of them, and also to remove a faction that would aid his enemies, he destroyed the Rescue Force Headquarters and offlined every Rescue Team there. Survivors of the initial attack, as well as those who were simply not present, were subsequently hunted down and slaughtered.” he said bluntly.

There was dead silence in the bunker, with horror growing palpable in the air.

“Dreadwing.” Blades’s voice was weak. “Maybe that was a bit blunt.” He glanced at his teammates. “I think he’s right. I found a mention of the “end of the Rescue Force” in one of High Tide’s data pads. Plus…remember what Optimus said when he first saw us? “I was not aware Rescue Teams were still active.” That’s what he told us.”

Dreadwing. So that was the stranger’s name. Still, he was more worried about the bots. Boulder looked horrified and increasingly sick. Heatwave looked stunned and angry and grief-stricken all at once. Chase looked disbelieving. None of them seemed to be able to protest what they’d been told.

“Dreadwing, is it?” Dad’s voice rose in the silence. “You seem to know a lot about the topic.”

“Any Cybertronian who was alive at the time knows about the Fall of the Rescue Force. It was a great tragedy.”

“That’s why Optimus is so adamant about keeping us here.” Blades whispered. “He knew. He probably thought we’d be in danger if any other bot knew what we are.”

“You would be.” Dreadwing agreed. “If Lord Megatron were to discover your existence, he would send his forces to see you slain, even if it meant razing this island to the ground to do so. Perhaps he would even keep you alive long enough to force Optimus Prime and his team watch your destruction.” He stated, blunt and hard.

Everyone collectively flinched at that, looking sick and horrified at the prospect. Cody could relate. The way Dreadwing discussed such violence and such horrors…it was so casual. He didn’t know what to make of it. The Rescue Bots didn’t speak so bluntly about that sort of thing, but he knew that was due to lack of exposure to that level of violence. Optimus and High Tide were both also very…sanitized, in the way they spoke of the War. It wasn’t necessarily bad that Dreadwing didn’t care to censor himself, but Cody certainly wasn’t used to it. Just the idea of his friends being stolen away and killed to make a point made him sick.

Graham’s voice broke the silence. “Lord Megatron.” he sound, sounding strained. “You called him “Lord Megatron”. I can’t imagine any Autobot calling the leader of their enemy something like “lord”. Which means you’re not an Autobot. You’re a Decepticon.”

There was a second of silence, and then Heatwave surged forward and yanked Cody away from Dreadwing. As one, the Rescue Bots, baring Blades for some reason, lowered the windshields in their chests to let their partners climb in to safety. As for Blades…he just stood, carefully maneuvering Dani out of range of danger and stepping forward before anyone else could do anything. Cody, still dazed and now strapped into Heatwave’s passenger seat, could only watch in confusion.

“Everybody stop and calm down!” The copter snapped, his rotors rattling against his back. The other bots were still, and Dreadwing hadn’t moved from his seat on the floor.

The large bot shifted his gaze to Boulder, or rather, Boulder’s chest where Graham was tucked away. “You are correct.” he said, voice somber. “I am a Decepticon. Or rather, I was. It was Megatron himself who gave me the wound that nearly offlined me.” He paused. “I am afraid I am still teaching myself to shed the loyalty that once bound me to him. I spent many millennia calling him my Lord, and it is a habit that is very difficult to break.” He tilted his head. “Regardless, I assure you I have no desire to return to the Decepticons. I would be destroyed if I were to return.”

That seemed to calm the bots down, and Dani frowned from where Blades had stashed her. “You knew, didn’t you partner?”

Blades sighed. “I suspected.” he admitted. “I read in the data pads that Optimus left for us that after the fall of Vos, most Seekers joined the Deceptions. Dreadwing is a Seeker. I put the pieces together.”

Dreadwing bristled at the mention of “Vos”, though Cody didn’t know what that was. “Vos was destroyed and razed to the ground by Autobot forces, little flyer.” he rumbled. “Seekers did not join the Autobots when the War began because most of those who did were the same who had spent generations abusing and ostracizing any and all flight-frames.” he said bluntly. “It is why most flyers joined the Deceptions. They did not wish to be treated as lesser simply because of a different vehicle mode.”

Dani blinked. “Huh. So bigots exist on all planets, then.” she sighed. “The War…are you saying it started as a social revolution?”

“Just so.” Dreadwing nodded at her. “In the beginning, it was not Optimus Prime who led the Autobots. It was his predecessor, a mech called Sentinel. Sentinel was backed by the Senate. The same Senate that had created laws to force mechs to live only by the function of their frame types, and the same Senate that allowed flight-frames to be treated as filth. When Megatron rose up initially, it was to fight for justice and put an end to the caste system.”

This was news to all the humans. They’d heard about the War, of course, but hearing about how it started and why it had began put new context on things.

“The Senate refused to listen, and thus the War began. Megatron initially led as non-violently as possible, but then any who harbored even slight anti-Senate mentalities began to be culled by Autobot Enforcers. Flyers were confined to the ground by force when not in Vos, and in Vos they were not permitted to leave the city.” The Seeker continued. “What started as a fight for equality turned into Decepticons fighting for their right simply to live. And then the Senate was assassinated, and Sentinel destroyed, and Optimus Prime took his place. By then, it was too late for things to return to peace. Too many Decepticons feared they would be killed for the crime of wanting a better life and fighting for it, and too many Autobots were bitter and angry towards the chaos the Decepticon had wrought. And so, the War continued.” he sighed.

There was silence for a long moment, and the Rescue Bots finally returned to their previous positions, though they didn’t let the humans out just yet. Blades sat on the couch, and Dani shifted over to perch on his shoulder. Everyone present was silent for a moment, taking in what they had been told. This…changed things. Certainly, the Decepticons had done horrible things. The fact that they had slaughtered the Rescue Bots was a prime example. But to learn why they had risen and where they had come from…it put a lot into perspective.

“Blades.” Dani spoke up. “You’re a flyer. Did you run into any of that sort of thing Dreadwing was talking about, before your stasis nap?” she asked.

Blades sputtered. “Well, no.” he seemed embarrassed. “You know I wasn’t always a flyer. I was a ground-frame, on Cybertron. Sure, I’d heard about the anti-flyer and anti-Seeker stuff but I never experienced it. Dreadwing is telling the truth, though. Cybertron…didn’t have the best social system. I did know about the civil unrest, thought it hadn’t grown to a revolution quite yet the last time I was on Cybertron.” he said, sheepish.

Before one of the humans could ask for an elaboration, Dreadwing was straightening up. “Youngling. You mean to tell me you were able to shift from a ground-frame to a flight-frame by scanning a new vehicle mode?”

Blades paused. “Yes?”

Dreadwing was quiet, before uttering what Cody was very sure was a curse. “You do realize that is an extraordinarily rare ability? Even triple changers are more common than that.”

“Really?” Blades, and even all the other bots, seemed stunned by this revelation.

“Yes.” Dreadwing was frowning. “Most Cybertronian t-cogs will only allow for scanning and transformation into a vehicle mode that is compatible with your root mode. To be able to change from a grounder to a flyer by simply scanning a new vehicle mode…it speaks of a highly malleable and adaptable base frame type. The kind one expects from the tales of the Shifters of old.”

That made the Bots perk up, and Cody made a note to ask about that later. For now, he opted to stay quiet and let the Cybertronians figure this out. And it seemed his family had the same idea. Even Kade, for once.

“Are you saying I’m a Shifter?” Blades seemed frantic at the idea.

“No.” Dreadwing shook his head. “But perhaps you have coding descended from them.” He sighed. “Your ability, little one, is one I have only ever heard of on Cybertron. Many would be jealous of you. I know many flyers would not give up their flight for anything, but I know of many more who would have wanted your ability desperately in order to change to a ground-frame and escape the derision.”

Blades blinked, then looked down. “Oh.” he whispered.

Heatwave growled. “Look, it’s all well and good that we’ve figured this out, but now what? You were a Decepticon! You could hurt us or someone else on the island!”

Dreadwing looked unimpressed. “I have no intentions of doing any such thing, though I will leave if you prefer.”

“But won’t Megatron kill you?” Boulder asked.

“He will try. I will simply have to avoid him.”

“Then why not join the Autobots?” Chase asked.

The Seeker’s expression went dark. “No. While Optimus Prime is honorable, the Autobots have not always been such. I have lost too much to their regime to submit myself to the brand, even if it is different now.”

No one seemed to know what to say to that. After a long moment, the humans were finally let out of the cabs of their respective partners, and Cody saw an odd look in his Dad’s eye.

“Hoe about this, then.” Dad said. “We don’t feel right about sending you off where you might be killed. You don’t want to fight the Autobots, you don’t want to fight for the Decepticons. Am I right so far?”

Dreadwing simply bowed his head.

“Do you even want to fight in the War at all, anymore?”

Dreadwing paused. “The Decepticons committed a crime which I must put right. But other than that, no.” There was a pause. “Even with my end goal, it is not the Decepticons at large I wish to see defeated. It is only one mech among their ranks.”

Dad hummed slowly, then nodded. “I’m guessing you’re not ready to tell us the details, so I won’t even ask.” he said. “Here’s what I propose: you stay here on Griffin Rock. You don’t let yourself be seen by the humans here, we do have a cover to maintain after all. You can think and plan your next steps here. That lets us keep an eye on you, and keeps our minds at ease that you’re not out there running for your life from a tyrant. You just can’t destroy anything or hurt anyone or cause trouble.”

Cody was surprised by the offer, and clearly Dreadwing was too. What did his Dad see in this large bot that was making him take a chance like this? Cody wasn’t against it, but it was a little unusual.

Dreadwing seemed to think over the offer, before he nodded. “I will accept your terms.”

Dad relaxed, and before Kade could protest he waved his children along. “Now come on, everyone. It’s late and we humans need our rest.” he said. “Kade, not here. We can discuss this more later. Let’s go, everyone.”

Cody hopped off Heatwave’s knee, and followed his siblings and father to the lift. The last thing he saw before the doors closed was the Rescue Bots turning to their newest addition, and heard the start of a question before the doors shutting cut it off.

“So what else do you know that Optimus isn’t-“

——————————

Everything came to a head a week after Dreadwing had settled into the bunker. The Seeker had taken over one back corner of the large room, converting it into a small space for himself. None of the other bots or humans had raised a fuss at that. But Kade was getting increasingly agitated. It was clear that he didn’t understand why Blades and his team were so calm about letting a Decepticon live peacefully with them. Personally, the copter bot attributed that to the fact that the firefighter was human, so he probably didn’t understand the Cybertronian cultural or societal intricacies that had allowed the five bots to come to an understanding. That day, Kade had been particularly snarly. Even Boulder was starting to get put off by it.

They had gathered in the bunker. Blades was watching TV with Dreadwing and Chase, trying to explain the allure of his favorite show to the two bots. Boulder was painting, and Heatwave was on his little sparring platform. The humans had come down in time to see Dreadwing pinch one of Blade’s finials when the little copter bot’s rotors had straightened and extended, threatening to start spinning right there on his back due to his excitement. It had pulled Blades back to himself, and he’d sheepishly tucked his rotors back along his spinal strut while shooting the older mech an apologetic grin.

To a Cybertronian, such a gesture from an older mech to a youngling would not have raised any attention. The gentle tweak hadn’t even hurt his sensitive finials. But to a human, especially one who didn’t have or understand the context of Cybertronian culture, the gesture and lack of reaction from the bots could easily be misunderstood.

So really, Blades wasn’t surprised that Kade had finally snapped. As soon as he’d seen the interaction, he’d roared a demand to know what was going on, questioning how the bots could live with someone who had been part of the same team that had wiped out all the other Rescue Bots. That was when Chief Burns had sighed and suggested they all get settled in the lounge to talk again. They had, taking up the same positions as the previous time, though this time Boulder also dragged over a large beanbag for himself and Graham, while Dani perched on Blade’s shoulder and Dreadwing took the free spot on the couch. Which was where they were now.

“Alright.” Kade spat. “So I’m not getting something here, obviously. Why are you four so comfortable around him? He literally admitted that he used to be a Decepticon! The same guys that destroyed your Rescue Force!”

“But he wasn’t there.” Blades chimed in. “We talked when you went to bed that night. He joined the ‘Cons after the Autobots destroyed Vos, which happened after the fall of the Rescue Force.”

“And that changes anything?” Kade sputtered.

“It changes everything.” Heatwave grunted. “He wasn’t part of the group that destroyed the Rescue Force. And even though he joined them later, it wasn’t to inflict violence, it was in response to his home and people being destroyed. That may be hard to understand, based on what I know of your human culture, but for us Cybertronians that’s enough.”

Kade crossed his arms, scowling fiercely. “Fine. I guess I can accept that, even if I don’t get it. What I don’t get is why you’d defect.” he directed the last part at Dreadwing. “You hinted last time we talked that you served Megatron for thousands and thousands of years, and joined him because he was fighting for a just cause, one you believed in. What changed?”

Dreadwing frowned, staring hard at the human. “You are correct, Skyquake and I did originally join Megatron because we believed him to be honorable and just.” he tilted his head. “As the War progressed and left Cybertron, Megatron gradually became more…mad. However, we still followed him because we had sworn an oath of loyalty, and to break that oath would be dishonorable.” he rumbled. “And we did not fully agree with the Autobots either, even after Optimus Prime took command.”

“Hold on.” Graham cut in. “Skyquake?”

Dreadwing blinked, and something odd entered his gaze. Blades felt the flash of grief in his EM afield before it abruptly cut off. “Yes. Skyquake. He was my brother. We were split spark twins.”

“I thought you said you guys don’t have families like humans!” Kade said to Heatwave, eyes narrowed.

The fire truck scowled. “We don’t! Not usually! There’s only really one exception, and that’s so rare I didn’t think it mattered!”

“Two exceptions.” Blades intervened quickly. “There’s actually two exceptions, two ways for Cybertronians to have siblings.”

Looks were directed at him, and he squirmed under the attention. Slag, he hadn’t meant to say that. They’d want to know how he knew and that was something he wanted to keep to himself. It was his burden to bare.

Dreadwing sensed his discomfort, cutting in before the questions could start and drawing the attention back to himself. “Yes. The first exception is that of split spark twins.” He glanced at the humans. “We Cybertronians are not created like you organics. On Cybertron, our source of life is called the Well of All Sparks. It is where all sparks are created, and where all sparks return upon deactivation.”

“A spark is like…your soul, right? It’s what gives you guys life and makes you who you are.” Dani questioned.

Dreadwing dipped his helm towards her. “Indeed. When a new Cybertronian comes into be, their spark is created in the Well. It goes through several layers of the Well’s energy, the spark refining and becoming more defined as it progresses to the edge of the Well from the center. Often, the sparks will not maintain their form in this process, and their energy will dissipate and return to the Well.” Noting the human’s looks, he shook his head. “The spark has no life or sentience at that time, it is merely a small collection of energy. It is if the spark holds its form past the final layer of shaping that it gains sentience and life. At that point, the energy of the Well pulls resources from Cybertron itself to create a protoform, a physical body, around the spark. Then, the protoform is pushed from the Well, and thus a new Cybertronian is created.” the Seeker explained.

“That doesn’t explain how you guys can have siblings.” Graham pointed out.

Dreadwing dipped his head. “Twins like myself are a rarity. They occur when, just before a protoform is formed around the spark, a surge of energy from the Well causes the spark to split into two. When that happens, most sparks to not survive and dissipate. If they do survive, the Well forms two protoforms around the two halves. The two halves of the spark can function on their own, and are fully formed in their own right, but due to the fact they were one a singular spark those two halves are forever bound.” he explained it carefully.

“Two halves, one whole.” Graham said, eyes lighting up with understanding.

Dreadwing nodded. “Yes. That is how split spark twins are created. Due to the bond, twins are very close to one another. A spark bond is a precious thing, little human.” His optics went distant, and Blades’s own spark ached with painful remembrance. “Through a spark bond, you are always and forever aware of the one who you share the bond with. You know what they feel, how they think, you know them in every way that they in turn know you. You can talk and communicate using the bond, and it can never be detected or listened in on. Distance can dampen a bond, and the further one gets from those they are bonded to the more muted it becomes. At one point, the bond becomes too muted to talk in words, and you can share only base thoughts and emotions.” he rumbled. “But even so, the bond persists, and it allows you to know your bonded is still living.”

“And…this Skyquake. He’s your twin? Where is he?” Kade asked.

“Gone.” Dreadwing said, his EM field flaring with that sharp agony, and even the humans could hear the grief in his tone. “Offlined before I even arrived on Earth.”

“How did it happen?” Chief asked, voice somber.

Dreadwing stared at him for a long moment, and Blades could see the grief in the angle at which he held his wings, even if he had reigned in his EM field. “Centuries ago, Megatron stationed my brother here in stasis in order to guard over Deception energon deposits. I was aware of his mission, but I was sent to far off star systems to fight in the War.” he sighed. “Recently, Skyquake was awoken, and in an ensuing confrontation with the Autobots he was slain by Optimus Prime and his scout.”

Blades flinched, optics wide. Bumblebee had killed Dreadwing’s twin? He supposed he couldn’t really judge a situation in which he didn’t have all the information, but he still had a hard time imagining the friendly yellow bit he knew actually killing someone else.

“How did you survive?” he blurted out. Looks were directed to him again, confused, but Dreadwing understood.

“Distance.” he rumbled. “I was so far away at from my brother at the time of his death that the bond was too strained for me to even feel his strongest emotions. I could only barely tell he was still living, and even then only when I focused on the link between our shared spark.” His gaze went sad. “I felt his death. The surge of energy that came from the bond breaking did reach me, but by the time it did it had had to travel so great a distance that it had dulled too much to overwhelm and gutter out my own spark. All I felt was a very faint sting. It didn’t even hurt to feel him perish.” he said, and he sounded bitter at it.

Blades could understand. “I’m sorry.” he said honestly.

Dreadwing sighed. “He died an honorable death. For that much, I am grateful.”

Kade cleared his throat, frowning. “Okay.” he said carefully. “But that doesn’t explain why you left the ‘Cons. Shouldn’t you have more reason to stay with the, if the Autobots killed your twin?”

Dreadwing growled lowly here. “No.” he denied. “The Autobots gave my brother a good death, a death I know Skyquake would not have been ashamed of. For all I resent the Autobots from taking my brother from me, it is War, and I cannot find fault in them removing an enemy from the battlefield.” He turned a sharp look to Kade. “It was the Starscream, however, who is a Decepticon, who desecrated my brother’s rest by defiling his corpse and turning him into a Terrorcon.”

Blades inhaled sharply, rage clouding his processor. He seethed, his rotors clamping tight to his spinal strut, his optics going dark and angry, and his hands curling into fists. Dani was the only one to notice, and she didn’t want to draw attention to him just yet.

“Terrorcon? Cody asked.

“A zombie.” Boulder offered, looking sick. Actually, all the bots look sick. “Or the closest equivalent to it there is for Cybertronians.”

And now the humans all looked sick. “Oh.” Kade said. “That’s why you left.”

“Yes.” Dreadwing said darkly. “I learned the truth, and when I attempted to avenge my bother Megatron attempted to destroy me. It did not matter to him that Starscream had attempted to assassinate and betray him on countless occasions. He sought my death in order to protect a known traitor.” he growled. “Starscream turned my brother into something twisted and abhorrent. That is why I left.” he finished.

“I’m surprised you didn’t rip his spark out.” Blades hissed. Stunned gazes turned to the copter, and everyone was alarmed to see just how angry he looked. “I’d have tried to, in your place.”

The only one who wasn’t surprised was Dreadwing. “I did try, and I was almost killed for it. I will avenge Skyquake one day, little one. But for now, calm yourself.”

Blades actually snarled at that. His rotors rattled aggressively, the smaller ones in his pedes whirling to life with a loud buzzing, and his engine all but roared with fury. “Just the idea of someone doing that-!” he cut himself off, snarling again. Dreadwing was quick to pick Dani off the youngling’s shoulder and set her down.

“Blades.” he snapped. The others were too frozen in shock at the sight of the usually bubbly copter so aggressive.

“No!” Blades snapped. “If someone did that to ‘Aid, or Groove, or Streetwise, or Hot Spot, or any of them, I’d rip them apart myself!”

Dreadwing narrowed his optics, his processor working quickly. There was no reason for the youngling to get so upset at the idea of a spark sibling being so badly defiled, no reason for him to take it so personally. And those names…

“You are gestalt, aren’t you, little one?”

That was enough to snap Blades out of his angry haze, and his optics shot wide. Fear swamped his field, and his rotors abruptly silenced and clamped back against his spine while the rotors in his pedes cut off with a sharp grinding noise. “What?”

“Given your reaction, and those names you said….it is the only conclusion that makes sense.”

“Wait, Blades…you’re part of a gestalt?” Boulder asked, his own optics blown wide.

“That…would explain your reaction.” Chase offered hesitantly.

“Blades.” Heatwave prompted at the copter’s continued silence.

“Uh, hello? Clueless humans here!” Dani called. “Blades, put me back up. Also, what’s a gestalt?”

The youngling bent down, allowing his partner to climb her way back up to his shoulder before he sat up. He sagged, looking defeated,

“A gestalt is the other way Cybertronians can have siblings.” he said quietly. “It happens in the Well. Most of the time, the Well creates on spark at a time. Creating a living spark is a complex process, so it can’t afford to create too many at once. Every once in a while though, the Well has an excess of energy, undetectable to any technology. When that happens, it creates multiple sparks at once. If all those sparks survive to the edge of the Well, then the excess energy pulls them together into one large, massive spark. Many sparks, becoming one. They remain combined until the energy stabilizes, and then split into the original number again and that’s when the protoforms are created around the sparks.” He sighed. “When that happens, all the bots in that group are linked. They were created by the Well together, and they were merged together by the Well to bind their sparks. That’s a gestalt. Because of the spark merge that occurred in the Well, gestalt can actually merge themselves again outside of it. They can push together their sparks and processors and very beings to become a singular bot. Gestalt frames are even adapted to that they can physically combine, each member becoming a different body part, in order to form the body of a new, larger mech while their sparks combine to form the mech’s own spark. Many, becoming one.” Blades looked down. “My brothers and I are that. We can combine to form Defensor. I’m the arm.” he said weakly.

——————————

Part 3

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just-an-anxious-mess · 3 years

Text

Double Standards (Part 2)

Part 1

Trigger Warning: Mentions of toxic parents, transphobia, mentions of past abuse, dead naming, wrong pronoun usage, low self esteem, unhealthy coping mechanisms, ableism, seasonal depression, thoughts of suicide and self harm. The Remus angst train will not be stopping.

They sat in their room trying to ignore their spiralling thoughts. They should have known better than to slip up and make a comment about their gender identity at dinner.

They'd known it wouldn't go down well and yet they'd still said something. Remus blamed it on their impulsivity and desire to feel validated for once.

Things had started off ok at first. They'd been forced out shopping with their mother and had come across another enby in the wild which had been great. They'd had a discussion about preferred pronouns while their mum and Roman had been in earshot.

Roman had of course been a complete ass the whole time round the shops and Remus was still furious about the leaves incident but they managed to hold themselves back from doing anything rash like breaking his nose which they felt was incredibly nice of them.

The individual at the checkout had given Remus a sudden boost in confidence and rekindled their motivation to correct their parents when they slipped up.

With this new energy they corrected their mother and the three of them (Remus, Roman and their mother) also ended up having a conversation about the LGBTQ+ on the journey home.

All in all things were going good and when they got home they decided to take the cashiers words to heart.

They had told Remus that their 5 year old cousin respected their pronouns and name more than their parents and so with this knowledge in mind Remus decided to talk to Patton.

"Hey Patton? My name is Remus now and instead of saying she or her when talking about me, I'd prefer you to use They and Them."

Patton had looked up at them with barely a moments hesitation and replied "Ok Remus."

Remus felt like their heart was going to burst at Pattons words and they couldn't fight the enormous smile that spread across their lips, especially as Patton continued to use Remus instead of their deadname.

Then dinner happened.

Everyone was sitting around the table as usual when Remus's mum used their deadname when speaking to them. Remus sighed but felt a little reluctant to correct her in front of their father, unsure if his infamous temper would explode at Remus 'backchatting' their mum.

Patton of course spoke up then, slipping up slightly thanks to hearing the deadname being used.

"It's Remus."

Remus was surprised when Roman spoke up on their behalf and was immediately suspicious, frowning slightly at his sudden jump to their defence.

"I call you Remus but mummy calls you [Deadname}" Patton stated, looking directly at their mother.

"That's because I named her after a friend of mines younger sister who died while I was pregnant with her."

Remus winced slightly, already having heard this story many times before. They avoided eye contact with their mother as she continued.

"The names I used to name her carry significant meaning to me so if I forget to call her Remus it's because of that. My friends sister was only 13 when she died and I swore to name you after her in her memory."

Remus just managed to stop from sliding down in their seat, guilt and shame suddenly weighing heavily on them as they thought on their mothers words.

Maybe they should have chosen something closer to their mothers friends sisters name? Maybe then there wouldn't have been as much issue with the whole nonbinary thing?

"I don't even know why you changed your name to Remus anyway? Names shouldn't define your gender. You didn't have to change your name, besides they're pretty much the same anyway."

Remus stared at Roman in shock and horror as they registered his words and felt sick as their mother made a noise of agreement and everyone seemed to just carry on with dinner as if nothing had happened.

When dinner ended Remus made a beeline straight to their room where they proceeded to think and overthink everything that had just happened.

All the stuff their family said weighed on them heavily to the point where they stared off into space for a bit as a horrifying thought crossed their mind.

What if they were faking all this? What if they weren't really nonbinary and it was just all a ploy for attention?

Thoughts of a similar nature bounced around their head, driving them mad with panic and making them rethink everything.

Stressed and in disarray Remus paced up and down, shaking their hands in a way similar to how they usually stimmed.

Eventually they sat down at their computer and tried to distract their buzzing mind with YouTube or music. It didn't have much of an effect.

Eventually they contacted Logan and let him know what had happened. As usual he was logical and spoke sense, even when Remus wasn't in a state to really register it.

His words somewhat reassured Remus. For now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still feeling down from what had happened a couple days previously Remus didn't make as much of an effort to correct Patton or Roman anymore but sometimes their brothers would remember on their own.

Remus spent a lot of time trying to figure out why their parents seemed to have such an issue with their identity but there wasn't really anything they could come up with except their parents were just stuck in the way they'd been brought up.

Things eventually reached boiling point at dinner a few nights later.

Dinner always seemed to be the catalyst for shit hitting the fan. It was probably because that was the only time the entire family was present in the same room for extended periods of time.

It all started with Roman doing an impression of Stitch. It wasn't terrible but it was mildly annoying to Remus's ears. They'd rather eat dinner in peace.

"are you doing a Nelson Mandela impression?" Their mother asked, grinning like she'd made a hilarious joke.

"What? It's Stitch from Lilo and Stitch." Roman and Remus said at the same time, sharing confused looks which became exasperated as their mother continued.

"It sounds exactly like Nelson Mandela, you racist." She laughed, loud and grating on Remus's ears as she nudged their father who was also grinning.

Roman glared at the two of them and tried to again reiterate that it was an impression of Stitch.

"You're a racist, it's exactly the same as Nelson Mandela's voice." their father said, speaking over Roman which was a sure fire way to set off his infamous temper.

"I'm not racist! I don't even know what he sounds like, I was just doing an impression of a cartoon character. Not knowing that my Stitch impression sounds like..."

"That's how racism starts, ignorance!" both their parents were laughing now and Remus wanted nothing more than to shout for them to stop but they kept their mouth shut, something Roman had never learnt to do as he once again spoke up.

"Out of everyone here, you guys are the most racist. You continuously use outdated terms and words that are considered offensive in our current time period."

"Oh we're racist are we?"

"Yes! You're the least PC people in our whole family."

Their mother scoffed while their father was still grinning and shaking his head in disbelief at Romans words.

"The whole family? Even grandad?"

"Yes actually, at least grandad doesn't say anything homophobic or too racist in front of us."

"Actually I think it's the fact that you pretend to be better than him but you're on the same level when it comes to outdated and offensive comments and words."

For once Remus and Roman were working together to try and stop their parents from being as bigoted and offensive.

Perhaps it was the fact they were actually working together or maybe it was just because they had no response, the dining room fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence.

After a few moments of silence their mother spoke up once again, eyes locked onto Remus.

"are you going to change your middle name too?"

"wha..?" Remus was completely caught off guard by the question.

"Are you going to change the middle name? I mean it has sentimental meaning and your nan was so happy when i told her I was using her middle name for yours. You were her first grandchild. so are you going to change it?"

Remus struggled to come up with a response, feeling like they were being interrogated and put on the spot.

Once again Roman came to their defence.

"You can't pressure someone into going by a name they don't identify with by telling them it has meaning to you. It has meaning to you but it's not how they identify and it's selfish to expect them to stick with it just because of your feelings about the name."

"I named her after my friends little sister who died!"

"Yes, we know, you keep saying but it's still not fair to Remus to basically emotionally blackmail them into sticking with a name they don't identify with."

Remus watched their mother and brother in shock, a warm feeling in their chest at the fact Roman was sticking up for them in such a way.

The warm feeling was immediately replaced by dread as their father spoke up, his grin still in place but it quickly disappeared.

"I'll say whatever the fuck I want to. If you don't like it then you can fuck off. It's my fucking house and I'll fucking say what I fucking want to. And Remus is a stupid fucking name. You're [Deadname]. Don't like it? Then move out!"

With each word their father said the room grew more and more tense and Remus felt their eyes prickling as the dread was replaced with hurt at the knowledge their parents would clearly never accept them as they truly were.

They remained silent, staring down at their plate, trying to ignore the few tears starting to trail down their face.

They focused on shovelling food into their mouth, anticipating the end of dinner when they could make a bid for freedom to their room and breakdown in privacy.

As subtly as they could Remus wiped their eyes, determined not to let either of their parents see just how much their words had effected them. Plus Remus didn't want to give their father an excuse to have a go at them for being weak/overreacting.

Eventually both parents left the table and Roman and Remus were alone in the dining room with the task of clearing up.

Roman was still furious at the conversation during dinner and kept trying to talk to Remus about it but Remus was very aware of their mother being in the other room and the fact Roman tended to get louder when talking about something he was passionate about so they shushed him and made a point of reminding him of where they were.

Eventually Remus was able to escape back to their room and that's when they fully allowed their walls to crumble.

The reality of what the disastrous dinner conversation meant hit them full force and for the first time in a while old urges began to plague their mind.

They collapsed into their computer chair and sobbed silently into their hands, a skill they'd had to learn out of necessity many years ago due to various things.

The little voice in their head they thought they'd finally managed to silence began whispering and Remus clenched their hands into fists in their hair, trying their best to ignore it as it seemed to get louder.

The temptation to give in was overwhelming as the fact they could never safely be their true self around their parents began to really sink in. Then a small spark of hope hit them as they remembered someone who had always been supporting them and fighting their corner, no matter what.

Logan.

In a last ditch effort to rid themself of the old self destructive urges they sent Logan a message and filled him in on how dinner had gone.

It didn't take long for Logan to respond with an optimistic message about getting them out of there as soon as possible and reassuring Remus that their name was just as beautiful as their last and that their father was being an asshole.

Remus felt slightly better but their thoughts were still spiralling and they couldn't ignore the awful feeling welling up inside them as a question filled their mind that they had no answer to.

Why can't they accept me?

They sent Logan this question, still wiping tears from their face as they waited for his response.

Logan replied and Remus scowled, ignoring the fresh tears that spilled down their face as they told Logan that he couldn't promise that they would accept them eventually, that's not how life works.

Logan tried to bring up the fact that Remus's parents had accepted their sexuality but Remus scoffed and pointed out that the real reason their parents had 'accepted' their sexuality is because they were with Logan so for all intents and purposes they could kid themselves that Remus was straight as they were with a guy.

Logan told them that they'd do anything and everything they could in the future to use Remus's name around them as much as possible until they couldn't help but use it themselves.

Remus didn't think that would work but didn't say that, instead choosing not to reply as they couldn't think of anything else to say. Instead they began blasting music at full volume to try and drown out their thoughts.

They lost themself in their music and even began drawing, an old coping mechanism they rarely used anymore but it was a much healthier one than the one they were trying their hardest to ignore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days seemed to pass without much incident, the explosive dinner being forgotten and ignored by everyone as if it never happened.

Of course it was all Remus could think of as they went through the motions of everyday life, wincing every time Patton called them Remus instead of getting the warm feeling of validation because they were terrified their father might get angry again at the reminder.

There was a moment when Remus was trying to escape to their room and their father wanted them to come back downstairs and so he shouted "Oi! Woman!"

Remus felt a wave of revulsion wash through them and grit their teeth to fight down the urge to scream, instead standing at the top of the stairs and answering like nothing was wrong.

As time passed the intrusive thoughts seemed to increase in regularity, every trip downstairs they had thoughts of throwing themselves down them, washing their hands they held their hands under the hot tap as long as they were able and sometimes out of nowhere the urge to scratch at their skin until it bled would overwhelm them.

They managed to fight through these situations by reminding themselves of Logan and their friends but there were a few close calls where they only just kept themselves from doing anything.

It didn't help that it was starting to get closer to the time of year Remus dreaded most.

Christmas.

They loved winter but Christmas and all the things that came with it was a nightmare.

It was a time they couldn't help but associate with awful times.

So many years they'd spent in their room crying over some sort of family crisis or just generally feeling unwanted and they came to hate it more and more as the years went by.

This year would probably be just as bad as ever as things had really took a downturn this year.

Losing people was never easy but Remus seemed to lose everyone around this time so there were various dates they dreaded in November and December.

It was also the time of year their mental health always plummeted and intrusive thoughts of times when they'd almost succeeded with something drastic were plentiful.

They didn't remember the exact dates of those moments but they didn't need to.

Luckily they had Logan and Virgil and Janus to fall back on. Without them Remus dreaded to think what might have happened.

They were in a better place mentally now than they had been and they had several coping mechanisms in place that were relatively healthy.

Nothing particularly big happened in the next week or so but there were a few small instances which did start to add up, causing Remus's stress levels to reach almost breaking point.

They felt frustrated and ashamed that such tiny things could effect them so much and though they tried their best to ignore the minor inconveniences they started to pile up.

It started with a simple thing. Remus's parents suddenly started to buy a different brand of soft drink than usual due to price which was all well and good but Remus was used to the other one, the cheaper one tasted Wrong and Different and they felt slightly on edge.

The next thing was bigger and pissed Remus off a considerable amount. Their mother was already wrapping things for Christmas for their two youngest brothers and she had as always gone overboard with three black sacks full of wrapped gifts which she then handed to Remus.

"Wait what?" Remus asked, having zoned out midway through the conversation and making their mother huff in annoyance.

"I said go put these in your room somewhere Patton won't find them."

"But I don't have anywhere to put them!" Remus exclaimed indignantly and frowned as their mother raised her voice angrily.

"Where else do you suggest they be put? There's no room in mine and your dads room, Romans room also has no room and they can't stay down here. Just clear up some of the junk in your room and you'll have plenty of room."

Remus growled and muttered under their breath and reluctantly dragged the bags up to their room where they turned in circles in a frustrated moment of panic as they struggled to figure out where they could put them.

Despite what their mother had said they didn't actually have much room and while their room wasn't spotless it wasn't a complete mess like both parents liked to claim, it was just a very lived in space.

Eventually Remus ended up shoving the bags down the end of their bed and decided that if Patton saw them when he did his usual thing of bursting into their room then it wasn't their fault.

Still the bags at the end of their bed made them feel restless, the unfamiliar objects invading what they had considered their safe space but even without the bags of presents Remus was struggling to consider their room their safe place with each passing day.

The next change was a very large one. Despite only having it for two years Remus's parents had decided to get a new couch which had thrown Remus into a spiral of thoughts, none of them good. The different couch was larger than their previous ones and meant that when it came time to put the tree up there wouldn't be room where they used to put it, yay another change!

It would have to be put in front of the living room window where it would be very easy for Patton to bump into it and smash the glass decorations.

This thought sent Remus down a dark path of imagining laying in the wreckage of broken glass.

They shook this off and tried their best to stay as together as possible.

This worked slightly until the day the new sofa arrived.

Everything was hectic and there was lots of shouting from both parents which resulted in Remus falling back on an old coping mechanism.

To avoid breaking down in front of either parent Remus shut off their emotions. Or at least enough of them so they didn't end up crying.

The issue with this particular coping mechanism was Remus found it difficult to go back to 'normal' so to speak.

They were sort of glad that they were still able to block their emotions when their help was demanded with the tree.

The various decorations their mother had collected over the years usually would cause a torrent of various emotions but they remained rather unaffected through the whole process.

The snide comments and little digs barely registered as they monotonously helped decorate the tree.

The final decoration to be placed on the tree was a new one as it was every year due to family tradition. This year however it was a tribute to their mothers mum who'd died a few months back.

Their mum was instantly in floods of tears and Roman placed a hand on her shoulder, looking close to tears himself.

Remus watched as the decoration was placed on a branch and both clung to each other, teary eyed and sniffing.

Remus blinked a few times to try and escape the numb state they'd managed to get themself in but it was no use.

Their father in a rare moment of understanding gave them a small nudge and then lifted their hand and placed it on their mums shoulder.

They left their hand there for a few seconds before patting awkwardly, completely out of their depth right now. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days they found themselves incapable of getting out of bed. They were tired all the time and would drift in and out of sleep throughout the day, only getting up to do housework.

Their thoughts were full of worst case scenario and thoughts of what they'd do if they didn't have Logan and Virgil and Janus.

None of them were good and all their thoughts seemed to have become twisted and dark.

It was reaching a point where even talking to their friends and Logan was becoming difficult.

They knew that isolating themself from such supportive individuals was a bad idea but they couldn't seem to stop. There were no brakes on the self destruct train.

They were managing to refrain from various things but as the month of December progressed they knew it would only get harder.

Tag List under the cut:

General tag list: @mcfreakin-childproof-caps @amethystdarkwolf @patchworkofstars @kitkat-doodles @unikornavenger @dolphin-squirrel @sympathetic-deceit-trash @starryfirefliesbloggo @cakercanart @neonb-fly @kaymischief25 @punsterterry @aprilthevene @theoddkidnextdoor @fuckingemoace @i-sold-my-soul-to-thefandom @im-so-infinitesimal @sea-blue-child @thecatchat @iris-sanders-athena @saphael-malec102 @smedenn @corkeecoderyt @sopi-montezzz @illogicaldeath @deadpanstar @theanxiousfander @lesliealiceinwonderland @wicked-universe @anxious-is-the-name @a-black-pegasus @erlenmeyertrashofsandersides @ace-the-weekly-doodler @luarpice @novusavis @the-life-ofa-troubled-ace @heck-im-lost @nerdy-as-heck @pansexual-cat @ravens-rambling @echomist13 @myownhappilyeverafter @im-a-sexy-mouse @xx-fandom-potato-xx @bisexualellaphants @redundant-statements-for-400 @noahlovescoffee @akl1 @love-ya-to-the-moon @misty2-0 @cdragontogacotar @shad-ster @chemicallyimbalancedromance @ivescottthis @flag-spinning-demiboy @moonstonefox12 @stupidfangirl107 @teegankitty @stormastrote @skylerskywing @oonagh-una @ab-artist @lydialightwood-bane @remythehero @amberrose80q3 @official-spookifers-child @amazonprimebox

#just an anxious mess's fics #remus sanders angst #intrulogical #tw ableism #tw suicide mention #tw self deprecation #tw mentions of self harm #tw suicidal thoughts #tw toxic family #tw deadnaming #tw depression #tw seasonal depression #tw loss

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alarawriting · 3 years

Text

The Cold At The Heart of the Light: Chapter One

I’ve decided I’ll post probably the first three chapters of this as I work on it. There’s currently six chapters written and the seventh is started; I have been planning about twelve of them.

This is gonna have to be edited a lot when I finish the whole thing -- it’s too goddamn long, for one thing -- but I can’t spend too much time editing the first draft when I’m not done with it.

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

As soon as the maid led me to the living room and I got my first look at the little girl, I could tell the child was dying. She was sitting on an overstuffed, white suede couch with brown fringy pillows all around her, at the back of a living room that looked like something out of House Beautiful, all tall wide windows and understated elegance in brown and beige and gold and white. She was maybe about seven, if her disease hadn’t undersized her, feet dangling off the couch and not moving. When children whose feet are dangling are not kicking those feet, and there is neither a book nor a TV nearby to explain the discrepancy, I can generally tell something is wrong. Her blonde curly wig was as expensive as the décor of her parents’ living room, but I’m an expert in these matters – I could tell the chemo had taken her hair. And her skin was dull and dry looking, her eyes vague and unfocused, her expression indrawn and blank, her small limbs painfully skinny. She showed all the signs of either being abused, drugged, or severely ill, and given that her father had called me in, I knew that at least it was the last. Probably the second as well. The pharmaceutical industry has never solved the problem of stopping children’s pain to my satisfaction (or, for that matter, the children’s.)

Her mother would have been an elegantly plastic politician’s wife if she hadn’t been sitting tensely at the edge of the sofa, arm around her daughter, clutching the child. Fear and anxiety make even women with $500 haircuts and botoxed foreheads seem human. I’d already forgotten the woman’s name; after checking over the daughter with a quick glance, I turned to focus on her father. Senator John Lightman, one of those politicians who manages to look “boyish” simply by being a thin dark-haired man in his prime when everyone else in the Senate is somewhere between 60 and dead, was walking toward me, reaching out a hand as if to shake it. I saw the look of puzzlement cross his face as he got a good look at me. “Are you…”

“Dr. Mystery?” I filled in the blank. “Yes, of course, I apologize. You couldn’t possibly recognize me like this.” I had arrived in a stock form, a middle-aged woman of average height, weight and appearance with blonde graying hair in a short fluffy do. I couldn’t very well drive around town in my working form, but now that I was here, it was time to shock and awe the mundanes. With a thought, I transformed.

When I first adopted this as my working form, it used to take me ten or twenty minutes in front of a mirror to get it just right, because it doesn’t look human enough for me to use DNA as a model anywhere – I have to brute-force it. But by this time I’d been doing it for so many years, it took only a few seconds. Changing doesn’t hurt – it feels like having a really good stretch, actually.

In a moment, I was six feet tall, simultaneously busty and thin, with the golden skin of an Academy award, iris-less purple eyes with cat pupils, and flame-red hair down to the small of my back. I wore a skin-tight black leather catsuit with no shoes, and modified pelvis and leg muscles so I looked like I was wearing high heels even though I was barefoot – an anatomic impossibility for other women, but there’s no point in having total control over your own flesh if you can’t use it to show off a little. To complete the costume I grew a white cotton labcoat over the catsuit; not exactly a cape, but the name is Doctor Mystery, not Ms. Mystery or Lady Mystery or Sexy Chick I’d Like To Do Mystery.

Being a supervillain’s all about the power and the respect. Back when my working form wasn’t quite so do-me hot, I actually used to get less respect as a villain, as if a woman couldn’t possibly really be all that mad, bad and dangerous to know if she doesn’t look like a supermodel. But when I do the catsuit without the lab coat, I get respect as a badass with dangerous powers and incredible fighting skills, not as a biomedical genius. Not that I’m not a badass with dangerous powers and incredible fighting skills, but I’m not a teen thug for hire anymore, I’m a bona fide mad scientist and I want people to remember that, dammit.

Mrs. Lightman’s eyes went wide, and she made a tiny little yelping noise and clutched her little girl… who rather than looking frightened, actually looked mildly interested for the first time since I’d arrived. Her dad was trying to hide it, but his lips had compressed as if he were trying not to bite them and there was just the tiniest tremor in his hands. I expected Mrs. Lightman’s reaction, but the Senator could have gone one of two ways – men usually react to me with fear or lust, or a combination. I didn’t think I saw lust in Senator Lightman, and when I took his hand and shook it, I confirmed it. He was on the verge of peeing his pants. I might have believed he wasn’t reacting with any lust because he really had eyes only for his wife, if he weren’t a politician. But I’ve known very few male politicians to be faithful, and even they couldn’t avoid being lustful. Senator Lightman was terrified of me because I was a Proxima and he was a Sapien-centric bigot. Also, probably, because I was a supervillain and a killer and I could drop him dead in a second, turn him inside out, make the skin melt off his flesh or give him cancer, just from the touch of his hand in mine. But I suspected I’d have gotten the same reaction if I’d been a member of the Peace Force, or even a Girl Scout with purple eyes and gold skin trying to sell him cookies. He hated my kind, but he needed me today.

And I intended to use his need to my people’s advantage.

“Introduce me to your family, Senator,” I said.

I felt his adrenaline spike through the skin connection of our clasped hands, but he managed not to show it. He let go of me. “This is my wife, Dot, and our daughter Mindy. She’s eight.”

I walked over to Mindy and knelt down in front of her, prompting more tension and white knuckles from her mother clasping her. “Hello, Mindy,” I said.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Do you know who I am?”

“My daddy says you’re some kind of super doctor.”

Super doctor. I liked that. “He’s right. I’m here to help you. I imagine you’ve gotten real tired of being sick.”

She smiled wanly. “Yeah.”

“Let me have your hands.”

“Will it hurt?” Her tone was tired and apathetic, as if it didn’t really matter if it was going to hurt or not. I suspected it was more resignation than apathy.

“Not at all.” I smiled at her. “I’m a super doctor, remember? It doesn’t hurt if I don’t want it to.”

She gave me her small hands and I clasped them in mine. I can’t entirely describe what I feel when I examine a living creature, not in terms that refer to the senses everyone else has. It’s like feeling a symphony or hearing a tapestry. Everything is very complex and interrelated, and I get signals from thousands of processes in the body, but it all melds together into a single big picture. The big picture here was that Mindy’s body was attacking itself. Her bone marrow was busily churning out cancerous white blood cells that didn’t work, filling her bloodstream with useless cells that crowded out and starved the working, useful ones. The pain signals were overwhelming even with the drugs trying to mask them, and the drugs themselves were dulling her mind as much as the fatigue and weakness from the disease.

Like many terminally ill children, she was quiet and accepting, which is constantly mistaken in glurgy human interest stories about terminally ill children for bravery. Children who go out with scarves on their bald heads and run lemonade stands to raise money to research and cure their own illnesses are brave. Children who are too tired to feel fear and have been living with a disease too long to cry about it are just normal human beings. Mindy was a normal human being, and her leukemia was also perfectly normal, something I’d dealt with a hundred times before.

I closed my eyes so I could focus better on Mindy’s internal world. First I triggered the release of endorphins into her bloodstream to mask any pain caused by what I was about to do. The human body rebels against my power, seeing my authority as a violation of its autonomy, and frequently reacts by tattling to the brain about it in a way that the mind perceives as agonizing, but unspecific, pain. As I told Mindy, though, no one feels pain in my hands unless I allow it. As soon as her body was saturated with endorphins and I’d shut down most of the internal sensory trunk lines to the brain, making her internally numb while leaving her ability to sense anything touching her skin, I swept my concentration through her body and killed every immature white blood cell she had. I then targeted the surviving mature white cells and forced them to rapidly replicate and mature, until she had almost a normal white blood cell count and they all worked correctly.

To finish off, I blocked the drugs that hadn’t been working so well anyway, turned the internal nerves back on, and filled Mindy with a combination of endorphin and oxytocin, and other hormones designed to make people feel good. This particular cocktail wouldn’t have sexual effects – Mindy’s brain lacked some of the structures needed to process that, yet, and I always took great care with children not to do anything inappropriate to their age. After what my own father did to me… well, I may be a supervillain, but I am not a child molester, and that makes me better than he was. What I was going for – what I always gave the children I treated – can be best described, if you remember being a kid, as the excitement from knowing you’re about to go to an amusement park, coupled with the pleasure you get from eating ice cream, and all that combined with the warm snuggly feeling you get when you’re cuddled with your parents. Mindy wouldn’t know why, in the future, she looked forward to my visits and felt very warm and positive emotions toward me. She would just know that seeing Dr. Mystery would be the coolest thing ever, and just my presence would be more fun than any doctor’s office lollipop ever was.

Combine such warm and pleasant emotions with the freakish physical appearance of an obvious Proxima, and Mindy would not grow up to share her dad’s bigotry, even if he tried to teach it to her.

“Mindy?” Dot Lightman asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Are you all right?”

Mindy lifted her head. Her skin didn’t look any better, of course – I hadn’t done any cosmetic work – but her eyes were refocusing, turning bright and engaged. “Mommy? I feel good, Mommy. I think the doctor fixed me!”

With my endorphin cocktail chasing away her fatigue temporarily, she leapt to her feet. “Thank you, Super Doctor Mystery! I feel all better!” She twirled around, perhaps to prove to all of us that she was fully healed… and stumbled. “Whoa, dizzy!”

“Slow up there, kiddo,” I said. “You’re not cured. You feel a lot better and you’re going to be a lot better, but you’ve spent a couple of years being sick and you’re not going to be back to your full strength overnight. Take it easy.”

“Is she—is she going to be cured?” her mother asked, looking at me, her lower lip trembling.

“She’s much healthier, right now. But no, as I said, I haven’t cured her yet. I triggered a temporary remission and bolstered her immune system to compensate for what the disease did to it, so she needn’t suffer while she’s waiting for a full cure.” I turned to Senator Lightman. “To cure her, I’ll need to perform three treatments, about two months apart. The cost will be $8,000 per treatment. When we’re done, not only won’t she have leukemia, but the genetic potential for cancer will be purged from her system, so it will be very, very unlikely that she ever get any cancer-like disease again. Short of living on top of a radioactive landfill, of course, but you understand what I mean.”

“Oh, God….” Mrs. Lightman started to cry. “Oh, God, thank you…”

“Don’t cry, Mommy,” Mindy said, and gave her mom a hug. “It’s good news. Don’t cry.”

“I’m crying because I’m so happy,” Mrs. Lightman said.

“I—I don’t know what to say, Doctor. You have a deal. I’d pay anything to save Mindy’s life, and your prices… well, they’re much more reasonable than I was led to assume. I’d pay more than that for hospital treatments, even with the insurance.” I was pretty sure this was a fib – Senators get damn good health insurance. But of course Lightman belonged to the party that thought that health insurance was a privilege, not a right, and downplaying the high quality of his own state-sponsored insurance was probably a reflex by this point.

I smiled at him. “That’s because most of my payment is non-monetary.”

“Non-monetary?”

“Let’s go have a discussion, Senator. I imagine you must have a private office in this house somewhere?”

His wife gave me a hard-eyed look. I returned her look with an “oh, please” expression, just the slightest of eye rolls and sardonic smile. “There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say in front of my wife,” Lightman said, his voice hardening.

“Yes, there is,” I said, pleasantly. “You want to tell her all about it when we’re done talking, that’s your prerogative. But I am here to negotiate with a United States Senator, not a husband or a father.”

He stiffened. “All right,” he said slowly. “We can go downstairs to the den.”

“Is it—is it going to be all right?” Dot Lightman asked her husband.

“I don’t see that I have much choice, Dot,” he said. “She’s the only hope Mindy has. You know that.”

“Mommy? Can I play outside?”

“Sure. Sure thing,” Dot said, her voice breaking again. “I’ll play with you.”

“Don’t let her overexert herself,” I said. “As I said, she’s better, not cured, and even if she were cured she’d still need time to recover her energy. She wants to run around and play now because she’s not in pain, but she actually still does need to save her strength.”

“We’ll go for a walk,” Dot said. “How’s that sound, Mindy?”

“Sure, Mommy. We can do that.”

“The den is this way,” Senator Lightman said.

It was a typical suburban finished basement, not nearly as fancy looking as the living room, if you didn’t count the huge projection television. I perched on the still-nice-but-obviously-worn couch, sitting on the back of it. “Let’s get down to it, Senator,” I said. “You’re a member of the Committee to Analyze Parahuman Activity. You’re aware as well as I am that the United States government has been investigating or implementing various techniques to control or eliminate the Proxima population, including laws to create a registry for us as if we’re sex offenders, black ops soldiers with power suits to hunt us down, attempting to find cures for us like we’re a disease, secret databases being maintained in an attempt to identify us in the absence of a registry law… so on and so forth.” I didn’t mention the biowarfare; people who didn’t live through being imprisoned in a government research facility and watching others being injected with various tailored viruses have a tendency to assume that government biowarfare is the stuff of paranoid conspiracy theories, and I doubted anyone had actually let Congress know what was going on there. The others, I was pretty sure he’d been briefed on, if not actively involved with. “And you’re an active supporter of the Human Definition Amendment, which would deprive us of any human rights whatsoever on the basis of junk science.”

The faintest beading of sweat broke out on his forehead. “The United States government hasn’t taken any illegal actions to ‘control’ the Proxima population, as you put it, and certainly not to eliminate you. You must understand, however, that we do have the right and the duty to protect normal humans from people like…”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “Me?”

“I was going to say, people like Caesar Primus or Optometron. But if the rumors about your activities are true, then yes, you. Weren’t you some sort of assassin? An enforcer for a drug lord?”

While technically the description was almost true, the idea of describing David as a “drug lord” almost made me laugh. Almost. I don’t actually have a lot of a sense of humor when it comes to David. “And I was rehabilitated by the Peace Force and today I’m a fine, upstanding citizen who cures little girls of leukemia,” I said.

“That isn’t a lot of comfort to the families of the people you killed.”

“Maybe not. But if I’d been killed by American soldiers in power suits then, your daughter would be out of luck now, wouldn’t she?” I slid off the back of the couch and paced around him. “And this isn’t about me. How many people were saved when the Irregulars stopped that second plane from crashing into the Trade Towers? When they held up the collapsing building so the firefighters could get out? When the Peace Force shored up the levees in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina so the city didn’t flood, or when Maui’s volcano went active and they shut it down again?” The Senator didn’t actually need to know that was a plot of Professor Octohedron’s, if he didn’t already. The Peace Force hadn’t actually broadcast the fact that the disaster had been caused by a Proxima in the first place; I only knew about it because Octohedron continued to believe that he could get into my pants if only he could impress me enough, and he hadn’t actually ever managed to figure out that I wasn’t impressed by grandiose plots to take over the world by threatening to activate volcanoes. “You might owe your life to a Proxima. You are about to owe your daughter’s life. So I want your support for our basic human rights. Oppose the Parahuman Registry, oppose the research to kill us or break us of our powers, and oppose the Human Definition Amendment.”

“The Human Definition Amendment isn’t designed to take away your human rights,” he said. “It’s designed to clarify the rights you do have. I mean, there have to be different ways to handle you people vs. the rest of us. Remember when the ACLU sued on behalf of the Heat Miser? They said that it was cruel and unusual punishment to keep him continuously drugged in prison. And as soon as they won and the drugs were withdrawn, his powers came back and he burned the prison down. 700 people were killed, over 100 guards and the rest of them human inmates, who’d been sentenced to serve time in jail for their crimes, not to burn to death.”

“Then you redefine cruel and unusual punishment to state that methods intended to block Proximas from using superhuman powers to escape from prison are not cruel and are perfectly usual. Passing an amendment to the Constitution that declares that Proximas aren’t human is overkill.”

“It actually declares that humans belong to the subspecies Homo sapiens sapiens, and that the law should not be automatically extended to grant human rights to people who can destroy our entire planet with a thought just because some bleeding heart doesn’t think they deserve to go to jail for killing hundreds of people.”

“Yes, and by declaring that Homo sapiens promixus does not automatically count as human, it effectively says that we’re not, and we can be shot on sight with no one but the ASPCA to worry about our murders, let alone suffer discrimination in every part of our lives. You do not live with the reality of what being defined as non-human means, Senator. I do.”

“And you, Doctor, don’t live with the reality of inhabiting a world filled with creatures who can kill you with a thought, steal everything you own, destroy your home without even touching it, or make you believe that up is down and black is white.”

I could argue that last point, if I wanted to be a smartass – I lived in the world where there was conservative talk radio, and it had convinced any number of people that up was down and black was white. But that would be sidetracking. “True. But you’re so focused on perceiving yourself as a victim of the existence of Proximas that you’ve given no thought to what it would be like to be one of us. And you really should. Because you have a child, Senator, and she is too young to be confirmed as Sapien or Proxima. You don’t know what she is, and you’re just assuming she’s Sapien. What if she’s Proxima?”

He blinked. “Well, of course I—but she doesn’t have anything in her background – I mean neither her mother nor I have anything unusual, genetically—“

“No one knows what’s causing the sudden explosion in powered humans, Senator, but we do know that it’s some type of mutation. 90% of Proximas have parents who were Sapien. And the number is that low only because some of us have started having kids. If your daughter was a Proxima with two fully Sapien parents, she’d be in the same boat as most Proximas. Including me. So you really need to think about it.”

“Well, I – I certainly wouldn’t treat Mindy any differently if she were – but if she were, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t check for it. But I could, yes.”

“Well, if she turned out to be, you could just fix it, right? As part of the treatment?”

I stared at him as if I’d just found him on my shoe. “Of course I could. And if she was black, I could make her white and blonde and blue-eyed. And I could change her into a boy if you decided you really wanted a son. Have you any idea how offensive what you just said is?”

“I – I didn’t mean to give offense. I just want Mindy to have a normal life.”

“Most Proximas do. I don't look like this all the time, Senator. When I'm not treating hopeless cases, I live in a nice little townhouse, with two cats and a cockatiel. I go dancing with men friends on weekends, I buy groceries, I do my laundry. I choose to look like this when I'm treating people like your daughter, because I have no desire to be kidnapped and pressed into the service of crime lords or the government."

"Why would the government kidnap you? Proximas have rights. If you’ve served your time for your previous crimes, and committed no new ones--"

"--I would still have the power to make old men young, cure impotence and infertility, heal disease and scarring, change people's appearances... come on now, Senator, don't be naive. If you had a way to make me heal your daughter without paying my price, you'd do it. And I think you're basically a good man, who’s concerned for the child he loves. Can you say none of your colleagues would want me to heal them? To restore lost youth, or whatever they had lost?" I thought of the white room then, the snipers with guns outside ready to blow my head off if the important old men screaming under my hands didn’t get up and walk free completely healed when I was done. Never again.

"I... suppose power corrupts. There are some bad elements in any system, but that doesn't mean the system is evil."

"I didn’t say the system was evil. I said it’s not designed to protect people like me. And if you and your fellows have their way, it’ll be even harder for me to live a normal, safe life.” I shook my head. "We're sidetracking. If Mindy turns out to be a Proxima, she could still have an entirely normal and happy life, so long as you didn't reject her for it and the government didn't kill her for it."

"I would never reject Mindy. No matter what. If-- if she was a parahuman--"

"Then your opinions on appropriate treatment of Proximas would be rather different, wouldn't they?"

He sighed. “Look, I have a constituency, Doctor Mystery. They elected me into office to protect them and serve them, and they have ideas as to what constitutes doing that. If I do something that they don’t approve of, I won’t have the power they’ve given me for very long.”

I flopped down on his couch again. “Oh, baloney. You mean that if you can’t fearmonger about hidden Proximas living among us and the draconian measures the Daddy State will take under your watch to protect the poor scared soccer moms and NASCAR dads, you can’t get elected.” I sat up and leaned forward. “It’s all bullshit. The tide of history always favors greater human rights, greater freedoms, greater protections for minorities vs. mobs. And it always works out better in the end that way. I understand that you have to protect yourself from lunatics who shoot death rays out of their elbows, but you know, you also have to protect yourself from lunatics who break into the McDonalds’ with a gun and start shooting people, and somehow it was your party who decided it was an unacceptable infringement on your freedom to hunt, shoot intruders, and generally feel like manly men to make people undergo background checks to get assault weapons.”

“The Constitution guarantees the right to bear arms.”

“The Constitution wouldn’t say that if you passed an amendment redefining a ‘well-regulated militia’ as the National Guard. Which I’m not saying you should. I’m in favor of your right to protect yourself with a gun. I’m in favor of your right to shoot animals for fun if you feel like it; I’m a Darwinist and you’re a predator. It’s in your genes. Go shoot deer if you want. But the Constitution currently states that I am a human being, because it doesn’t say that I’m not, and I was born in the United States to two human beings, share 99.9% of my DNA with you, speak your language, look like you, and have sex with you. Well, not you personally, but Sapiens men. So if it’s so vitally important to preserve the right to bear arms, because it’s in the Constitution, that it’s okay to let sociopaths get guns and shoot up college campuses, then it is vastly more important to make sure that every child born in this country to human parents is defined as human.

“If you pass this Definition of Humanity amendment in order to protect your constituency, and Mindy turns out to be a Proxima, then she can be raped and her rapist could be charged with bestiality at best, because she wouldn’t be legally a child who can be molested, she’d be legally an animal. She could be killed, and the most her killer could be charged with is animal cruelty. No school would have to take her, no hospital would have to treat her diseases, no restaurant would have to let her in to eat with you. You would have to fight a battle to get her treated in a way that you humans take for granted, every time. Want her to die in a car accident because the paramedics didn’t want to treat a Proxima? Want her to die in a fire because the firefighters didn’t want to risk themselves going into a burning building for someone who isn’t even human? There are better ways to defend Sapiens than making it legally open season on us.”

“But you’re against those too. The Parahuman Registry would allow us to track dangerous people without having to deprive any of you of basic civil rights.”

“Except I’ve never heard of a version of it suggesting that only parahuman criminals be added to the registry.”

“Well, dangerous parahumans haven’t necessarily committed crimes yet. But for instance, if your next door neighbor turns up dead of a heart attack and everyone knows you were fighting with him, isn’t it important that the police know you have the power to stop people’s hearts by touching them?”

“If your next door neighbor has a gun, isn’t it important that you know about it so you can keep your daughter from playing in his yard?”

“Most gun owners are law abiding citizens, and if someone is killed with a gun we already have laws on the books to help the police track down the killer. If someone is killed with a superpower, we wouldn’t even necessarily know to look for a superpower.”

“So educate the cops better on superpowers. Most Proximas are law abiding citizens. If you kill your neighbor by hitting him over the head with a frying pan, does that mean you needed to be on some sort of registry of frying pan owners?” I started pacing again. “It’s irrelevant in any case. I don’t care what your personal beliefs are. I care that you love your daughter and want her to be healthy.”

“So you’re blackmailing me.”

“Blackmail? I’m demanding payment. When your campaign contributors give you money for re-election, they’re not blackmailing you to expect that you’re going to show them some quid pro quo. I’m offering you something far, far more valuable than a few dollars in your re-election coffers; I’m offering you your daughter’s life and health. I think expecting a little quid pro quo is not unreasonable.”

“And what if I refused? Would you let her die?”

At one point that would have been a tough one; in this line of work you have to appear to be compassionate, but you also have to be tough or the patients will walk all over you. I had had plenty of experience dealing with this particular conundrum, though. “Do you know what I did for Mindy today? Do you understand her disease at all?”

“I don’t know what you did, no. You keep saying you made her better but you didn’t cure her. But I do know something about her disease. The doctors tell me that she’s making too many white blood cells, and it’s crowding out and killing the rest of her blood.”

“Close. They’re immature, cancerous blood cells, so they don’t work to protect her from disease the way mature white blood cells would. This lowers her general immunity, and yes, it clogs up her bloodstream and takes resource away from working cells. What I did today was to kill all the immature cells and regenerate some of the mature ones. She still has leukemia; she’s still making too many immature cells. Without a full treatment that will never stop. What I’ve done is to ease her symptoms. Until she builds up too many immature cells again, she’ll feel better.” I leaned on the wall, arms folded. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this every six months and never actually curing her. She’ll feel better, and she’ll have a happy, normal life, as long as she gets her treatments on time. The one time she misses a treatment, though – maybe because the government kidnapped me, arrested me, killed me or took my powers away – she’ll have full-blown leukemia again, and within a year or two she’ll die.” I pushed off the wall. “So you can support me up front because it’s the right thing to do for the person who gave you back your daughter’s life, or you can hedge and haw and refuse to get with my program, and if so your daughter will be well for exactly as long as I am able to continue treating her. The very laws you want to pass that will harm me, will block my ability to heal her sooner or later, and then she’ll die, and it’ll be your fault.”

“And how do I know that if I promise to do as you ask, you really will heal Mindy and you won’t just do what you just said?”

“How do I know that if I really heal Mindy, you won’t go back on your word and start pushing for the Human Definition Amendment again? It’s a matter of trust, Senator. You trust me, I trust you. Or you don’t trust me, I don’t trust you. Tit for tat. What’s it going to be?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m not going to just rubber stamp your suggestions. Even if that was the right thing to do for my constituency, and it’s not. I’m going to study the situation and try to do the best thing to protect my people and yours. You can accept that or not.”

“All right, I’ll accept that, with one caveat. The Human Definition Amendment is totally off-limits. You can switch your support to the Inclusive Humanity Amendment, or just drop your support of Human Definition, but if you don’t publicly do one or the other within the month Mindy does not get fully cured. The other stuff, do the studies you want to do, but I think you’ll find that when you look at Proximas as if we are people and not weird animal things with superpowers, you’ll find it a lot easier to come up with ways to help protect your kind without harming mine.”

Lightman nodded. “All right, Doctor. Then we have a deal. When do you want to perform the first treatment?”

“If you’ve got $8,000 lying around in a checking account, we can do it today.”

“I do. Who do I make the check out to? I don’t imagine you can cash a check made out to Doctor Mystery.”

“Make it out to Miracle of Life, LLC.” I had about twenty-seven of these shell companies I used to funnel my various payments through, since even Senators typically had a hard time coming up with $8,000 in small unmarked bills on short notice, and a girl’s gotta eat. Playing politics is all well and good, but I needed to cover the mortgage and the gas money for my various trips to clients, plus the funds for my various Activities of Mad Science. Just because you can manipulate any organic tissue with a touch, doesn’t mean you get your beakers and retorts and Petri dishes for free. “Let’s go upstairs. I’m sure Mindy is eager to begin freeing herself from this disease.”

“Of course.”

At the top of the stairs, I reached out for his hand. Too afraid of giving offense to refuse me, he took it, and I shook with him. “Pleasure doing business with you, Senator. Go call your daughter in, give me a check and we’ll do this thing.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mystery. I may not entirely approve of your politics, but thank you for giving my daughter back her life.”

He wouldn’t be thanking me so much if he had known I’d just planted a tiny clump of slow-growing cancerous cells deep in his brain. It’d be a year from now before he started feeling any symptoms, and that would land in the middle of his re-election campaign. If he did what I wanted after I finished healing his daughter and we were on good terms, I’d find some excuse to come by and heal him or prune it down again. If not… there was a reason I was a feared supervillain even though most people knew me, if they knew me at all, as some kind of uber-doctor. You didn’t double-cross Dr. Mystery and survive it. Ever.

Well, unless you were Dr. Suryabati Chandrasekhar. Then you got any number of free passes.

***

The truth was, I was being something of a hypocrite.

I was offended at Lightman’s suggestion that I make his daughter a Sapiens if she turned out to be a Proxima, but not for the reason I told him. The difference between a Proxima becoming a Sapien and a Sapien becoming Proxima isn’t the difference between black changing to white or male changing to female. The difference was described by Plato as a man raised in the darkness leaving the cave to see the light of the sun, vs. a man raised in the sunlight doomed to spend the rest of his life in a cave. Making a Proxima a Sapiens is like giving someone a lobotomy, or a clitoridectomy, or binding her feet until she can’t walk. It’s an obscenity, a Harrison Bergeron nightmare of breaking the best down to the level of the mediocre, taking away a birthright one was born with.

Making a Sapien a Proxima is, on the other hand, one of my great callings in life.

Mindy Lightman wasn’t a Proxima before I touched her. But she would be, before I was done. I did a preliminary assessment of her DNA while I was performing the first treatment, and I stored a small amount of her cellular matter in a pocket under the skin of my hand, to study at length later. I’d determine how much energy her mitochondria could supply her and which latent powers-complex genes she had, and which powers they were likely to ignite into. If she had something distressing, like death touch or world-shattering TK or the gene for turning blue, I’d edit the complex over the next two sessions into something more palatable for the child of a public figure, something frilly and unthreatening. Maybe the ability to make pretty light shows, or fly. Most flyers loved it, and it didn’t seem to frighten Sapiens as much as some other powers did.

When I left the Lightmans’, now back in my middle-aged lady persona, I headed first to the bank to deposit the check. Senators whose daughter’s lives are on the line don’t give me checks that bounce, but they do take time to clear, so the sooner I got it in, the better. And then I dumped the rental car at the airport, changed form in the bathroom, and got on the Metro to head back home.

****

Science fact: There is only one gene that determines the difference between a Sapiens and a Proxima.

To most people this seems insane. Proximas come in an entire extra range of colors besides the human norm, have powers ordinary humans can only dream of, and get energy to fuel these powers from a source that is frankly incomprehensible. We just have to be a separate species, in most people’s minds. When Proximas were first discovered, there was a huge push to label us a fully separate species – Homo superior (thankfully, that one got shot down real fast) or Homo proximus, “the man who comes next.” Scientists – not me at the time, since I was too young, but reputable geneticists and biologists – had to constantly point out that the definition of a species is that they cannot viably interbreed. The children of superpowered and ordinary humans were themselves perfectly fertile. Ergo, we cannot be a separate species.

But we hadn’t mapped the genome then, and we didn’t know exactly why Proximas had powers. So scientists made, in my opinion, a mistake. They agreed to classify us as a separate sub-species.

You’ve grown up being told that you are Homo sapiens. What you might not know is that technically, if you’re not a parahuman, you are actually Homo sapiens sapiens. There were several other subspecies of humans, all extinct, such as Homo sapiens idaltu (elderly wise man). It is still scientific nonsense to call us a subspecies, when we’re only different by one gene – to put this in perspective, parents and children differ by many, many more than one gene – and in fact the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature keeps debating changing it to Homo sapiens sapiens proximus or dropping the designate proximus entirely. But the scientific evidence that we aren’t even a separate subspecies gets even less play in the media than studies that show that men and women are alike, if such a thing is possible. And at least the Homo sapiens proximus nomenclature reinforces that we are of the human species.

The trouble is, most people don’t know that the true name of Homo sapiens is actually Homo sapiens sapiens. So when they hear the short designators – Sapiens vs. Proxima – they assume that our species is Homo proximus. We’re widely believed to be an entirely separate species, and it doesn’t help that high-profile supervillains like Caesar Primus (who is 2,000 years old and knows as much as any Roman gladiator about science, which is to say, diddly jack), or Professor Octohedron (a brilliant physicist and inventor, but he knows about as much biology as I know about fixing my car, and let me put it this way, the last time I ended up dead on the side of the road I needed a friendly dude passing by to tell me I’d run out of oil) are constantly spouting off about how we are a new, superior species. Informed laypeople and doctors usually know better, but the truth – that we are different by only one gene – is so appallingly counterintuitive that you almost need to be a geneticist or an evolutionary biologist to get it.

But here’s the truth.

The human genome is packed with genes that don’t do anything. Most come from our evolutionary history. You may have heard that we are less than 1% genetically different from chimpanzees. That 1% consists mostly of control genes, which govern when, how and if the other genes turn on.

It turns out that some of those genes generate superpowers, under the right conditions. One of them turns melanin, the brown pigment of humans, blue in the presence of a hormone called catalysine. Others use catalysine to activate superhuman abilities. All humans carry some of these genes. But only a very, very tiny number – about 1 in 10,000 – have the gene that codes for the creation of catalysine.

Like testosterone, catalysine has two surges in a person’s life cycle. One is pre-natally. The amount generated is small and doesn’t pass the placental barrier, so no, pregnant women do not manifest superpowers when carrying a Proxima baby. That’s an urban myth. The surge pre-natally does little, usually, except to prepare the brain to control superpowers someday, creating a brain nucleus and appropriate wiring. In cases where the child has two Proxima genes – for example, the child of two Proxima parents-- the amount of catalysine created pre-natally might be enough to distort the child’s appearance, begin converting melanin into azurin, or awaken a low level of superpower.

When the child hits puberty, the same genes that turn on sex hormones turn on catalysine production. The superpowers appear, and wire up to the brain structures created in utero. If the child has the gene for azurin conversion, their pigment changes from brown to blue – so pale red-haired and blonde white children suddenly develop purple, green or blue hair, while brown-skinned children turn blue all over. (Azurin is also rare. Only about 5% of all people carry the gene for azurin production, and only Proximas ever display it. Non-Proximas with the azurin mutation never express it, and end up creating perfectly normal melanin, because they are never exposed to catalysine.)

The “power mitochondria” are another pan-human phenomenon that only expresses itself in Proximas. All living cells on Earth contain tiny organelles called mitochondria – practically separate living things, with their own DNA, they use oxygen and sugar to generate the chemical that powers all life, ATP. Power mitochondria vastly overproduce ATP, and no one knows where they get the energy to do it – it’s like they suck potential energy out of the universe and convert it to life force. But they do this only when activated by catalysine within the cell. About 1/3rd of humans have power mitochondria. In the presence of the Proxima gene, these people generate energy above and beyond what they take in from food and air, which is then consumed by their superpowers. Without power mitochondria, a Proxima must draw from their own life force to fuel their superpower, which makes their powers pretty weak. The exact same genes for telekinesis can code for a person that can lift 70 lbs with their mind with effort vs. a person who can lift an aircraft carrier out of the water and break it in half, depending on the presence and output of the power mitochondria. Since mitochondria are passed by the mother, Proximas who inherit their power from a powerful mother will always be very powerful themselves, whereas Proximas who inherit from a powerful Proxima father depend entirely on the hidden status of their mother for their own strength.

(Funny fact, here: when Proximas were first discovered, male Proximas freely dated, married and fathered children on human women, because our entire society says it’s okay for men to have wives who are weaker than they are. Proxima women, on the other hand, mostly stuck to their own kind. In the seven years since we discovered the role of the power mitochondria, we have seen a dramatic reversal in which powerful Proxima men will not marry or get serious with human women unless they consider themselves “childfree” or have had the human woman’s mitochondria analyzed for power status, and more and more Proxima women are dating Sapiens men.)

So most of what goes into making a Proxima is actually in a vast percentage of the human population – 30% have power mitochondria, pretty much all of them have powers-complex. It’s the presence of the single gene that codes for catalysine production that makes a person Proxima as opposed to Sapiens. My belief was that Proximas would not be safe from the fear and envy of Sapiens unless we were normalized. The more Proximas there were, the more the law would adapt to and accommodate us and our needs and the less we’d need to fear the mob of Sapiens out to kill or control us. So my primary work, since I became Dr. Mystery, had been to increase the number of Proximas by giving as many Sapiens the Proxima gene as I can.

In my early experiments, when I used uncontrolled methods like retroviruses to mutate people, there were high casualty rates. Sapiens adults whose brains have not been exposed to catalysine in utero can’t control whatever superpowers they develop if they suddenly start making catalysine. So I started working primarily with children, usually terminally or chronically ill children that I could get direct access to. My power can create new brain pathways, and in a child or teen, with a developing brain, I can do it transparently, with no one noticing. Adults cannot experience sudden brain growth and change without noticing that something’s wrong – memories suddenly becoming lost, well-developed skills becoming weaker, mood swings, etc—so I only alter adults into Proximas if they request it. I often modify women of child-bearing age so that all their eggs carry the Proxima gene, ensuring that they’ll give birth to Proximas if they ever have kids. It’s harder with men, because men are generating new sperm all the time – I’d have to alter the spermatogonia, and since they’re part of the body, the body’s immune system might notice that they are genetically different from the other cells and attack them, making the man infertile. So I only make men into Proxima-fathers if I have plenty of time to work with them and tweak their immune systems, if necessary – and if they’re likely to have kids. Gay men coming to me to save them from AIDS and 70-year-olds who don’t want to get Alzheimer’s are usually not worth modifying reproductively.

The Peace Force were aware of my work, and opposed it. They believed it was wrong of me to change people’s genes without their consent. Technically, maybe they were right, but come on, what sane person would object to having superpowers? The only reason anyone would not want to be a Proxima is the prejudice against us, and I was working on that too. So I had to maintain a low profile because every so often the Peace Force would take it into their heads to try to capture me. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t fully legal – I was pardoned for my activities as Megamorph by Bill Clinton (did you know that Hillary Clinton once had breast cancer? No? Well, neither does anyone else), and nothing illegal I’d done as Dr. Mystery could be proven in a court of law. But the law hadn’t caught up with Proxima abilities, so the Peace Force never overly concerned themselves with whether they could prove wrongdoing or not. Their mentor and leader, Dr. Suryabati Chandrasekhar, aka Doctor Sun, was a telepath, and if she said, “Bad guy! Go fetch!” they would jump like puppydogs after a thrown stick.

So I lived in Baltimore, in a townhome in the Woodberry neighborhood, on Television Hill, because living directly under the broadcast tower generated enough interference that Suri couldn’t find me telepathically. I’d have preferred Little Italy, or better yet, a real city like New York or Philly (and I’d come way down in the world, admitting that Philly is a real city), but New York was far too close to Suri, whose base of operations was in Manhattan, and a lot of my work was done with politicians, making Baltimore or DC more convenient than Philly. And DC had the Special Service, human police in power suits who patrolled to protect the Capitol from parahuman attack. I never felt safe in DC. My Woodberry home had civilians living on both sides and a children’s day care across the street, ensuring that the Peace Force couldn’t attack me in force – they’d know the threat to civilians from a power battle would be too great to risk it politically for my sake (and to be fair, most of them are goody-two-shoes hero types who wouldn’t risk civilians, especially preschool children, even if they had perfect political cover for the operation.) So I figured that if Suri ever found me, she’d still think twice about siccing her dogs on me.

Also, the Light Rail, Baltimore’s sad and pathetic substitute for a subway, had a stop near my home. I didn’t learn to drive until I was 28, and I still hated it with a passion. I was a Brooklyn girl – give me a city with buses and subways and railways, so I wouldn’t have to dodge hurtling chunks of death metal just to get where I was going. From DC’s Metro, after I dropped my rental car at the airport, I changed at Union Station to the Camden line, took it to the baseball stadium in Baltimore, and changed there for the Light Rail. This took far longer than a car would have, but didn’t involve me being isolated in a tiny box with no source of living organic matter other than my own flesh and facing careening metal boxes coming right for me. It also didn’t involve traffic jams, which are brutal on the DC Beltway. A short walk from my stop later, and I was home.

As I unlocked my front door, Brian the cockatiel chirped at me wildly, flapping his wings in his cage. I’m really proud of Brian – in some ways he’s my greatest work. He used to be a man, or the head of a man, who attempted to rape me once. The truly pathetic thing was that Brian had been a good-looking guy, wiry and blond, the way I like them, and if he’d been willing to wait half an hour I would happily have had sex with him. But he hadn’t wanted sex, he’d wanted rape – the only reason he dated women and went back to their houses with them, rather than jumping out of the bushes with a knife, was that he was a lawyer and knew that a handsome man with money who date rapes a woman will basically never, ever be convicted. People think rapists have to be hard up for sex, or have to somehow look evil – the idea that a handsome, charming guy who could get any woman he wanted would actually prefer to hold screaming women down and force them when he could get consensual sex with the exact same woman instead breaks people’s brains. They assume the woman must be lying, because what man who could get mutual fun would prefer to commit rape? No one wants to admit how common misogynistic sadists actually are or how normal they look.

I found out from Brian that he’d date-raped ten women before me, that only two had tried to press charges, and the cops had refused to take the charges in one case and upset the other one so badly with their disbelief that she’d dropped the charges. I found this out while I had him paralyzed but still able to feel sensation, his voice made too hoarse to do more than whisper no matter how much he suffered, on a cot in the basement. Over the course of the two weeks that I used him in experiments, he told me his entire life story, amidst lots of self-justifications, begging, pleading and promising to change his ways. Then I started turning his body parts into animals, bit by bit. The rats and mice I made of his arms and legs didn’t come out right, and they died. The cockroaches who used to be his testicles were actually very robust, but after the cat knocked over the terrarium I was keeping them in, I had to get an exterminator to kill them because who wants cockroaches in their house? I was actually quite sad when the puppy I made out of his guts wouldn’t wake up and live – sometimes they just won’t come alive no matter what I do. Living things are very complex, and it’s more an art than a science to do things like make life into different life.

Since at that point, Brian had no way to digest food or ingest water, and he was therefore only a day or two away from death, I finally put him out of his misery by turning his head into a cockatiel and his torso into an iguana, a gecko, and a handful of tropical fish. Nothing lived longer than a week except the cockatiel, which so far had lasted three years. I often wondered, since I’d used some of the original brain tissue in making Brian’s new cockatiel brain, if he had any dim sense that he used to be human.

I fed Brian a cracker, re-absorbed my shoes into my flesh, and took back my original human form before plopping down on the couch to relax and await my cats. My actual body was permanently frozen at about age 22 or so; I changed it so often, I’d never really had the opportunity to let it naturally age. I could have forced it up to 36, where I really was, if I had to, but why bother? No one was going to see me and think less of me for looking too childish. My natural form is about 5’4” and built like a gymnast – tiny breasts, thickly muscled legs and arms, a rounded and balanced body with a low center of gravity and nothing sticking way out of line with the rest of it. For gymnastics – my childhood passion – and for combat, it was a fantastic body, and I used it for years as Megamorph before it occurred to me that maybe I should hide my true face if I was going to be a criminal. For instantly commanding respect, making men drool and women envy, or sending the signal “I AM A SERIOUS CRIMINAL MASTERMIND”, it wasn’t so good. It was short, the face looked too young and soft (and too much like a young, soft Gillian Anderson – people in med school actually used to call me “Scully”), and a body perfectly proportioned for gymnastics or martial arts isn’t all that attractive by the psycho standards of our culture. But it was my body, and in my home, with the shades drawn and the security system on, I went back to it because it was me.

As I wiggled my toes on my shag carpet and then propped my feet up on my coffee table, I wondered where my cats were. They were well-fed cats, but their heightened metabolisms made them constantly hungry, and they knew I was a sucker for giving them treats when I’d first come home. Normally, they’d be leaping on me minutes after my arrival. This worried me. If I had accidentally shut them in the bedroom, Angelkitty would probably pee on my ceiling to express her displeasure and Pikachu might have destroyed my furniture with a few good lightning blasts by now.

My cats were also experiments. I’d been curious to see if the genetic structures I’d observed in other mammals that seemed related to the human powers-complex were in fact superpowers, so I got myself a pair of abandoned newborn kittens and in between the droppers of kitten formula (I really drew the line at making cat milk in my own breasts; those little things have teeth very early), I modified them to generate catalysine. The female promptly grew bird wings (which didn’t attach to the right spot on her back and were too small; she’d never have flown if I hadn’t heavily modified them for her), and the male developed the ability to shoot lightning out of his paws, so I named them Angelkitty and Pikachu. (Technically, if you have seen the Pokemon cartoon, which I admit I have, Pikachu is a mouse that shoots electricity, or something rodentlike anyway, but come on, there aren’t exactly any mythological figures of cats that shoot electricity.) Angelkitty’s a Siamese and Pikachu is mostly white with some orange. They don’t have power mitochondria – that does appear to be a human thing – so they eat like pigs. I could feed six ordinary cats off what my two eat, but they remain extraordinarily svelte, almost feral in their slimness. And so if they weren’t here to pester me for fish treats, something was wrong.

I got up and went out to the kitchen. To my relief, my cats were still noshing on their tuna fish, which amazingly it looked like they had barely touched before I came home. (I always fed them human food. Why not? I had the money to keep them in canned tuna rather than cat food, and they loved the stuff.) Pikachu looked up at me, gave me a meow that I interpreted as “Oh, you’re home, good,” and then went back to his meal.

Wait a minute. There was more food in the bowl than there had been when I said good-bye to them this morning. And it was beyond the realm of possibility that they’d left so much food untouched for so long, anyway. And the tuna looked fresh out of the can. So how—

“I was wondering when you were going to get home,” a woman’s voice said behind me. I was already spinning to face her, preparing to leap at her, but as soon as I saw her I realized it was hopeless. “Don’t you ever feed these cats? They look like they’re starving.”

Ciana Kim, aka Sapphire, my once-classmate and current dire nemesis, was standing – well, floating—above my stairs in her traditional blue bubble, her features slightly obscured by the blue distortion and concealed behind her mask. The combat leader of the Peace Force was in my house.

I backed up. I couldn’t take Sapphire directly. Her power was to generate spherical or toroid magnetic fields, which glowed blue due to the way they bent light, hence her name. I needed organic channels to send my power through—behind her force field, Sapphire was totally safe from me, because I couldn’t touch her. I wasn’t safe from her, though. She could generate a force field around me, trapping me, any time she wanted.

There was a switch by the door to my basement, labeled “FURNACE – DO NOT TOUCH,” that would actually activate an EMP. All the computer and electronic equipment I had in my house outside the Faraday cage of the basement would fry, but Sapphire’s power would fail as well, and I could leap on her before she could reset her power. Or, if I didn’t really want to replace my MP3 player, phones, and the laptop in the bedroom, perhaps I could grab Pikachu and throw him at her. He’d be startled enough to discharge a bolt, and the electrical surge should pop her field like a soap bubble. I knew I had a faster reaction time than Sapphire – after years of modifying and tuning up my nervous system, I’m faster than anyone who doesn’t have super-speed as a specific power – so I should be able to grab her and neutralize her power or knock her out before she could get a force field back up again. I was reluctant to do that because Pikachu was my kitty and throwing him at superheroes seemed kind of mean, even though I knew he wouldn’t be hurt, but the EMP generator could theoretically blow out TV Hill, and then I’d have to dodge swarms of reporters trying to find out why they suddenly couldn’t get on the air anymore.

I stalled for time. “They’ve got very fast metabolisms. I feed them all the time, but they’ll pester anyone they meet for more.”

Sapphire rolled her eyes. “Oh, stand down, Meg. If I was here to capture you or beat you up, I’d have done it before you knew I was here.”

She had a point. Sapphire wasn’t stupid, and she had completely gotten the drop on me, to the point that I was actually really embarrassed about it. “So what do you want? Cooking advice? I always prefer to replace the generic vegetable oil with olive or canola, it’s easier on the heart.” The last time I’d been in the same household as her, Ciana Kim had refused to learn to cook, for very similar reasons to her refusal to learn hand-to-hand combat.

She ignored my jab. “Doctor Sun sent me. She needs your help and she asked me to ask you.”

I blinked. Doctor Sun wanted my help? Cold day in hell. But it’d have to get a lot colder before I’d say yes. “She wants my help? And she actually thinks I might agree? Excuse me, but the last time I interacted with any of you people you wrecked my lab, ruined four years of work and set me back half a million dollars.”

“You were infecting children’s vaccines with a retrovirus. Did you seriously think we’d let you just get away with it?”

“All it would have done was make them into Proximas. What do you think I am?”

“Someone who mutates people against their will. And how do you know that’s all it would have done? Retroviruses mutate. Besides, it’s still wrong to change people without their consent. How do you know those kids would even have wanted superpowers?”

“Oh, be real. Who wouldn’t want superpowers?”

“If I wasn’t a Proxima, I might have been an Olympic gold medalist.”

She was telling the truth. One of the things that annoyed me so much about Ciana was how close her life had been to mine, minus the dysfunctional family. I, too, had had Olympic dreams once, and my coach had told me when I was 11 that I might seriously make it as a contender. But no matter how good I’d been, I’d never really had a chance; if my parents hadn’t died when I was 13, some other aspect of my family’s screwed-up-ness would have ruined it for me.

Ciana Kim, however, had had a good and loving family who’d pushed her hard in the belief that she could achieve anything. She was a third-generation Korean American from California and her parents were doctors or something like that, and they’d stood behind her every step of the way. Even after everything had fallen apart in my life and I’d basically become a thug for hire, I had followed the Olympic gymnastic news, so I’d known all about this as it was happening.

Ciana was originally to be the USA’s representative to the Olympics in Seoul for women’s artistic gymnastics. Much was made in the media of a Korean American going to Seoul to represent America, but Ciana had been very photogenic and full of great soundbites about how she was as American as apple pie and she was honored to represent our great country and she was so looking forward to bringing a medal home for the US and she was following in Mary Lou Retton’s footsteps and blah blah blah. And then, a week before the Olympics, it had come out that she was a Proxima. They’d finally figured out that doing a blood test for catalysine would find any Proxima with an active power.

The truth is that even now, twenty years later, as an experienced superhero who uses her powers all the time, Ciana still can’t use her powers invisibly. There’s always a shiny blue blob there. And she had no training with her powers when she was 16, so it would have been even more implausible that she could have somehow used her powers to secretly cheat. I would be disqualified from a Sapiens competition in gymnastics in any sane world because of what my powers actually are, but Ciana was disqualified solely from anti-Proxima prejudice (and, to be fair, probably some anti-Asian prejudice from the Americans whose job it would have been to advocate for her). The Americans paid for their prejudices when Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union took home all the women’s gymnastics medals (I don’t like Ciana, but I’m pretty sure she would have won at least a silver in something, if not a gold.) Ciana was recruited by Dr. Chandrasekhar to learn how to use her powers and eventually join the Peace Force, Dr. Chandrasekhar’s UN-supported superhero team.

So it wasn’t that I had no respect for Ciana’s loss, but it irritated me that she saw the problem as being that she was a Proxima rather than that the Olympic committee was scared of Proximas. And also, that being an Olympic medalist was better than being a superhero. “Yeah yeah, you could have had your moment of glory, and nowadays you’d be selling sneakers and breakfast cereal to pay the bills, assuming anyone even remembered you at all. What’s Mary Lou Retton doing with her life?”

“She’s been an Olympics commentator, and she’s a motivational speaker who supports physical fitness.”

Trust Ciana to actually know this. “And that’s better than being a superhero how? You save lives, you have an action figure, millions of little girls look up to you—“

“—I wear a mask when I save lives because otherwise supervillains or stalkers might hunt me down, no one knows my real name, my family aren’t allowed to tell anyone what I do for a living, I’ll probably never have a normal life with a husband and kids—“

“--You could marry some guy and quit the superhero business any time you wanted to, it’s just your overblown sense of responsibility that says you can’t quit your job to have babies until your powers give out on you, because you think the world needs you, and if that’s the case where would they have been if you hadn’t been a Proxima?”

“Someone else would have taken my place if I hadn’t been a Proxima. And all of this is besides the point; no matter how great you or even I might think it is to have superpowers, the fact is that you were planning to infect helpless babies with a retrovirus that would have mutated them. Some of them might have died of it. Some might have been killed by their families for being Proximas once they manifested. You don’t have the right to play God that way.”

“Nobody would have died of my virus,” I retorted. “I tested it thoroughly ahead of time. But you also notice, I haven’t done it again.”

“Because you know we’ll stop you.”

“Because I listened to your arguments that retroviruses are unstable and highly prone to mutation, and I decided that maybe you have a point.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“You didn’t even try to just persuade me. You just blew up my lab! Do you know how many vials of vaccine I hadn’t modified yet you destroyed?”

“All of this is pointless,” Sapphire snapped. “I’m wasting time arguing with you when Doctor Sun is dying. Are you coming or not?”

Wait, what? Dying?

I had been a half-crazed killer with no self-esteem, no sense of myself being able to be or do anything good, no belief that anyone could ever care about me – at least not without dying for it – after David died. Dr. Chandrasekhar had taken me in and taught me that I could have a better destiny than being a tool for monsters to use to kill each other with; that I didn’t have to be a monster myself. I could use my powers for good. I could help people. I could be a decent person.

Viewed from her perspective, I suppose, it didn’t last – I freely admit I am a supervillain and I do highly unethical things, up to and including killing people. But I do it for a cause I believe in. I do it to save my people from the bio-engineered diseases I was forced to participate in creating at Sonnebend. I do it so girls with superpowers who are going to medical school to learn how to save lives will not be kidnapped, stripped of their powers except when convenient for their captors, raped, tortured and forced to use their powers to heal enemies and kill their own kind, by agents of their own government. I do it so my people can enjoy the same rights and privileges as every other human on this planet. And the fact that I can fight for a cause, that I can see myself as a person with a noble goal of my own… I owe that entirely to Doctor Sun.

No matter what she does to me, no matter what she orders her Peace Force to do, I can’t ever get away from that.

“Dying of what?”

“She was kidnapped and raped by Caesar Primus. When she escaped, she was two months’ pregnant, but the doctors say it seems more like six months. The child is growing too rapidly for her to handle it, and it’ll kill her.”

Oh, God.

My heart started pounding, my throat went dry. I could feel the adrenaline surging, my sympathetic nervous system revving up for a totally inappropriate fight-or-flight response. I couldn’t stop imagining the reality behind Sapphire’s words. It didn’t help that I’d once had sex with Primus myself – consensual, sort of, but I could entirely too easily imagine what it’d be like to be raped by him, without powers to protect you. And Primus was immune to telepathy, so effectively Suri would have been helpless. God, no. I didn’t want to think about that.

So I was flippant, and cold. “Doctor Sun’s a woman of the world. You’re telling me she’s never heard of an abortion?”

“She doesn’t want an abortion. She says she won’t compound Primus’ act by taking an innocent life.”

“When did Doctor Sun turn into a pro-lifer?”

“She says the baby has a mind and she won’t kill it.” Sapphire floated herself down onto my dining room floor, still surrounded by a protective bubble but no longer on my stairs. “Are you going to help, or not?”

“I’m a feminist Darwinist. I’m morally opposed to letting a fetus conceived in rape live. It lets dangerous genes persist in the population. Suri knows that.”

Sapphire sighed explosively. “Fine. I knew you weren’t going to be any help, but Doctor Sun believed in you. I’ll just go tell her I was right and she was wrong.”

“What is this supposed to be, reverse psychology?”

“Nothing reverse about it. I knew before I got here that I would be wasting my time. You’re a killer with no conscience; why Doctor Sun ever thought you might help, I have no idea.”

“Because she knows me better than you.” I stepped forward. “If this is reverse psychology bullshit, it isn’t necessary. I’ve known I was going to agree to help you since you told me she was dying. And if you really believe what you’re saying, then nyaah nyaah nyaah. I’m a doctor; everything I do, I do to save lives. And at least I have to try to persuade Doctor Sun to abort the thing. Besides, if she was raped by Primus she might have injuries she could need my help with.” Primus had hammered at me like he was trying to break my pelvis, and without my powers he might actually have done so. And I’d voluntarily gone to bed with him. What he’d do to a woman he was raping, I really really didn’t want to imagine.

I didn’t mention to Sapphire that this was partly my fault anyway. When I’d met her, Suri (Dr. Suri to me in those days, but I feel I have the right to call her by her first name now) had been dying slowly of multiple sclerosis. She had met me on a good day; she’d only needed crutches and braces to move. On bad days she’d been confined to a wheelchair, and on really bad days she’d had to stay in bed. I’d healed her, and in the process I’d turned her from a forty-something woman approaching menopause back to a woman in her prime, young and healthy, physically in her 20’s. It had been almost 20 years since I’d done that; Suri would be approaching menopause again, but obviously wasn’t there yet. By now she’d be well past childbearing if I hadn’t de-aged her when I’d healed her disease.

I didn’t know whether Primus had raped her to torture her, to express domination over her, to really make the Peace Force mad at him, or to impregnate her, but I knew he had enough control over his body that if he hadn’t wanted to impregnate her, it wouldn’t have happened. It was entirely possible that the goal of the whole thing had been to force her to carry his child; Suri was an enormously powerful Proxima with high output power mitochondria, and most women with such energy-full mitochondria would have had a power they could use to fight back against Primus. Blocking a Proxima woman’s powers while she was pregnant carried high risk to the fetus if it too was a Proxima; it could prevent the fetus from developing the ability to control its powers as an adult. Suri was rare in that she was incredibly powerful but only telepathic, with no telekinetic abilities, and with Primus’ immunity to telepathy, she’d have had no way to fight back against him even at her full power. If Primus had wanted a powerful woman to pass her mitochondria to his child, and he hadn’t cared about her consent, there were few Proximas who’d make a better target for him. And if that was the case, then the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t made her younger, sixteen years ago.

Sapphire blinked. “Wait. You are coming?”

“I just said so. But we have to bring my cats. They need to eat more than the average cat – they’d starve if I left them without food for three or four days, and obviously I can’t ask the neighbors to come feed them.”

“Fine. Sedate them; I don’t need a cat flying all over my car, or meowing and moaning in his carrier the whole time. We’ll put them in one of the suites and make sure they get fed.”

I took my cell phone – it had all of my appointments and contacts in it, and I’d have to call them all to reschedule once I knew how long this was going to take. If I could talk Suri into aborting the fetus, this could probably go very quickly, but I knew how stubborn she was. If I had to save the baby too, I could possibly have to take a few weeks.

Damn Suri. Why the hell was I taking time off my work and spending four hours in a car with one of the people who most annoyed me in the entire world to go save my greatest opponent anyway? From a problem she could just fix herself if she wasn’t so damn stubborn?

But I already knew. I couldn’t let Suryabati Chandrasekhar die; not under any circumstances, and most especially not if she’d asked for me specifically. Our differences were ideological; what she’d done for me went beyond ideology. I would fight her and her people when I had to, but if she was dying and she needed me, I had to go.

#nanowrimo #cold light #wip #supervillains #tw: csa #tw: rape #the trigger warnings are for things being talked about not things we see

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sweetdreamspootypie · 4 years

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Kipo season 3 finale spoilers

The story and overall ending were great

but... that ending showed disappointing trope use.

Long ramble about redemption vs atonement arcs under the cut

Overall the ending and story was great.

But since I’ve seen so much discussion of it on tumblr, I’m really aware of and disappointed in the fact that the writers went with the Christian cultural “redemption arc” narrative that in order for a bad person to be redeemed, they have to sacrifice themselves for others.

It’s the Christian narrative of “oh this person was a Truly Bad Person and there is no way to change that, so to prove that he did Truly Change he has to die to make up for his sins and then he can be dead and you’re allowed to remember him fondly because he died Pure and Redeemed.

It couples with the fact that they also did the “the bad guy was Truly Evil because we all know that people are either fundamentally Good or fundamentally Evil. And given that the bad guy is Truly Evil, the only way to tie up the story is for them to Die For Their Sins.” Except it’s a children’s show about ethics so they decided to not kill the bad guy..... just send them to living hell. Because that’s better apparently. The ethical choice for people who want to be Not As Bad as the Bad Guy.

And that’s all just disappointing because the whole show was about the fact that people aren’t black and white, either friend or foe.

The show was ABOUT putting the effort in to make connections with adversaries to bring conflict to an end. It was ABOUT the fact that it’s not black and white and you have to accept and work with the fact that everyone is in a grey area in order to move forward.

And yet they didn’t have the creativity or courage to round the story off in any way except the Christian Disney “he died to save the princess, and the evil witch fell to her death as a result of a misstep during the big fight but wasn’t killed directly by the Good Guys because that would tarnish their Purity.”

So onto my specific thoughts about Hugo.

I’m going with the definition of redemption as proving you are a fundamentally good person, usually achieved by dying for the cause,

and atonement is proving you are working on being a better person, by being in a similar position as before, and making a better choice.

(spoiler: imo atonement arcs are better generally, and much more appropriate for the narrative of Kipo)

So with that in mind,

Hugo’s atonement moment was... well ongoing. Because trying to change your ways and live like a better person is an ongoing thing.

But on the boat, at the end, he mind-controlled whatshername, then she got knocked out before he could action it. That was him continuing to go with his old approach, yeah he was now fighting for Kipo, but he was still using his old mindset. Use fear, use force, win because you overpowered others. Then Wolf stopped him and they had their moment, and decided to do it Kipo’s way. Yeah it was Wolf and Greta’s (ah! her name was Greta. Probably.) words, but he was receptive and accepted the principle that his was of force wasn’t the right way forward. The moved forward together in parallel, both giving up the last bits of their old thinking together, and decided to go forward and act like the people they wanted to be, that Kipo showed them how to be. They had already accepted the premise of “bring people together” - they had accepted that goal, but that was the moment they accepted that they needed to change themselves.

(same as how the Atonement Moment for everyone else is when they chose to protect the Mutes from the fireworks - they showed through their actions that they genuinely believed in the project, they weren’t just putting up with co-existence because it was a necessity)

If Wolf didn’t need to die, Hugo didn’t either. There is nothing wrong with having to continue to face the hard task of working to make amends, and facing the reality that not everyone has to forgive you.

(side note - the fact that the coming together to move forward thing also centered forgiveness is also iffy. They didn’t have to forgive the losses they had suffered so recently, they just needed to accept and make peace with the losses in order to move forward. Subtly different thing. Maybe that would be too nuanced to try and cover in the cartoon but still.)

With Emelia...

I’ve said above, that the “don’t kill her, just let her fall to her doom and leave her there” is a Disney style cop out.

But I’m also not entirely against her being marked as unredeemable. She proved that she wasn’t on an atonement path either, at least in that moment - she had the opportunity to not try and kill Kipo but didn’t take it.

And there is an argument to be made that that is perfectly ok from a narrative point of view.

I remember seeing criticisms of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic because that show’s core message is that is you befriend people they will get better and you can work through it and heal together when you have support, so it is good to try and support people trying to get better, even if it’s hard initially because they hurt you. That is a good message, but is incomplete as a message, because obviously sometimes if you tell kids to just make friends with their bullies, they just end up with more exposure to the bullying. And that is fair criticism (but doesn’t mean the whole show is bad).

So with Kipo, I think that’s a nice parallel to MLP:FiM - make friends, bridge divides, put aside old grievances, collaborate for a future... but sometimes the hateful agitators won’t get better, and the reality is you need to deal with them somehow and minimize the damage they can do.

I liked that they showed that Emelia’s brother grew up with the same pressures as Emelia, but given the opportunity chose not to pursue the bigoted route, whereas Emelia did chose it. It showed that it was all a choice she was making, and what influences she was making them under, as opposed to a magic “Fundamentally Evil Person Who Hates People because she’s Evil”

That was a good choice.

But yeah. Acknowledging that some people just won’t come around from their old ways is one thing.

But why

- say let’s save her from the thing she tried to do to everyone else because “we’re not like her” and “nobody deserves that”

- but then still focus on her deserving “punishment” rather than just trying to prevent her from causing further social harm. Hugo got imprisonment and the time and opportunity for reform and his crime was pretty equal to Emelia’s. Again, very Christian narrative - redemption needs death, evil needs punishment in the eternal psychological torture building.

- and then because it’s “just” the good guys leave her in the Eternal Psychological Torture building. And that is supposed to not reflect badly on them because they aren’t the ones who pushed her in? It could have been a perfectly valid choice, because there was high risk to any rescue party attempted, and when you’re rebuilding a society, you can’t afford that risk. And the fate that she fell into was just a part of the risks of the environment and accepted as a fact of life risk. But choosing not to rescue someone from torture because you literally can’t do it, and shrugging and saying it’s right that someone be tortured, even a bad person isn’t.

In real life maybe that’s different, sometimes you do laugh when a genocidal dictator gets a poetic demise, but this was a children’s show about the ethics of conflict resolution. So, uh, they probably should have come up with something more careful to say than “yeah mostly people need to be met where they are and we all need to forgive old hurts if we want to move forward... but sometimes some people just deserve to be punished and we won’t be conflicted about that inconsistency at all”

All that said

It was a great show

I don’t mind the ending overall - because the issues I have all stick out as “trope usages because they don’t know how else to wrap it up” and thus are easy for me personally to separate from the story’s merits as a whole

#long post #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #kipo spoilers #my posts #redemption arcs #culturally Christian #darn Jewish tumblr making me aware of these redemption vs atonement things #I love it though - I love the new window to the world

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Different People (Different Arguments), 3/14 (Branjie/Jankie) - Ortega

a/n: ayo!! so sorry for the update gap fam, but chapter 3 is here! soooo hope u all enjoy. p.s. i promise I love Nicky, Gigi and Crystal…but every good story has a bad guy right???

fic summary: Brooke Lynn is a political advisor for a government department where she has to contend with an incompetent Minister, maintaining her stone-cold bitch image, working alongside a press team of slackers, and the Prime Minister’s ever-so-slightly terrifying enforcer breathing down her neck 24/7. So when a familiar face from her past arrives as her new boss, she’s not exactly thrilled to add another problem to her ever-growing pile.

And then she admits she’s got a crush on her coworker.

Last chapter: Jackie became a breakout political star after she spoke out against the homophobia and misogyny in the media, and Brooke finally acknowledged that her feelings for Vanessa maybe weren’t as platonic as she’d thought.

In this chapter: When Shadow Minister Nicky Doll and her advisors arrive at DoSac for an informal, pre-election briefing, Jan tries to cope with the stress of seeing her old colleagues again. There’s more at stake, though, when Jackie reveals a secret that cannot get out.

***

Casting her eyes over the meeting room, Brooke attempted to focus on what Jackie was actually saying. She was trying her hardest, she really was, but it was just that Vanessa was wearing the red jumper today, the really soft one that made her look more cuddly and adorable than normal.

Brooke had a crush on Vanessa. She’d accepted that now. The way to deal with it was just to never act upon it, talk about it, or to admit it to anyone outside of her own head. She’d spent so long cultivating the perfect stone-cold, heartless bitch image and she wasn’t exactly going to do anything to taint that now. The most important thing she had to remember was that she didn’t need anyone- she had no desire to be in a relationship, to be tied down and have to answer to someone else all the time. She had a perfectly good bullet to get her off and if she felt like it she could always go and pick up someone random from a bar. There was always that irritating aspect when the afterglow had faded, though, if whoever she’d used for the night wanted to stay over, or heaven forbid see her again. Things were just better as they were, Brooke concluded. She couldn’t get attached, or hurt, or fall in love this way. If there was one thing she wasn’t, it was vulnerable. Getting into a relationship with someone put you in the weakest position you could possibly get.

She would know, after all.

Still, she was allowed to dream about it; an ideal world in which love worked out the way it did in books and movies, one huge cliché where Brooke and Vanessa were happy together and lived in perfect domesticity, had the best sex of their lives and went on adorable dates. It was simplistic and shallow and completely unrealistic, but perhaps that was all it was meant to be.

Gazing at Vanessa again, she was surprised to see her eyes already on her. She was even more surprised when she looked around the room and saw that everyone else was staring at her as well.

“Brooke Lynn?” Jackie asked, staring at her expectantly. She stood in front of a huge whiteboard with marker pen scribbled all over it- generic buzzwords such as “connectivity”, “inclusivity” and “diversity” sprang out to her, but nothing really indicated what Jackie could have previously been talking about.

“Um. The fiscal year?” Brooke guessed blankly. Jan laughed from across the table, throwing her head back and letting her blonde hair cascade down the back of the chair. Jackie didn’t find it as funny.

“For God’s sake, Brooke, this policy is only going to work if everyone pays attention and has some form of input other than just staring at me with glassy eyes like they’ve been goddamn taxidermied!” she sighed, sitting her pen down on the table and sliding into an empty chair. Brooke felt a pang of guilt- Jackie had been doing well in the two weeks that had followed her Von’Du interview and had received heaps of public support and attention. The perfect time, Bianca had insisted, to get some new ideas out there and into parliament.

“Sorry. Remind me of the premise?”

Irritated, Jackie rolled her eyes before Vanessa cut in with a sweet smile. “Issa scheme to get the UK to house more refugees and get ‘em into work therefore boosting the economy, diversifyin’ the nation and basically makin’ us look like good guys to the rest of Europe.”

Brooke shot her a grateful smile across the table, trying her best not to blush.

“Thank God someone’s been listening,” Jackie smirked. “We’re basically just trying to come up with a name for it. Or a tagline or something.”

Brooke pressed her pen to her lips, thinking for a second. Nina suddenly piped up from beside her.

“What about…Don’t be bigoted. Be uninhibited,” she said, her suggestion met with utter silence from the rest of the group.

“Well that was nice, Nina, but how about something a bit less…” Jackie thought for a second, trying to find the correct word.

“Shit?” Brooke shrugged, Jan once again letting out a peal of laughter. Vanessa was clearly trying to conceal her giggles from the other side of the huge table, while both Nina and Jackie looked unimpressed.

“Do you have any better suggestions?”

“No, and I’m not going to pretend like I do! I’m not going to just yell out any old crap like I’ve got shit idea Tourette’s,” Brooke shrugged, Jan now bent over in her chair from laughter and Vanessa now audibly giggling. Brooke couldn’t tell, but she could have sworn Jackie let out the tiniest snort of a laugh before regaining composure.

“Ladies, please, this is important! This is a good damn idea, if I’m allowed to blow my own trumpet, and we’ve got to get it out there sooner rather than later,” she insisted. A loud, harsh vibration from Nina’s phone startled them all.

“Bianca’s here,” she announced, trying to keep her tone bright. Before the girls even had time to react to the news, Bianca had appeared in the room in a smart, tailored black and white suit.

“Good morning to you all, shit Spice Girls impersonation act,” she smiled cheerfully.

“Mornin’, Bianca,” Vanessa greeted her.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Jackie quipped dryly, lounging back in her seat.

“Two things from me,” Bianca began, ignoring the Minister’s sarcasm. “The shadow minister’s visit, today at 11. They’re going to be talking to Nina and the rest of those brain-dead, civil-service puppets out there about what’s going to happen if they take office. Nina, your job is to basically communicate to them that they’ll be taking it out of my cold, dead hands.”

“Fuck, that’s today?!” Vanessa exclaimed somewhat involuntarily, earning her a steely glare from Bianca which in turn made Vanessa look as if she was seconds away from death. Reaching into her pocket and retrieving her phone, Brooke fired off a quick text to Vanessa under the table.

B: It’s okay. Snakes only eat once every few weeks x

As Bianca briefed Nina, Brooke watched as Vanessa looked down into her lap and smiled, a light blush colouring her cheeks very slightly, although that could have just been the light of the room. Satisfied that she’d made Vanessa feel better, she tuned back in to what Bianca was saying.

“…you tell them nothing. Except where the toilets are, but you lie about that.”

“So who’s actually accompanying Nicky today? I’ve heard nothing and I want to make sure I’m relatively prepared for whoever enters my department,” Jackie folded her arms across her chest, already defensive.

“You already know about Nicky. Privately educated daddy’s girl and massively out of touch with the electorate. Probably a lizard wearing a human skin suit, I’ve never particularly wanted to get close enough to her to check if that theory’s true,” Bianca shrugged. “The other two coming with her are going to be her advisors, Gigi and Crystal.”

“Oh no,” Jan suddenly exclaimed from her chair. Her face had gone incredibly ashen, her eyes wide and fearful. Suddenly Brooke was acutely aware that she no longer had only Vanessa to worry about. If Jan’s old colleagues and ex-friends bumped into her it wouldn’t be particularly pleasant, and Jan would no doubt be incredibly shaken. Crossing the floor was like a betrayal, pledging loyalty to one party after being aligned with another was treacherous, and so it was likely that Gigi, Crystal and Nicky still wanted Jan’s head on a stick.

“Oh yes. Gigi Goode, bit of a newborn as far as politics is concerned but she’s got impressive credentials. Graduated from Oxford University with a first class degree and a PhD in Politics and Business. Won the World Universities Debating Championships five consecutive times. She’s confident, clever, and has zero scruples. Knows every loophole in the world of politics,” Bianca reeled off. Jackie raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed.

“She sounds interesting.”

“Don’t even make contact with her, she’ll probably have you telling her the fucking nuke codes and all the department’s discrepancies within the first 30 seconds of meeting her. Crystal Harness is a different story,” Bianca frowned. “Not too good when it comes to actual political knowledge. Nina, you and her would get along. She’s a baby too, really, not been in the game long. Graduated from Oxford Brookes. Second class degree in Psychology and Sociology. Don’t think for a second that this is a reason to underestimate her. She is cunning and has intellect and knows everything about everyone, don’t let her see you break a sweat.”

Jackie looked momentarily terrified. “I didn’t realise Nicky had some kind of metahuman task force working for her.”

“They’re not that bad,” Brooke sighed, tipping her head back in her chair. “If you talk to Nicky entirely in cockney rhyming slang, she’ll just combust. Gigi is fine if you give her a fake smile or two. Crystal is basically simple. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Jackie.”

Feeling the mood in the room change, Brooke turned around in her wheely chair and was met with Bianca’s icy stare.

“What part of ‘don’t underestimate these people’ do you not understand? What, you think they’re here for a jolly little chat with Nina about worker’s rights and office hours? They’re here to get intel, and I want you all to be more airtight than some middle-aged white woman’s Tupperware. And no, that’s not a euphemism.”

Brooke watched as Vanessa wrinkled up her nose in distaste. She had such a cute little nose, and Brooke found herself imagining how perfect it would be to just kiss it gently before they both drifted off to sleep together in a little house that they shared. Frowning involuntarily, Brooke chased those particular thoughts out of her head. They were way too intense, too weird and commitment-y for her friend she had a stupid crush on. Remembering what Bianca had said earlier, she turned and faced her.

“What was the other thing? You said you had two things to tell us.”

“I’m getting there! Right, Jackie, I’ve got you a good photo op this evening. Some new charging points for electric car owners, it’s going to be the biggest one in the UK and a big step for climate change, yadda yadda yadda. We’re going to get you driving in a fucking Prius or something, charging it up and then driving out again. Pretty simple, but effective- what? What is it?”

Every head in the room turned to face Jackie, who looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table, her knuckles white. She’d turned pale, her face ashen, and she seemed worried.

“Driving? No, I can’t drive, there’s no way,” she babbled, her usually calm and composed exterior completely destroyed.

“Jackie?” Jan prompted quietly, clearly concerned. Brooke shared a brief look of confusion with Vanessa. It was clear nobody had the faintest idea what was going on.

“I mean, you can drive. We have your drivers’ license, you sent in a photocopy as proof of identification when you received Darienne’s job. I don’t really see the issue here?” Bianca curled her top lip, completely unfazed by Jackie’s behaviour.

“Bianca, you don’t understand…I’ve not driven in ages, I…do you not-”

“Do I not what?” Bianca cut in, her irritation mounting by the second. “Look, I don’t really have time to stand here and argue the toss. This is part of your job. You’re doing the goddamn photo op. Christ, this was the girl who two weeks ago was desperate to get on prime time television. Now you’re shitting yourself at the thought of driving a bloody battery operated car. Get it done. 6 o’clock tonight. See you all later.”

As Bianca click-clacked out of the department, the mood in the room was still very tense. Almost frozen, Brooke thought, the tiny hairs on her arms standing up from goosebumps. Jan was the first to speak.

“Jackie, are you okay?” she almost whispered, her voice both deafening and quiet in the silent room. There were a few seconds (minutes?) where there was no response at all, in fact Brooke was almost convinced that nobody even breathed. Finally, Jackie spoke.

“Yep. All good. So, um, if you ladies can continue thinking up some form of line or title we can use or something while you’re finishing off that immigration data, and Nina if you can just forward me the protocol for Nicky’s visit again so I can read over it, then that would be great,” she said, her body almost frozen in place and her face wearing a fake smile.

Deciding not to push it any further, Brooke simply nodded and walked back to her desk. It wasn’t long before Vanessa was following behind, rolling her own wheely chair along to sit beside her.

“What d’you think all that was about?” she whispered, leaning her elbows on Brooke’s desk expectantly. Brooke couldn’t help but stifle a laugh- Vanessa could be such a gossip and it was one of the things that was oddly endearing about her. Trying not to be too taken in by her perfume and parted lips, Brooke instead threw up her defences again and rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know, ‘Ness. To be honest, it’s not my place to ask. It’s not yours either,” she chastised softly, hitting Vanessa gently on the nose with her pen. Wrinkling her nose and pulling away, Vanessa shrugged.

“You’re right, I know. Still, she was kinda rattled. Hope she’s okay,” Vanessa frowned, nibbling on her bottom lip.

“She’ll be fine. Honestly. Just go and do your damn job.”

“Hmm. Winding you up’s more fun, baby, but I’ll do what I’m told,” Vanessa winked at her, shooting back off to her desk in her chair.

Feeling her heart speed up, Brooke fleetingly wondered if maybe the feelings she had for Vanessa weren’t entirely one-sided. That was flirting, right? Brooke wasn’t reading too much into it? Or maybe she was. Reality brought her back down to earth with a bump, telling her what a ridiculous thought that was. Vanessa saw Brooke as a friend and a co-worker, and that was where her feelings ended. Brooke couldn’t let herself get carried away or distracted with the idea that Vanessa would ever treat her as anything more than what they already were.

Letting out a huge exhale of breath, Brooke opened up the immigration spreadsheet and was about to start working when there was a thud of two elbows on the empty space to her left. Turning slowly in an attempt to conceal her flinching, she was met with Yvie; head in her hands, black dreads cascading over her shoulders and a huge, smug grin on her face.

“Don’t even say a word,” Brooke warned her, clearly too late as Yvie began sniggering a laugh behind her hands.

“I wasn’t actually here to gloat, but now you mention it…” Yvie joked, lolling lazily against Brooke’s desk. “So you’ve not admitted anything to anyone else. In fact, you’re probably maintaining the fact that there’s nothing to admit. But you’ve definitely admitted something to yourself, because I think your face is so red that you could go stand at a street corner and act as a traffic light.”

“If you keep talking, I’m going to staple your mouth shut,” Brooke glared, grabbing the stapler on her desk for emphasis. It didn’t seem to intimidate Yvie at all, who was still grinning maniacally and completely unfazed.

“Hey, like I said! Not here to gloat at all. I’m actually not here to talk about your deep feelings for your coworker in any way. Just thought you might like to know that Akeria texted me this a couple minutes ago.”

With that, Yvie produced her phone and held it out to Brooke so that she could read the screen.

A: ahahaha yeah. Big Silk with the fuckin bodyshots man!! Don’t actually know how she made it in today. Also, 100% confirmed Nicky’s looking for stuff to take Jackie down with bc she’s still pissed about that dig in the Von’Du interview. watch ur back xo

Attempting to ignore whatever conversation that had been going on before, Brooke focussed on the important information. She wished she could say she was surprised by the shadow minister’s plan but in all honesty, she’d highly expected it. Sighing, Brooke handed Yvie her phone back.

“I mean, I’m not too worried. What can she possibly dig up? Jackie will’ve been vetted by Bianca already,” she shrugged, clicking on a single cell of the spreadsheet half-heartedly.

“She got pizza delivered to the office last week?”

“That’s not even- Yvie. Come on,” Brooke raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “The papers would be hard pressed to conjure up a paragraph on that. Jackie will be fine.”

Appearing to be satisfied, Yvie pushed herself off the desk and made to return to her seat, but not before turning back to Brooke with the same smug look on her face as before.

“You know, I don’t think anyone in the office could’ve missed that wink Vanjie gave you just there. Whatever you’re feeling, I don’t think it’s as one-sided as you think,” she smirked, making sure to keep her voice low. Unsure of what to reply, Brooke simply narrowed her eyes, picked up her stapler and clicked it twice in warning. Chuckling, Yvie sauntered back to her desk.

Trying not to even entertain the thought that Vanessa could like her back, Brooke continued with her work. All of the numbers suddenly seemed scrambled and jumbled up, making no sense to her whatsoever. Feeling as if she was about to scream with frustration she made to ask Jan for advice until she noticed her desk was empty. Come to think of it, Jan hadn’t actually left the meeting room with her and Vanessa. Bullshit if she was getting away with doing nothing while Brooke worked on this entire set of figures by herself. Getting up and smoothing her skirt down she made her way to the meeting room only to find it empty. Puzzled, she began to walk slightly aimlessly down the corridor, her curiosity piqued at the disappearance of both Jan and Jackie. It was unlike Jan to just wander off without telling either Brooke or Vanessa where she was going.

Reaching the photocopier and a dead end with no Jan in sight, Brooke was about to give up and ask Nina for help instead when she heard two sets of muffled voices coming from the stationery cupboard.

“I’m just panicking, I know. But I feel like I have good reason to. I mean, it’s going to be absolute carnage if this gets out.”

“It won’t, don’t worry. I still can’t believe Bianca missed that when she vetted you. But please don’t panic, it’ll all be fine! I’ll speak to Nina and I’ll get her to quietly cancel it.”

Jackie and Jan. What the hell were they in the stationery cupboard for, and most importantly, what were they talking about? Whatever it was, it sounded serious. If it was serious business, Brooke deserved to know. Making to burst open the door in a show of outrage, she stopped herself when Jackie’s voice spoke again.

“I just feel like such a failure. I should’ve known it would get out, I should’ve said something-”

“Hey! You are not a failure,” Jan’s voice cut in urgently. There was an odd sort of pause in which Brooke wasn’t quite sure what was happening. “You’re a good person, Jackie, and a kick-ass politician. You’re the best thing to happen to this department since I arrived, even if I do say so myself.”

Soft laughter, then Jan’s voice again. “You’re incredible. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Another pause. Brooke couldn’t quite bring herself to move, somehow feeling as if she shouldn’t be hearing this at all. Composing herself, she rested her hand on the door handle.

“Jan I…this might seem inappropriate, but-”

“Okay, what the hell is going on in here?” Brooke demanded as she flung open the door and revealed herself. Both girls seemed to jump back a bit, Jackie looking to the floor awkwardly and rubbing the back of her neck, Jan’s mouth forming a perfect circle as her jaw dropped in shock. They had both gone bright red, which Brooke thought was odd for two colleagues having a professional conversation.

“Jesus, Brooke, you scared the crap out of me,” Jackie breathed out raggedly, her voice spooked but holding an underlying note of irritation.

“I don’t care, you haven’t answered my question. What were you talking about? What’s going to be carnage?” Brooke replied, keeping her glare cold. Jackie kept her eyes trained on the floor, not seeming to want to look up anytime soon. Jan still hadn’t spoken.

“Close the door,” Jackie said finally, sounding a little shaken. Feeling the wind slightly knocked out of her sails, Brooke did as she was told and watched as Jackie steadied herself on the shelf and sat on an unopened box.

“Um. Do you remember I kind of went off grid after uni? A lot of people were asking after me and couldn’t really find me.”

With a pang of guilt, Brooke’s first reaction was that she hadn’t really cared. She’d been glad to see the back of Jackie at the time, if she was honest. Times had changed, though, so Brooke simply nodded instead. Jackie wrung her hands together, her face completely racked with nerves.

“I wasn’t in a good place. My mental health spiralled out of control pretty dramatically once I graduated, I struggled to find a job for a while and when I did, I got way too into it. I would work myself into a frenzy, I’d do consecutive days on two hours of sleep…at one point I was averaging a panic attack per day. I didn’t really, um. I didn’t really have anyone to talk to about things. I tried going to therapy but it just didn’t help. I don’t know…it felt like I was making progress just being able to know that I was visiting someone, I guess, but I wasn’t really. Anyway, you don’t need to know my sob story,” Jackie frowned, shaking her head repeatedly. “To cut a long story short, I was driving into work one day, trying to do twenty things at once as usual. It was idiotic, but I was on the motorway and a text came through from my boss and wanting to seem like I was organised and in control, I tried to type and drive at the same time…the motorway was quiet, there was nobody around me…fuck, sorry-”

As Jackie’s voice broke slightly, Jan crossed over to where she sat and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I crashed into the barricade in the central reservation doing fifty miles an hour. God knows how I’m still alive. The police obviously came along with the ambulance and the fire brigade and of course they wanted to know how it was that I managed to crash on a clear stretch of road with no other drivers around me. I’ve never been able to lie to save myself, so I just told them. I’d only passed my test the year before that, so they took my license away. That’s why I can’t do the PR thing. It’s illegal for me to drive. I got a fake license purely so I could take this job.”

Leaning against the door, Brooke felt she wanted to sit down too. This was so much to deal with. She couldn’t style herself out as not caring about this, because she actually felt sick to her stomach with guilt. She couldn’t believe Jackie had coped- or not coped- completely on her own through all this horrible mess. Even though there was no way she could have known, Brooke just wished she could’ve done something differently. She desperately hoped Jackie was better now.

“Jackie, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry. This isn’t about me being…enormously god damn mental in the head, or whatever,” she snorted a derisive laugh. “I’m more worried about how we’re going to placate Bianca. Jan said she’d talk to Nina and get her to cancel the shoot but Bianca’s going to ask questions.”

“Well it’s not your fault she didn’t vet you properly,” Brooke shrugged, how Bianca would feel the absolute last thing on her mind right now. “So she can just deal with it. How Bianca feels doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re okay.”

Jackie looked up at her, her face grateful but slightly taken aback at this raw show of compassion. Truthfully, Brooke was also slightly shocked at how kind she was being towards her. She was grateful for the shout that came from the hall suddenly.

“Brooke? Guys? You in there?” Vanessa asked, as she opened the door and stepped inside the stationery cupboard that was ever-decreasing in space. Confused by the presence of her boss and the two other advisors, her perfect eyebrows became furrowed together. “There some meeting I didn’t know about?”

“Yeah, in the stationery cupboard. It was really important, girl, did you not get the memo?” Jan laughed affectionately. Laughing briefly at her own ridiculous assumption, Vanessa then tentatively looked at everyone else again.

“So…why we all here?”

Brooke briefly looked at Jackie, then sighed. “Jackie can’t do the PR stunt because legally, she’s not allowed to drive. She got done for texting while driving years ago and her license got revoked.”

Vanessa’s mouth dropped open a little as if she was about to ask how, then shut again as she clearly decided against it. “Does Bianca know?”

Giving her an affectionate smile, Brooke raised her eyebrows at her. “V. Come on. Use your brain.”

“Fuck, ‘course not. I’m so not with it today. So what’s happenin’?”

“Jan’s telling Nina to cancel it and when Bianca finds out, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. What’s important here is Jackie,” Brooke said decisively. Shocked again at the vulnerability she was showing, she smoothed down her black pencil skirt and sniffed once, trying to ignore just how close Vanessa was in the tiny space. “So that’s settled. Can we all get out of this cupboard and do some damn work? I feel like I’m suffocating.”

Without speaking, the four girls filed out of the cupboard as if the conversation had never happened. Brooke’s head was still slightly spinning as she slumped back in her chair, the excel spreadsheet now more confusing than ever. She was still attempting to take in everything that Jackie had just told her. It was so much to process, and Brooke couldn’t shake the guilty feeling that was settling in the pit of her stomach, the feeling that maybe there was something she could have done to help all those years ago. Sighing, she cast her eyes to Jackie’s glass-fronted office where the Minister was now typing into her phone, her face failing to betray anything about the heartfelt conversation that had just taken place. Why the hell did Jackie have to confide in her like that? Life would be so much less stressful if everybody just kept their guard up like Brooke did.

Still, she mused, everyone would probably be a whole lot more lonely.

Suddenly, Brooke’s phone screen lit up with three messages at once- two from Jan, one from Vanessa.

J: I would love to, that sounds amazing (: we could go for sushi?? Wardour Street has some really nice places! Xxx

J: whoops wasn’t meant for you lol sorry

Brooke would probably have been about ten times more intrigued and curious about Jan’s text if she didn’t have a text from Vanessa awaiting her.

V: I don’t care what kind of front you try to put up, you’re kind and caring and a total sweetheart x

Not even daring to look up and risk meeting Vanessa’s eyes, Brooke reached for a piece of paper on her desk and began to fan the blush that had just flooded her cheeks. Trying her best not to think about what Yvie had said earlier, she began to compose a reply.

B: You’re a cutie. Don’t tell anyone I was nice to you though, being a bitch is kind of my brand x

Risking a peek up over her monitor, Brooke watched as Vanessa picked up her phone and giggled, covering her mouth with one perfectly manicured hand.

God, it was going to be a long day.

***

They had arrived.

Brooke felt like a bird of prey as she stood beside Jan and watched from above as Nicky and her two advisors were greeted by Nina in the lobby. Even from six floors up Brooke could tell that Nina was hating the fact that she had to be at the very least civil to the three opposition members. Narrowing her eyes, Brooke watched closer.

Nicky was using the tactic she employed every time she had a television interview; gushing about how happy she was to be here, playing the humble, meek elected representative of the people. She was wearing an immaculate navy pencil dress with what appeared to be a Tiffany heart around her neck, and her sleek blonde hair was piled on top of her head in a bun. Following dutifully behind her were two others. The first girl Brooke heard before she saw- a cry of excitement at being in the building had been the very thing that proclaimed the arrival of the opposition. She was still making an obscene amount of excitable noise which travelled up the floors of the lobby as if it was riding the elevator. Squawker- or Crystal, Brooke supposed she should call her- was equally well turned out. She gave off a clear professional vibe in her button-down shirt, blue skirt and little heeled boots, and her curly red hair was swept over one shoulder.

“Gigi needs her roots done. See?” Brooke whispered to Jan, not taking her eyes off the three opposition members. Receiving no response, Brooke turned to look at her friend. Jan’s shoulders were tensed up as she trained her eyes on the member of the opposition in question. Her style was immaculate and she wore a pressed white shirt with huge sleeves and a pair of smart tailored black trousers with her high heels. Her long, blonde hair had been immaculately styled and blow-dried, and Brooke found herself wondering how or if she had the time to do that every day. Looking to Jan again she found her brow furrowed, biting at her long, painted nails.

“Jan, come on. Don’t ruin your nails, you’re better than that,” Brooke scolded, grabbing gently at Jan’s wrist and pulling it away from her face. Jan finally turned to meet her eyes before looking quickly back down at the floor again. “Hey. Talk to me.”

Sighing, Jan leant against the balcony, watching as the opposition were led away to the lift. “Sorry. I know I’m not myself today. It’s just this is really, really freaking me out. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve seen these girls since I crossed the floor, but to have them here where I work? It’s just a lot. It sounds dramatic but like…it kind of feels violating, if that makes any sense?”

Brooke nodded slowly. “I know you’re worried about it. But you’re being really brave about the whole thing. And hey, you kind of have an advantage, I guess! They’re on your territory, they’re not familiar or comfortable with anything here. Mainly because nothing’s engulfed by the flames of hell or costs over £10,000.”

Snorting a brief laugh, Jan’s face grew somewhat blank again. “I mean. Their tanks are on our lawn, though, they know we’re shook.”

Rolling her eyes, Brooke laughed derisively. “Jan. These private school bitches are not going to take power. You live in this country at the moment, do you really think the public are going to vote for people like Nicky?”

“Well, the public are idiots.”

Brooke gave a snort. “Jan, you can’t say the entire nation are idiots.”

“Yes I can, I’ve met them,” Jan deadpanned, signing off with a smile. Brooke relaxed against the balcony, comforted by the fact that Jan clearly felt a little better.

“Listen. One single day. One day of smiling and nodding like a puppet and just taking whatever crap or snide comments or shade they throw at you. You’ve handled so much worse,” Brooke smiled reassuringly, resting both hands on Jan’s shoulders. Comforted, Jan made to turn back to the department when suddenly she whipped her head back round.

“Brooke,” she murmured. “What if they find out about Jackie?”

“What, that she exists? I know it was a crushing disappointment to us all but they’ll get over it some day,” she deadpanned. Jan gave a colossal roll of her eyes.

“No, you bitch! The license thing,” Jan sighed in exasperation, raising her voice just a little.

Brooke paused for a moment. It was weird how protective Jan was of her boss. She was never like that with Darienne at all. Fair enough Jackie was far more competent but still, it wasn’t as if the two shared some deep personal connection or anything. Brooke thought about asking her about it, but instead decided that that probably wasn’t what Jan needed right at this very moment.

“Who’s going to tell them? Me? You? Vanessa? Jackie herself? We’re the only ones that know. Come on, Jan, think,” Brooke tapped the side of Jan’s head once, punctuating her point. “It’s not going to get out.”

Smiling slightly, Jan seemed to compose herself and took one deep breath. As if something had occurred to her, she let out a laugh.

“God, what’s happening to you, Brooke? First you’re nice to Jackie for once and then you listen to me vent for ages. Your cracks are showing,” Jan smiled. Brooke attempted to style it out by shrugging, secretly a little unnerved that her recent empathy was being noticed.

“Stop psychoanalysing me, psycho, and let’s get back to our desks.”

No sooner had both girls turned the corner towards their office when they came face to face with the three members of the opposition coming out of the lift, Nina leading them. Jan immediately froze in place, seemingly unable to move. Brooke wanted to do something, anything to reassure her but before she could even look at Jan, Gigi’s cold grey eyes met her own.

“Nicky,” she turned to her boss, her cheerful, light voice at odds with the stare she was giving Brooke. “You go on ahead with Nina. Crystal and I are just going to have a little catch-up with a couple of old friends we haven’t seen in a while.”

Brooke wasn’t easily intimidated and she swore that today would be no different. As Gigi and Crystal advanced towards them, she drew her shoulders back and tilted her head, not giving a single thing away on her face. She could feel Jan growing more and more timid beside her. Christ, if these girls were planning on giving her friend a hard time then they’d be leaving the department in an ambulance.

“Brooke Lynn. Jan! So good to see you both,” Gigi began, her smile smug as she rested one nonchalant hand on her hip. “God, how long has it been? When was the last time we saw these two, Crystal?”

“Gee, Gigi, I don’t know! Did they not serve us at McDonalds when we went to get nuggets a couple days ago?” Crystal chimed in, flashing a quick, amused smile at her friend. Brooke muffled a derisive laugh as she shook her head. She couldn’t quite believe the schoolyard bullshit that these adult women were trying to start in her department. Still, if this was the game they were playing, then Brooke would play accordingly.

“Clever, implying that we’re both in minimum wage retail sector jobs! Something which your party loves to shit on very often. I love it,” Brooke smiled sweetly, gently clapping her hands. Gigi gave a fake laugh.

“Ladies, relax! It’s just some classic cross-party fun, no harm meant by it. You know that, right, Jan?” she flashed her a false smile. Brooke watched as Jan, shoulders now so hunched she was practically concave, gave a meek nod in response.

“You know, we really miss you, Jan,” Crystal nodded somberly, her voice high and sweet and almost-but-not-quite masking the fake sincerity behind her words. “Nicky’s always saying how open she’d be to having you back if you’d ever want to cross the floor…again! Gigi and I miss you too. We miss our friend.”

With that, Crystal reached a hand out and touched Jan’s arm gently. Flinching a little, Jan finally met her former colleague’s eyes and gave a weak smile. Brooke felt a flame of anger sting her veins as she watched the whole interaction. It was the same every time Jan ran into these two- they would start with the bitchy high school bullshit and Jan would be unable to ignore it, growing more and more quiet and subdued with every passing comment. Fuelled by her anger and dislike of behaviour of the two girls in front of her, Brooke snorted sardonically.

“Friend? Spare me the bullshit, you’d stab yourself in the back if it meant you got ten more followers on Instagram. Now if you’ll excuse us, we need to get back to work. You know, being in power? But this has been lovely,” Brooke flashed her bright white teeth in a smile, which Gigi returned equally as insincerely. “I haven’t had the conversational equivalent of hepatitis C in a long time.”

“As always, Brooke, you’re a very funny girl. Quite the comedian,” Gigi gave a tight-lipped smile as she stepped to one side and cleared a path down the corridor for the two girls. Hooking her arm through Jan’s, Brooke began to leave and had taken roughly three steps when she yelled her retort over her shoulder.

“I’ve got a lot of jokes, but none as good as your boss!”

Still fuelled from the frustration coursing through her veins, Brooke steered Jan the rest of the way down the hall and into the small kitchen like a demented steam train. It was only after she flicked the switch on the kettle so hard she thought she might have broken it when Jan spoke.

“I know they annoy you, babe, but don’t be too hard on them.”

“Don’t be too…Jan! They were standing there making you feel like a sack of shit, I wasn’t going to sit back and let them rip you to shreds! God, I can’t believe you’re defending them,” Brooke cried, grabbing two mugs and two teabags so hard she felt they might crumble apart in her hands. Silent for only a moment, Jan began playing with the edge of a tea towel, deep in thought.

“They were my friends once though. Who knows, maybe…maybe they were being serious. Maybe they do want to be friends again.”

As the kettle reached boiling point, Brooke took one deep, calming breath and began pouring them cups of tea. Part of her hated the way that she’d been conditioned into going straight to the kettle when something was angering or upsetting either her or her friends, as if a ridiculous hot drink was going to help make things any better. Vodka, now that would go some way to really help the situation. If Brooke and Jan shared a 75cl bottle, they’d be able to get so wasted that those idiots from the opposition wouldn’t bother them anymore. The bottle would also be ideal for smashing over Gigi’s smug face. Too bad it was too early for alcohol, Brooke mused, as she handed the smaller girl a steaming hot mug of tea. As Jan gave a grateful smile and began to sip, Brooke found herself wishing she could knock some sense into her. One of Jan’s biggest strengths was very feasibly also her biggest weakness; her determination to always focus on the good in people, to ignore their flaws and instead choose to look at their positives. It was something that made Jan such a horrendous judge of character. Christ, she’d worked for the opposition for a year, after all.

Casting another glance at her friend and deciding she’d visibly gained back a little of her confidence, Brooke grabbed her own mug off the countertop.

“Right, come on,” she said decisively. “We’re going to go back to our desks and drink these up and get on with our work, because these snakes that have slithered into the department don’t change a single thing about how capable you are as a professional. Okay?”

With a stifled smile Jan led the way back to the office, leaving Brooke wondering if she could still maintain the bitchy façade she always presented to the world if she was getting this good at cheering people up.

***

Sadly that wasn’t the only encounter they had to suffer with the opposition that day. Nicky soon appeared in the department’s offices with Nina, almost as a grand finale to the tour of Dosac she’d been given so far. She watched with narrowed eyes as Nicky made her way from desk to desk of the comms team, shaking hands and smiling in a sickeningly sweet manner that made Brooke want to hurl. Gigi and Crystal hovered behind Nicky’s shoulders like little cartoon devils and angels, except in Brooke’s opinion neither of them had many angelic qualities about them.

Attempting to ignore the gatecrashers in her office, Brooke turned back to her monitor. She supposed that maybe both Gigi and Crystal were pleasant people. Perhaps even Nicky at a push. They might still have been fun and friendly people to hang out with, after all, the politics they followed didn’t define them. Suddenly remembering a very obvious exception (Hitler), Brooke sent another withering glare the opposition’s way. Hit with another pang of doubt, she reasoned that comparing Nicky Doll to Hitler was perhaps an overreaction. Tuning out of the immigration stats that sat in front of her, Brooke instead found herself listening in to the conversation between Nicky and Nina.

“The space here is lovely. Very professional, very focused. There’s maybe about twenty-five percent that I’m not okay with, though. I think I’d prefer isolation booths for everybody to work in- it’ll keep everyone more on task,” Nicky asserted, Brooke noticing out the corner of her eye how Yvie and Scarlet both recoiled in horror at the thought of not being able to chat and keep each other going throughout the day.

“Okay, so you’d prefer isolation booths in addition to the longer working hours of 8.30am til 7pm, and only half an hour for lunch,” Nina confirmed. Her hair was twice as big and frizzy as it usually was, probably as a result of tearing half of it out in frustration after the amount of hours she’d spent with Nicky.

“Christ, does she want us chained to the phones as well?” Adore mumbled. Brooke immediately tensed up- if she had heard that comment, then Nicky definitely had too. Sure enough, Nicky whipped her head round and stared Adore straight in the eye.

“That’s very funny, but no. I would not be chaining people to phones, I would simply be employing popular and common tactics that are used by employers the world over. Something which you wouldn’t have to worry about, because I wouldn’t have you working for me,” she smiled fake-sweetly, her voice getting more and more clipped as she reached the end of her sentence.

Brooke found herself praying that the opposition would never reach any position of power whatsoever if they were going to have this tiny dictator running the department. Adore had slunk down into her wheely chair, as if trying to make herself invisible. Suddenly, Brooke heard Jackie’s office door open behind her.

“What the hell is going on out here?” she muttered as she reached Brooke’s desk, looking straight at the visitors to the department. Glad of an opportunity to relieve the tension, Nina once again plastered the fake smile on her face.

“Minister, may I introduce your opposite number, Shadow Minister Nicky Doll,” she smiled at Jackie, waving a hand at Nicky as if she was unveiling a booby prize on a game show.

It was interesting to watch how the two women regarded each other. Nicky immediately narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips together in a display of agitation at no longer being the highest authority in the room. She made no show of moving to shake Jackie’s hand, in fact she didn’t appear to want to speak to Jackie at all. Instead, Jackie herself made the first move and stepped forward once, twice, finally reaching a safe distance and holding out a hand for Nicky to shake. Her face was placid and gave nothing away. Almost Sleeping Beauty-esque, Brooke thought.

“Nicky, it’s so good to finally meet you properly,” she smiled calmly as Nicky gingerly took her hand to shake. “I hope you and your team have had a good day in the department?”

“Oh yes, it’s been lovely. Although obviously there are a number of things that will need changed once we get into power!” Nicky gave a fake little laugh, her eyes still hostile.

“Well. If,” Jackie wrinkled her nose in a smile, which Nicky returned sourly.

Brooke was suddenly distracted by a buzz from her phone. Yvie.

Y: Christ there’s more fake smiles in here than the outpatients’ at a fucking plastic surgery

If Brooke had been in the mood she probably would have been howling with laughter, but the tense, uncomfortable conversation was still taking place.

“I found it interesting that you chose to highlight my disagreement with Manila Luzon in your interview with Chad Michaels. I felt it slightly undermined your point about the need to raise other women in politics up when you yourself were clearly intent on taking me down,” Nicky continued to smile falsely, the bitter undertone to her words not going unnoticed by Brooke. Jackie kept calm, smiling lazily back and raising her eyes to the ceiling.

“Oh, I don’t know about undermining my point. In order to make a good argument, you have to present some evidence to back it up, and that’s all I was doing. I’m sure you understand it was nothing personal,” she said, giving a little nod.

Nicky flared her nostrils, her face now unimpressed as she swept a hand through her hair, rendering her bun a little messy. “Well. It was lovely to meet you anyway, Jackie, but I still have numerous issues to talk through with Nina. If you’ll excuse me.”

With that, Nicky turned on her heel, not even bothering to wait for a reply. On her way back to Nina, she stopped to murmur something in Gigi’s ear, which then resulted in Gigi marching round the corner. Brooke could have followed her up, but was too distracted by Jackie coming to hover at her desk.

“Numerous issues? I’ll bet she has numerous fucking issues, God. Let’s hope that lot never get into power, she’s more unhinged than a flat pack IKEA cupboard,” Jackie whispered, causing Brooke to splutter a laugh. Jackie smirked at her reaction, then her face grew suddenly serious. “Did you know if Nina managed to get that photo op cancelled?”

“She did it about half an hour after we spoke. Jan really got on her back about it, so it was pretty impossible for Nina to wriggle out of it,” Brooke explained offhandedly, trying in vain to focus on her work. Looking up, she noticed that Jackie seemed to have a faraway look on her face.

“She’s so good, isn’t she? Jan. She’s just incredible. So organised and on it,” Jackie said quietly to no-one in particular. Confused, Brooke simply nodded. Apparently remembering where she was, Jackie cleared her throat, smoothed her skirt down and returned to her office.

Around ten minutes later, Brooke thought she was making some real headway with the persisting immigration data. That was until she almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand come crashing down on her shoulder. Spinning around rapidly in her wheely chair she was shocked to see Bianca looming above her, her face grave as her eyes met Brooke’s.

“Bianca, holy fuck. You scared the crap out of me,” Brooke sighed, Bianca not even cracking a smile as her grip on Brooke’s shoulder tightened and she escorted her out of the room. Brooke’s stomach churned as she was led out into the corridor. What the hell was happening, or what the hell had happened, or what the hell was about to happen?

The bright white light of the corridor contrasted violently with Bianca’s expression, which was the personification of the wrath of God itself. She was silent for a moment, which prompted Brooke to tentatively speak first.

“So, um. Why did you want to see-”

“I want to know why a certain Sasha Belle over at transport now has the very same PR stunt I very nearly passed a kidney stone to secure for Jackie,” Bianca snapped. Her voice was cold and low, and Brooke felt goosebumps prickle over her skin just hearing her speak. She felt conflicted. Half of her wanted to reveal Jackie’s personal reasons for having backed out; it was a legitimate excuse and might even make Bianca feel some form of remorse, God willing. On the other hand, it was a part of Jackie’s life which Brooke was sure she wanted to leave behind, and if more and more people knew about it, well. That would make it increasingly hard to forget. Biting her lip, she tried to tell a white lie.

“She had personal reasons for backing out. We decided as her team of advisors that it would be best if she didn’t go through with it.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what deeply held personal fucking reasons she had against it, it is her JOB to go to photo ops, it is her JOB to give herself media coverage!”

“Well she couldn’t even if you wanted her to. Not legally anyway,” Brooke found herself saying, her voice too loud in the echoey hallway. Bianca raised her eyebrows a little, as if urging Brooke to go on. Slightly regretting having not simply kept her mouth shut, Brooke continued.

“Jackie had her driving license revoked. It was years ago- she was texting while driving and crashed on the motorway. So even if she wanted to do the damn publicity, she couldn’t,” she explained, sighing as Bianca’s face slowly took on a look of realisation. “I don’t know how you didn’t already know this, Bianca. Her license was fake, I don’t get how that slipped by you. I thought you did background checks on everyone that came within a five mile radius of the party.”

Bianca exhaled loudly, slowly running one hand down her face. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it, then opened it again.

“When I asked you about Jackie, it wasn’t just a casual, out-of-interest enquiry. We were seriously fucking desperate. We had nothing on her, nothing on her at all apart from the fact that we knew she had a degree in politics and she’d been around the stock exchange for years. We were just desperate to get Darienne out of the party and stop the fucking spiral of madness she was driving us all down. Her position had become toxic, Brooke Lynn, nobody we approached about the job would touch it. So we needed somebody unknown, someone who wouldn’t know or understand who she was succeeding. That’s why we failed to do intensive background checks. I mean, we established that Jackie hadn’t murdered or stabbed anyone, for Christ’s sake. But everything else we had to skim over. We couldn’t have had Darienne in her job for any longer, it would have just…it would have just killed the party.”

Brooke could sort of understand where Bianca was coming from. Taking a calming breath, she suddenly felt the panic rise up in her throat again. “But Bianca, if this gets to the papers-”

Bianca cut her off, holding a single hand up in front of her face and looking down the corridor with suspicion. Wordlessly, she walked to the double doors at the end of the corridor and wrenched them open. Behind them stood Gigi, who jumped at the sudden movement.

“Oh. Hello Bianca. I was just, uh. Trying to find the toilets. This department is like a damn labyrinth, you know?” she laughed awkwardly, almost paralysed under Bianca’s glare.

“Do you want a massive cup to press against the door too, or are you good?” she quipped dryly.

Brooke’s heart began to palpitate nervously. Gigi had clearly been behind that door and listening for quite some time. How long, she didn’t know. But if she’d heard the reason why Jackie couldn’t drive, this was all different kinds, shades, textures and flavours of bad.

“Bianca, really. All I heard was that Jackie wasn’t exactly vetted properly. Which, you know, could be kind of a big story in itself, I think,” Gigi smiled cunningly. All at once, Brooke wanted to laugh. Attempting to get the upper hand on Bianca Del Rio was an interesting tactic, one which basically ensured you weren’t going to win. Deciding to step back, Brooke let Bianca take the reins.

“Oh, I see! You were looking for a story! Well here, here’s a great one for you,” Bianca smiled sinisterly, putting Brooke in mind of a predator about to pounce. “Did you know that Jaqueline Cox is sitting in that office there despite the fact her driving license got revoked? She crashed her car on the motorway because she tried to text and drive at the same time. Did you not know that?”

Brooke watched as Gigi’s face lit up at the revelation. She had to admit she didn’t really know where Bianca was going with this or what she had to gain from revealing the information to one of the Shadow Minister’s aides. As Brooke attempted to interject, Bianca simply turned and fixed her with a smile.

“You didn’t know that, no?” she asked Gigi again. She simply shook her head, delighted at what had just been revealed. “Oh, wait, of course…you wouldn’t know that! Because the only people who do know that are, um, Miss Cox…her three advisors…and me. If this information got to the press…I would know that it came from you.”

Brooke wanted to practically jump for joy as she saw Gigi’s face fall, growing very apprehensive as Bianca took two steps towards her. Her voice lowering, Bianca continued the onslaught.

“And I would rain down upon you so hard that your body would have to be re-assembled by crash team investigators-” she hissed. Gigi opened her mouth to defend herself and Bianca immediately stopped her. “- do not fucking interrupt me, girl. Now, you breathe a word of this to ANYONE, you fucking living toothpick, and I will-”

Already shaking with laughter, Brooke ducked her head out of the door and ran into the offices.

“Jan! ‘Ness! Come quick. Bianca’s going off on one at Gigi,” she stage-whispered, the two girls looking up, bemused but quickly following Brooke back to the corridor doors nonetheless. The double doors were fronted with a small pane of clear glass, which the three girls all peered through to see Bianca continuing to verbally grill Gigi, now far less composed than she was before.

“…I will eviscerate you, right? And I mean, I don’t have your education, I don’t know what that means. But I’ll start by plucking your eyes out and I’ll busk it from there. Okay? Glad we’re agreed. Have a great day.”

As Gigi stumbled back down the hall in a daze as if she’d just crawled out of an avalanche, the three girls on the other side of the door tried to compose themselves after their laughing fit.

“Bianca has such a way with words,” Jan mused, wiping tears from her eyes. “So why was she yelling at Gigi, what had she done? Looked at her?”

Brooke explained what had happened to the two girls, watching as their facial expressions shifted from confused, to fearful, then some semblance of reassured. There was still an aspect that was a little panicked, however, the knowledge that Gigi knew about Jackie’s past clearly worrying them both.

“Look, don’t give it too much thought. Bianca has it all under control. She always does,” Brooke reassured them, shrugging as she walked back to her desk.

“Guess I’m happy to trust Bianca,” Vanessa smiled, relaxing a little. “Hey, you ladies had lunch yet?”

“Not yet. Pret?” Brooke offered, Vanessa smiling beautifully and picking up her bag from her chair. Brooke didn’t miss how Jan simply nodded silently, her face still troubled, clearly not as trusting of Bianca as Vanessa was.

***

As the three girls sat huddled around Jan’s desk eating their lunch, Brooke watched as Vanessa scoffed down her messy meatball panini with marinara sauce and mozzarella cheese that oozed out the side and made long, inconvenient strings. She could have teased Vanessa for her shambles of a lunch but she decided against it, instead choosing to compliment her.

“‘Ness, how can you eat literally whatever you want and still look so good?” Brooke asked, attempting to look offhanded but still feeling like her guts were made of jelly as the words came out her mouth. It was hugely tiresome how much more nervous and self-aware she was around Vanessa now that she’d actually acknowledged her crush on her. It was much harder to pretend things were purely platonic if she gave her a compliment.

In response, Vanessa simply smiled bashfully and shrugged, her mouth full of food. “Hey, I always wonder the same thing about you, baby. I’d kill to look like you.”

“With these thighs? Girl, no you wouldn’t,” Brooke snorted, trying to keep herself from blushing.

“You got good thighs,” Vanessa insisted, making Brooke wonder just how much attention Vanessa paid to her legs. Snapping out of it, Brooke told herself that she was probably just being kind. After a beat of silence, Jan cut in.

“Well, I know both of you find me wildly attractive and are also madly jealous of my amazing figure, which is why neither of you have said anything,” she joked through a mouthful of salmon salad. Brooke gave her a playful shove, shocked when she heard a little cry.

“Jesus, Jan! It wasn’t that sore.”

“That wasn’t me. That came from Jackie’s office,” Jan said gravely, looking at the Minister’s office door where she could just see the blonde bun belonging to Nicky peering over the strip of frosted glass. Exchanging concerned looks, all three girls made their way over.

Brooke was the first to walk in and when her gaze met Jackie’s her heart sank. She was sitting behind her desk and had turned pale, her eyes frightened and huge in her face which had gone almost ghostly white. Turning her gaze to Nicky she noticed that the girl seemed smug in some way, as if she had the upper hand. In a moment, Brooke knew exactly what had happened.

Gigi had spilled.

“Miss Doll, you ain’t actually allowed in here. This is the Minister’s private office,” Vanessa began in a valiant effort to stick up for Jackie who was clearly past sticking up for herself.

“Oh, it’s quite alright. Jackie and I were just having a little chat. A little reminisce on the past, if you like. Well. Her past,” Nicky smiled, casting an amused gaze at Jackie whose face was ashen and defeated as she sat at her desk. Brooke suddenly felt herself overcome with fury.

“I hope you’re giving Gigi a big pay rise for that information. She won’t have much time to spend it though once Bianca finds out. I’d maybe give her two…three days left to live?” she hissed, her face contorted as she glared at the shadow minister.

“Brooke Lynn, is it?” Nicky addressed her, Brooke momentarily wondering how she knew her name. “Brooke Lynn. We all know what it’s like in politics. Unfortunately if someone has some information on someone else, it’s only natural that they’re going to exploit it. And that’s all that’s happening here! It’s not personal. Just professional.”

“Like hell are you exploiting anything,” Jan spat, her face dark. Come to think of it, Brooke had never really seen her so angry, but the tiny girl was like a spitfire as she narrowed her eyes at her old boss. “You know full well where to draw the line between personal and political information. If you leak this to the media then you’re more reprehensible than the party you represent.”

“I’m sorry ladies, but this is how you play the game, and I play to win. I’m not really prepared to discuss it any further,” Nicky rolled her eyes, picking up her bag from where it sat on Jackie’s desk.

Just as she made to leave, Nicky turned to see Bianca standing in the doorway of Jackie’s office, glancing with confusion at the scene in front of her.

“Bianca!” Vanessa cried, for once happy to see the Prime Minister’s enforcer. “We were just talkin’ about how Nicky maybe shouldn’t go to the papers about Jackie…? Telling them about her driving license? Tryin’ to think of a reason why this would reflect badly on her party in some way…?”

Brooke watched as Vanessa looked pleadingly at Bianca, willing her to do something, anything to spin them out of the situation. Bianca for her part seemed calm, upbeat even.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she should! Good idea!” she shrugged, flashing a smile Nicky’s way as she turned and made to leave the room.

Vanessa’s face immediately dropped as if she’d been slapped. Jan’s expression was completely blank. Brooke didn’t know what to think. It seemed as if Jackie was holding her breath, and Nicky simply stood rooted to the spot, her eyes still on Bianca as if she knew there was more to come. Sure enough, Bianca reached the doorframe, stopped, and turned on her heel.

“Oh, shit, wait a minute! I know why she shouldn’t! Because you know, if she did that…she’d be dead,” Bianca said simply.

Brooke watched as Nicky blinked silently at her. Bianca continued to speak.

“To me. To her advisors. To her party. To the electorate. And the only job she’d get in power is for this government’s catering company sweeping up crumbs as a kitchen cleaner, because I’d call every journalist I know, which of course- that’s all of them! Isn’t it Nicole! And I’d tell them all that lovely little story I’ve had saved for a rainy day, about a certain Right Honourable Lord Doll- how is your Dad, by the way?- and how he enjoyed a lovely five years as a member of the Bullingdon Club at university, a club so fucking morally bankrupt they had a exposé film made about them! Of course, the homeless person your Dad had to burn money in the face of for his initiation- he didn’t enjoy it so much. Nor did the live pigeon he had to bite the head off of either. And I believe there’s also rumblings about…something about a pig, which I won’t go into. And so I’d quite happily email all these journalists any photos and soundbites and CCTV footage they wanted, because I’d say…I’d say that��s quite a big story. I’d say that would probably contest a Minister’s silly little eight-year-old car accident in the running order of the ten o’clock news. That’s what I’d tell her,” Bianca finally finished calmly, smiling a little at Nicky whose mouth was now hanging open like a goldfish. Turning to Vanessa, Bianca simply nodded on her way out of the door. “But maybe you should tell her!”

Catching Vanessa’s eye, Brooke couldn’t help but burst into a triumphant grin. Vanessa returned the smile, now completely relaxed knowing that Jackie had the upper hand. Nicky was still standing completely still and hadn’t moved since Bianca had left.

“I’ll, um. I’ll ask Nina to get your coat,” Jackie addressed Nicky pleasantly, sitting at her desk and pushing a single number on the phone as Nicky simply nodded wordlessly.

Brooke wanted to burst out laughing. Bianca had her enemies in Westminster, but she was also an absolute mastermind.

***

They had made it through the day. They always did, after all. They were a great team, Brooke thought, and God help them if they were ever disbanded in any way. Sitting in a quieter corner of the office with her head tipped against the head of the sofa, Brooke took a deep breath. It was often needed at the end of days like these. Jan sat to her right, curled up against the arm of the couch and simply staring into the distance. Thinking for a moment, Brooke turned her head and stared at Jan.

“Do you think Bianca really had all that stuff to back up what she said about Nicky’s Dad?”

Jan smirked and met Brooke’s eyes. “It’s Bianca. She’s a walking, talking database. She probably has shit on all of us. She probably knows stuff about us that we haven’t even done yet.”

Before Brooke could even try to get her head around Jan’s words, Vanessa joined them. She flung herself against the sofa dramatically, gently tilting her head so that it rested in the crook of Brooke’s shoulder. For a second she could barely breathe.

“I wonder what she’s going to do to Gigi when she next sees her. Can’t imagine I’d want to be in her six-inch heels right now,” Brooke continued, trying to talk through her breathlessness.

“We talkin’ about Bianca?” Vanessa murmured, nuzzling her head against Brooke’s shoulder to get comfortable. Christ, why the fuck did she have to do that?

“Yeah,” Jan smiled wistfully. “God, I’d be running for the hills if I was her. Alyssa’s charity ball is in three weeks, remember? I wouldn’t put it past Bianca to stage a live crucifixion as the night’s entertainment.”

Brooke felt Vanessa laugh softly against her side. She was such a warm, happy person, at least when she wasn’t stressing her head off at the latest party shambles. She was too good to be working here, but Brooke was so glad that she was.

“So you’re not going to be ditching us to run back to the opposition anytime soon then? Not going to be meeting up with Gigi and Crystal for a cute little catch-up coffee?” Brooke only half-joked, turning to address Jan again. She watched as Jan’s face grew a little dark, her brow furrowing as she let out a derisive laugh.

“I’m not fucking with anyone who attempts to sabotage Jackie’s career,” she said forebodingly.

There it was again, Brooke thought, this protective side to Jan which she’d never really seen before. She didn’t think she’d ever get over how strange it was.

Footsteps behind the sofa prompted all three of them to turn around. It was Jackie- she’d freshened up her makeup a little and had sprayed some deodorant or perfume or something that smelt nice. Reaching the sofa, she gave a warm smile to the three girls.

“Thanks for your support today, ladies,” she said sincerely, leaning on the back of the sofa. “It was a tough one, but we got there in the end.”

“Sorry that Nina couldn’t arrange an alternative bit of PR in time, Jackie,” Vanessa smiled apologetically. Jackie let out a small laugh.

“Are you kidding? That was a blessing in disguise. After the day I’ve had the last thing I want to do is go and feign interest in electric cars for an hour,” she shook her head. “Seriously though, thank you. You three are a total blessing.”

Brooke was surprised when she then turned to face Jan, her expression turning a little shy. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, two minutes. I need to pack up and I’ll be good,” Jan smiled timidly back at her, her cheeks going a little red.

“Okay. I’ll wait at the lifts. See you tomorrow, girls,” Jackie said finally, waving goodbye to Brooke and Vanessa before walking away.

Vanessa tipped her head off Brooke’s shoulder to lean forward and look at Jan, who was grabbing her coat. “Where are you two off to then, Miss Ma’am?”

Jan stopped in her tracks, as if she hadn’t really been expecting the question. “Oh! Um, Jackie’s just giving me a lift home.”

Brooke screwed up her face at her friend. “A lift home? In her car? That she drives? Is that meant to be a joke?”

Seemingly realising her mistake, Jan smiled and shook her head. “I meant her driver. Her driver’s going to drop me home on the way back to Jackie’s.”

Brooke sat blankly for a moment, turning to Vanessa and seeing her face hold the exact same expression. Vanessa laughed in disbelief. “Your flat’s five minutes away, you lazy shit!”

“Hey, give me a break! I’m exhausted, a five minute walk is still a walk I don’t want to do, and I’ll take what I can get,” Jan shrugged, grabbing her bag and making to leave. “Bye, girls. See you both tomorrow.”

Brooke gave a tired reply as Jan made her way out of the department. Sighing, Vanessa leant against the arm of the sofa, kicking her legs over Brooke’s lap and subsequently causing Brooke’s pulse to quicken by about 90%. They sat in silence for a moment, Brooke’s brain too full to even contemplate starting a conversation. Luckily, it was Vanessa that spoke first.

“Do you think something’s goin’ on there? Between Jackie and Jan?”

Brooke paused. If it were any other situation, she’d maybe have thought Vanessa was right. But this was work, and sometimes people got incredibly passionate about their party and the people that ran it. Jan had had to put up with Nicky, and then Darienne. It was only natural that now that she was finally working for someone competent of course she was going to want with every fibre of her being for that person to do well. Turning to face Vanessa, Brooke made a doubtful face.

“No, girl. Jan’s just loyal. She wants to see Jackie do well. That’s all I think it is anyway.”

Brooke watched as Vanessa knit her brows together, frowning momentarily then casting her gaze into her lap.

“You know-” she began, then cut herself off as she decided against saying whatever she had to say. Then, changing her mind, she began again. “I swear you’re so blind half the time, Brooke Lynn. I think you have your guard up so high you can’t even see when someone has feelings for someone else. It’s kinda…I don’t know. Anyway. It don’t matter.”

Brooke watched, astounded as Vanessa swung her legs off her lap and stood up. Her face was bright red, as if she was embarrassed in some way. Brooke felt she had to reply, but she had no idea what to say or how to respond. She simply blinked at Vanessa, as if her last ditch attempt at communication was morse code.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Vanessa continued, smoothing down her dress and smiling as if she hadn’t said a thing. Going along with the façade, Brooke nodded slowly. “Bye, Brooke.”

As Vanessa’s footsteps retreated down the office and into the lift, Brooke just stared straight ahead and tried to make sense of what Vanessa had said, or what it even meant, or what the implications were. It had felt like she was mad at her in some way, although Brooke couldn’t figure out what she’d done. What had she meant by it all? It made Brooke’s head hurt.

She was still there when the cleaners arrived half an hour later, and she still hadn’t managed to unscramble her brain. Giving up, Brooke grabbed her coat and bag and made her way to the lifts, stuck with the feeling that somehow she’d left something behind.

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x688plsloveme · 5 years

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Companions’ Biggest Injury

ADA: She fell in some dirty water that clogged up her circuits while she was still traveling with Jackson. They were hunting some mirelurks because hey were

hurting for food, and one of them butted her into the water. Jackson repaired her head first, and she watched as he cleaned out the rest of her parts. some

wires were ruined, which made the whole process harder, but Jackson was adamant on fixing her as soon as possible because she was his favourite robot.

CAIT: During her time in the Combat Zone, Cait fought more than other people. They once put her up against a baby deathclaw. Sure it was still a baby, but it still had talons as long as her hand and was almost as big as she was. As much as she hates to admit it, the chems she was on was probably what saved her that day. Without them, she would've passed out for sure. The baby deathclaw gave hear a six inch long gash right up her side. She almost died, but at least she can use it as a good story at parties.

CODSWORTH: Sole doesn't like taking Codsworth out much, and he much prefers staying at home and cleaning, so Codsey doesn't get into a lot of trouble.

However, there was one time where a group of raiders tried to invade Sanctuary while Sole was out. He thought he had gotten all of them, but one of the slimy

dastards snuck into the kitchen during all the chaos, and as soon as Codsworth had his...back? turned, they hit him with a cast-iron skillet. The raider didn't last long, but Sole had to hear an earful when they got back. "Honestly! The nerve of some people! Do you know how hard it is to find a decent skillet

anymore? Do you!?”

CURIE: Back when she was a simple Miss Nanny, she didn't get so much as a scratch. However, as a synth with new senses and a curiosity that burns stronger than ever, she found herself getting into a lot more accidents. Particularly ones that involve food. Making dinner for everyone is a wonderful way to stimulate all of her senses and she loves it, but sometimes she gets carried away and burns herself pretty badly. There was also the time where she accidentally cut off her finger! Good thing Sole knows "someone" the institute with a mysteriously large "collection" of synth parts.

DANSE: The worst injury Danse got was actually after he left the Brotherhood. Power armor doesn't allow for many injuries after all. It's no secret that the

Brotherhood of Steel has plenty of bigots in it. Danse didn't even know the extent of it until he found a Paladin outside his door one day. It was one of his

close friends and Danse almost started crying right there at seeing someone from his past that wouldn't try to kill him just for being what he is. He was

relieved for about two minutes until the guy sucker punched him in the face and started screaming about how he "can't believe I got tricked by a filthy synth!"

and "I'm surprised you're even alive!" It shook Danse so bad he didn't know how to respond. Sole saved him from getting killed by putting a bullet in his skull

when they came to see what was happening. The mental trauma of not only finding out that one of his friends wanted him dead but also seeing them face-down themselves was terrible. Thankfully Sole is His actual friend and was, and always will be, there for him no matter what.

DEACON: No one actually knows what deacon’s worst injury is-he gives out different answers every time, but there are fan favourites that he’ll repeat every once in a while. His favourite by far (and Sole’s, but they’ll never tell him that) involves chems, a magic sword, and two dozen deathclaws. “I swear, all it took was one hit of psychojet!” He’d tell the gathering group. “When all those uglies came at me, I knew I had to buy some time. While they ran towards me in slow motion, I pulled out a magic green, glowing sword passed down by the great Shimada clan, the Ryūichi moji!” He paused for dramatic effect here. “One by one the green dragon of the Shimada legends carried me to each smelly lizard and one by one they fell. The greatest injury I received from that fight was from the mother deathclaw. Nothing is meaner than a mom with small kids let me tell you. She swung down with the force of a falling building, and right when I thought the famed sword would break, a flash of light obscured our vision, and a force knocked me back. When I came to, there was the mamma deathclaw, defeated on the ground, and a giant gash that spanned the length of my entire right arm.” This is the part where he shows a giant scar on his arm, making everyone cringe in sympathy pain. “The gash seemed like a mere cut when I noticed the sword lying shattered at my feet, my dragon friend gone. I just hope the old bugger I living large wherever he is...” The story ends and usually, people clap. The real way his arm got injured was much less fanciful. He just got caught by surprise by a raider. Where’s the fun in a story like that though?

DOGMEAT: bold of you to assume that I would ever let anything happen to my favourite puppy Poor boy was chasing a molerat and went too far from Sanctuary. He followed it back to its den where there was around two dozen of the nasty creatures. He got scratched up pretty bad before he could escape, but at least he got spoiled rotten because Sole's "poor baby" got hurt and anyone who didn't give him at least a pat on the head while he was healing was going to feel Sole's wrath. And NO ONE went against what Sole wanted for their dog.

GAGE: The most obvious large injury out of everyone-Gage's biggest injury was losing his eye. But what's not so obvious is how he lost it. Colter was pretty stupid compared to Gage, but when it came to 'street smarts,' he won against everyone. He knew he had to be ruthless and do anything to get to the top-especially in his line of work-so to show everyone that they shouldn't mess with him, he took the guy who was the biggest threat to him and gouged his eye out in front of everybody. Gage may be weaker than some of the crew but he was way more clever. You couldn't win against him one way or another, so instead of just killing him, Colter made him an example and kept him close afterwards just because he could. Gage didn't even scream. He didn't want to give that son of a bitch the satisfaction.

HANCOCK: Hancock has been in so many fights, he doesn’t even know where to start thinking. At least. That’s what he tells people when they ask. The truth of the matter is he just doesn’t want to tell anybody because they probably wouldn’t believe him. It was the story about how he met his life long brother McDonough. Both boys lived on the streets with hardly anyone to look after themselves and after a particularly bad tousle with some junkies over his last bit of water, Hancock thought he was a goner. He hadn’t expected some equally as young, and equally as scrawny kid come up and offer to take him to a place where he thought he could get some help. Hancock was in no position to deny the boy’s offer, so he followed him to a rickety shack 20 minutes away. He was feeling faint from the blood loss and passed out, but when he came to, he saw a young woman standing over him-seemingly just getting finished with giving him medical treatment. She introduced herself as “Murphey” and told him that he would help out someone very important one day. Then she just...left without another word. Late on, when Hancock asked McDonough about why he helped Murphey he just told him that she paid him to go to a certain alley and bring the kid there back to the shack. Both teens agreed that that was pretty freaky, but also agreed that they should start looking out for each other from then on out. Can’t have too many friends in the streets in their opinion.

LONGFELLOW: He’s got stories for every single one of his scars, just ask him. He especially likes sharing about the jagged, faded one right above where his heart is. It was a long long time ago, but even in his old age, Longfellow remembered it like it was yesterday. All he had wanted in his youth was a sweetheart to battle life with. What he got was a toxic psycho. He did everything to please that girl and all he got in return was more demands and less control of his own life. Her downward spiral of hate and jealousy got so bad, that one day, after seeing Longfellow talking to another girl, his crazy girlfriend just snapped. She got a knife and went for his heart telling him that this is how he made her feel when he was around other girls. There was no hiding their abusive relationship after that. The girl was arrested and moved off island entirely. Longfellow got help, and even though it took a really really long time to gain his self-respect and confidence back, he still did it. He moved on from his past and overcame it stronger than before. He’s a strong believer that anyone can do it, and after the local therapist died, he became the unofficial one for anybody having issues with themselves because of abusive relationships. He did that for many years until the fog became so thick most people just left. He was glad to be living such a fulfilling life. He never thought he would get past his dark thoughts, yet here he was uplifting youngsters with his tale.

MACCREADY: When MacCready was a kid, no one warned him that Big Town wasn't the safest settlement in the wasteland. In fact, it was a shit hole. Sure the Lone Wanderer still popped by every now and then, but the months in between those visits were hell. If he wasn't such a good shoot he would've died within a year. In fact, he almost did. One of the first nights and MacCready stayed there, a slaver party from out west ransacked the town. being groggy because he had just woken up, his perception was thrown off and he got shot in the stomach. Red had already moved on with her life and was no longer living there and it wasn’t like anyone had any stimpacks either. He thought he was a goner up until he heard the slavers start dropping one by one in quick succession. He peaked over his cover and would’ve started crying if he wasn’t already. There stood Lone with their dog and boyfriend, Butch, who was looking very queasy at the sight of all that blood. In all 16 years of his life, MacCready had never been that happy to see anyone in his life. Lone gave him a stimpack while enthusiastically welcoming him to the real world. “I knew your birthday was around this time, so I dropped in to say hi and give you this.” They handed him an almost mint condition rifle and he wouldn’t tell anyone this, but he almost started crying again that day. He still uses that rifle.

PIPER: Just like her buddy Nick, Piper made her fair share of enemies. The most dangerous, however, was a group of gunners that she was stalking for a story. No one except other gunners knows what goes exactly goes down in their little organization and Piper thought it would be nice if people knew. Sadly, this is the moment where she found out she wasn’t exactly cut out for being sneaky. She was found out the third day and was “interrogated” by the group. They didn’t beat her too badly, but it’s not like it was any fun for her. The group let her go shortly after realizing her smart mouth wasn’t worth the trouble of keeping around. She was just thankful to learn a valuable lesson without dying in the process, even at the cost of a few broken fingers.

PRESTON: The worst injury Preston got was when he was escaping Quincy. He had rushed to save Marcy and Jun's kid Kyle from getting killed by a gunner and took a bullet for the kid. Along with several burn wounds. At that point, he had already fractured his wrist and twisted his ankle, and was hurting like all hell but

there was no way he was just going to quit on all of these people that depended on him to defend them. He brought Kyle back to safety with cheers from everyone, only to lose him a week later in a super mutant raid. To Preston, his still healing wounds were nothing compared to the pain he felt when he had to bury a child while his parents sobbed behind him.

STRONG: Let's be real here. The super mutants are evolving. They can converse more in Fallout 4, and Strong actually has opinions of the companions besides "lunch." Regardless, besides a few exceptions, Gen 2 super mutants are so so dumb. Strong included. There's not much that can seriously hurt a mutant besides guns, or a very long fall down a very high building. And you guessed it, that's exactly what happened to Strong. A shoving match between two muties can end pretty horribly. One of Strong’s comrades(?) pushed him off the sixth floor of Trinity Tower in one such fight-resulting in many cuts, bruises, and broken bones. It’s a good thing super mutants heal fast, or Strong would’ve been toast.

VALENTINE: Nick has had his fair share of bigoted ass-hats coerce him, but this was the first time someone outright attacked him. Nick didn’t see it coming when he got knocked on the ground, but he also wasn’t worried because for every one bigot he sees, there are two friends to back him up. Still...getting beat up by some random dude is never a fun affair. Even when the neighboorhood reporter eventually follows the commotion and scares the guy off. Nick was pretty shaken about the whole thing and it really gave an insight on just how terrible people can be because of ignorance and fear.

X6-88: X6 is a courser. He doesn't get hurt. Hell, he didn't think he could even get hurt until getting slapped in the face by a yao-gaui. He never thought

that he would ever risk his safety for someone else, but there he was, jumping in front of a giant mutated bear with paws bigger than his head, just to protect

Sole. The funny thing was that he did it solely because he wanted to protect them, not because he had to. After the initial hit though, the poor mutated bear didn't stand a chance. Sole's awed face and the gentle way they cleaned his wounds afterwords were definitely worth the initial pain though. (he swears he did not act tsundere and grumble about this while blushing)

Thank you anon for suggesting this! It really got me back into the writing grove and I’m happy about that. Sorry its a bit all over the place i def did not do this all in one sitting. I’m okay with how this turned out and I hope you guys enjoy it!!!

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mst3kproject · 4 years

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The Devil’s Eight

The nasty misanthropic Ross Hagen revenge movies were among my least favourite episodes of MST3K, so it’s no surprise I haven’t done one as an Episode that Never Was. But this blog isn’t about movies I like, it’s about movies that were or should have been on the Satellite of Love. The Devil’s Eight is from American International Pictures, and as well as Hagen it features Leslie Parrish, whom you’ll remember as Ev from The Giant Spider Invasion, and Cliff Osmond, whom you probably don’t remember as the Sheriff in Hangar 18. And on a super-duper-extra-promising note, it was written by Willard Huyck, who did the script for American Graffiti… but also for Howard the Duck.

FBI Agent Faulkner has been assigned to arrest a powerful crime lord. Several of his colleagues have already tried this mission and been killed, so rather than use fellow agents, he frees a bunch of criminals from a chain gang and forces them to be his underlings, because we’re here to rip off The Dirty Dozen and we don’t care if it makes sense. Driving specially souped-up cars, this unwashed and unshaven bunch infiltrate the crime boss’ moonshine operation only to realize that he’s set a trap for them. The movie climaxes in a free-for-all of shooting, driving, and blowing shit up, and I have no idea what was happening for most of it but Ross Hagen got to hug his girlfriend at the end so it must have worked out okay.

My number one complaint about The Devil’s Eight (and I have many) is that there is only one piece of music in the entire film. It’s a repetitive and obnoxiously catchy two-line melody that is arranged in a dozen different ways, attempting to sound ominous, mischievous, romantic, dramatic, and so forth, but the only thing it ever actually does sound like is comical old west saloon music. It repeats through the whole hour and forty minutes of the movie and then we have to hear a ditty about the characters sung to the same tune over the end credits. I can already tell it’s gonna be in my head for days and it’s making me want to stab something.

From the beginning, The Devil’s Eight is very badly constructed. We start with the prison break, which was probably a good idea, and follow it until the surprise moment when they find the helicopter there waiting for them. This scene is weirdly reminiscent of its counterpart in Starcrash and I assume both of them stole it from some better movie. Once they’re in the chopper, however, we segue into a flashback of Faulkner and his boss talking about the mission. Skipping back in time to a couple of guys talking in an office totally derails the momentum the first scene built up. We want to know what’s going on, but the same information could have (and partially was) imparted by Faulkner talking to the rest a moment later!

When he does talk to them, he is maddeningly vague about what their plan is. It involves secretly armored cars and throwing grenades while driving them – we can gather that much from the montages that follow. The ultimate goal is to find a guy named Burl, who brews his own moonshine and apparently ‘owns’ most of the cops and politicians in wherever this is, and whom we know nothing about until the movie is half over. When things finally do start happening, we still don’t really know what they’re trying to accomplish, and we’re not sure the characters are. Faulkner acts like he knows what he’s doing, and the other guys (and the audience) just have to take that on faith.

In addition to telling us what the hell the characters are trying to accomplish, the first third or so of the movie should be spent getting to know them and setting up their arcs. The Devil’s Eight tries to do this but it’s pretty half-assed about it. There’s Sonny, the drunk troublemaker, who resolutely refuses to evolve even at gunpoint. There’s Chandler, the guy who is trying to better himself by giving up violence and reading the bible. He turns out to be the most brutal hand-to-hand fighter of the lot, absolutely creaming half of Burl’s guys in a barfight, but he’s given no resolution to his desire for a pacifist lifestyle and is gunned down moments after admitting he doesn’t know whether to believe in god or not. And there’s Henry and Billy Jo, the black guy and the bigot (respectively), who learn to appreciate each other. I have to give this arc a couple of grudging points for ending with Henry weeping over Billy Jo’s dead body rather than the reverse… congratulations, guys, you were slightly less racist than you could have been.

The character with the biggest personal investment in this and the one who tries to have a real story arc is Ross Hagen’s Frank. He used to work for Burl until, for unknown reasons, Burl framed him for murder, killed his younger brother, and stole his girlfriend. He’s now itching for revenge and is personal stake in the mission leads him to take charge and enforce order when the others try to rebel against Faulkner. That sounds like a pretty good storyline for the main character in a movie.

Then they blow it. When Faulkner tells him they have to bring Burl in alive, Frank gets mad and insists he deserves to die. Then, like that other Frank in T-Bird Gang, he gets no resolution for it. The audience expects him to have a moment of confrontation with Burl and then either kill him or decide not to do so. The final confrontation, however, is between Burl and Faulkner, while Frank just fucking stands there. It seems incomprehensible when it’s his girlfriend Burl is threatening to shoot.

This scene also has a perfect opportunity to pay off another thing The Devil’s Eight set up earlier – there’s a scene in which Faulkner demonstrates his skill as a marksman by putting three holes in a target without hitting the man who is reaching to take the target off its stand. When Burl began threatening to shoot Frank’s girlfriend, Faulkner stood up and I was sure we were going to get a payoff for that, with Faulkner shooting Burl in the leg or the hand to make him let go of the woman, without hitting her. But instead, Faulkner just drops his gun and walks forward to parlay! It’s a failure of Chekov’s gun with an actual gun in it.

I think Faulkner is supposed to be the actual main character. He’s in charge, after all, and he’s the one who gets things like flashbacks and climactic confrontations. The problem with this is that Faulkner never learns anything, never grows, and we get no insights into his character. He’s just a huge asshole to everybody from his girlfriend to the prisoners to the rookie agent the FBI sent to assist him (this character’s age is never established. He’s implied to be young and naïve, but he’s played by an actor who looks like he’s around forty). Faulkner’s final line is not to place Burl under arrest, although that’s coming, but to make fun of him.

If Faulkner is a crummy hero, Burl is a terrible villain. We don’t even meet him until the movie’s half-over, which I guess is supposed to build suspense. The problem is that until that moment, we have seen nothing to tell us what kind of threat he represents. Characters have talked about it, but that’s all. We got a vague impression of a local crime king, but when Burl actually arrives in the narrative he’s a Joe Don Baker-looking guy who lives in a ramshackle log cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a bunch of other hillbillies who differ from him mostly in being dirtier. All he seems to actually do is sit around eating. He never comes across as threatening, just as a hick with pretensions.

Without a compelling hero, a threatening bad guy, or much of an idea what this is all even building to, where does that leave The Devil’s Eight? It’s an over-long movie about dirty men driving huge cars and punching each other. The movie had plenty of time that could have gone into rising action and establishing character and playing up Burl’s threat and so forth, but instead it’s just training montages of driving and punching. Once the actual plan is in motion that turns out to be just more driving and punching as they run Burl’s moonshine deliveries off the road. The driving scenes are set to that annoying single piece of music that sounds more comical than exciting, the bluescreen backgrounds are dire, and the actors are utterly incapable of making their fake driving look anything but fake.

Everybody in the entire movie is filthy, by the way. I don’t know if this is actually supposed to invoke the ‘dirty’ part of The Dirty Dozen, or if it’s an attempt to show how rough and tough these guys are, but they’re all grimy, sweaty, and gross. I could almost smell them through the screen.

MST3K would have had a great time with The Devil’s Eight. I can picture Crow and Tom trying to make their own moonshine… Mike tastes it and doesn’t like it but tries not to insult them, and then they reveal it’s distilled from things like old o-rings and Joel’s socks. And I know exactly what the stinger would have been, too. There’s a bit where Burl and Faulkner are attempting to size each other up over dinner, and Burl orders Frank’s ex-girlfriend to mind her manners and give Frank a slice of her inexpertly-iced cake. I don’t know why this is so funny, but I don’t know what made half the stingers in the series funny, so there you go.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the devil's eight #the devil's 8 #60s

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noxstellacaelum · 4 years

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Female Protagonists Deserve Their Stories

Believe me, I get it. I am not the target audience for shows like Shadowhunters, Veronica Mars, or GoT. I am far, far removed from ship wars, cons, and the overall social media craziness that seems to animate fandom culture for shows like these. These shows -- particularly Shadowunters -- are really just guilty pleasures for me. With bonus points b/c they are sci fi/supernatural/fantasy/action & adventure genre pieces with strong female protagonists. That’s all. Just a genre that I love. Nothing life-changing.

So why, months later, am I still so pissed off about GoT S8, Shadowhunters 3B and the &*%& Shadowhunters finale, and basically all of Veronica Mars S4? Especially when the writers/ show runners behind these projects -- and huge chunks of the fandom -- really, really don’t give a shit about what someone in my demographic thinks.

Fundamentally, I am pissed off because each of these shows destroyed the narrative arcs of their female characters. And, because the showrunners -- a bunch of middle-aged dudes -- should have known better.

This post focuses on Shadowhunters. And I am writing it just for me. I appreciate and understand that others may disagree.

Ok, let’s just acknowledge the demographically engineered pulpy charms of Shadowhunters (TV) up front. The cast were (and still are, obviously) uniformly gorgeous; the casting was racially diverse (YAY!!!); each season features lots of angst-y love triangles, break-ups and make-ups (Oh, the drama :-)); and, the show deliberately centered LGBTQIA relationships, especially Malec (again, YAY!!!)

So, what’s my problem, when there is so much to like about the show’s stated desire to be inclusive and diverse? Especially when I believe that representation matters, particularly in genre projects like Shadowhunters, which historically have tended to lack diversity with respect to race and sexual/gender identity.

My problem is that somewhere along the line, the Shadowhunters showrunners decided that to tell the story they wanted to tell, they had to eviscerate the narrative arcs of Clary, and by extension, Jace.

To understand why the decision to sideline Clary (and Jace) is so frustrating, it helps to know a bit about the TV show’s source material. (Spoilers follow) SHTV is based on The Mortal Instruments, a six-book series written by Cassie Clare. Clary is the protagonist of TMI: Clare has described TMI as a “girl power” story, and she has made it clear that in TMI, she wanted to tell a story where a girl saves the world. She’s even clapped back at those who would question whether Clary is worthy of heroine status. Last year, in the Thule section of Queen of Air and Darkness, Clare showed us an AU where Clary doesn’t save the world (and is instead killed by Lilith, the mother of demons). It’s a hellscape: Clary’s evil brother Jonathan controls everyone and everything; angelic power no longer works; and anyone who tries to resist Jonathan is hunted, killed, “endarked” (turned into a soulless, murderous soldier), or otherwise enspelled. All of our other heroes are dead or enthralled. Realizing that he was turning into a demon, Magnus begged Alec to kill him (which Alec does, before committing suicide). And Clary’s love Jace? Devastated by Clary’s death, and enspelled by Jonathan, Jace becomes twisted and evil.

In addition to the Thule AU, Clare has written more generally about right of female creators to own their own work (on a Tumblr blog post). And, she has used other series in the shadowhunter world to center other characters and relationships (e.g., the Malec series currently underway); to interrogate gender roles (e.g., the Julian and Emma pairing in TDA); and to explore relationships and identities other than the Clary/Jace pairing (e.g. the polyamorous Christina/Mark/Kieran relationship in TDA). Why does all of this matter for SHTV? Well, Clare wrote TMI, and she made Clary the protagonist. So the fact that Clary is the protagonist of TMI was not some ancillary or inconvenient matter for SHTV. It was and is at the center of the books upon which SHTV is based, and as to which the show has IP rights.

[NB: This is not to suggest that Clare prefers Clary and Jace to other characters or other ships, or that other characters aren’t also heroic or ship-worthy -- they are, they are just not the protagonists of TMI. And, SHTV is still based on TMI.]

[NB2: And, I absolutely don’t mean to suggest that the show had to be a transcription of the books, or that only Clary and Jace should have gotten screen time. I am affirmatively HAPPY that the show gave rich story lines to other characters -- especially Simon, Magnus and Alec.]

With that background in mind, why do I think that Season 3B and the finale destroyed the Clary and Jace characters? Well -- and I know this sounds snarky -- let’s look at the parade of plotholes, the random redistribution of plot points, Clary’s loss of agency, the and general sidelining of the Clary and Jace characters and their heroism. (Again, spoilers to follow). I leave the memory wipe to last here, because I still can’t believe that anyone thought destroying three seasons of character development was a good idea.

1. Evil Clary story line: In the books, Jace is twinned with Jonathan. This makes narrative sense: Jace and Jonathan are “brothers” of a sort, having both been raised by Valentine, and Jace’s vulnerability to Jonathan (and Lilith) is rooted in childhood trauma of abuse and neglect that Jace endured at the hands of Valentine.

In the show, however, Clary is twinned with Jonathan. From the start, Clary’s ability to resist the rune is tied to her proximity to Jace. In fact, as 3B progresses, Clary becomes increasingly unhinged and violent any time she is physically separated from Jace. Eventually, when she is blasted behind a wall while on mission (and thus physically separated from Jace), she succumbs entirely. All of a sudden we have dark Clary, taking a walk on the wild side with the murderous brother who kidnapped her and nearly killed Jace just a few short weeks ago in show time. Dark Clary joining forces to burn down the world that she loved, and that she repeatedly saved. Really??? And then, when Jace and the others finally manage to free her from twinning rune, we see Clary saying that she WANTED to help Jonathan with his murderous rampage. And, we hear Jace saying that the call of blood was too hard for Clary to resist. Again, really??? The girl who killed her father, called upon an angel to bring her boyfriend back to life, survived the death of her mother, and who was nearly killed by her possessed boyfriend is somehow unable to resist the call of her Morgenstern blood? What about Clary’s agency? Her strength? Her love for Jace and her chosen family? Her identity as a shadowhunter? Enthralled book Jace at least still loves Clary, and has a scene where he temporarily breaks free of the twinning rune, and makes it clear to Jonathan that he hates him, and that he is being controlled. But Clary says she wanted to help her brother, and that it’s her fault for being unable to resist her “blood.” While team evil might have been fun -- and probably was a blast for the actors to play -- it didn’t make narrative sense to me. Not the biggest sin, and to each his own. But not for me.

2. Heavenly fire storyline: In the book, Jace is filled w/ heavenly fire. Clary eventually figures out how to get the heavenly fire from Jace into her weapon (heosphoros), which she uses to kill Jonathan. In the show, Izzy gets the entire heavenly fire storyline. Again, why??? For one thing, the scene in which Clary and Izzy fight (and Izzy ends up with the heavenly fire after being struck by shrapnel) -- while cool -- made no sense to me. Book Izzy is a formidable warrior. Show Izzy is disarmed by Clary (who has been training to be a shadowhunter for, like, 5 minutes at the time of their battle). Also, why does Izzy get the heavenly fire from a few bits of shrapnel, but Clary is totally fine after being STABBED by the sword? More generally, other than giving Izzy more to do, what was the thinking behind taking away this story arc from Clary and Jace? And, for making Jace basically a potted plant in 3B? (In contrast to book Jace — who was key to the good guys’ victory— show Jace is made to basically stand there: Show Alec, Izzy, Magnus, and Simon get literally every single heroic plot point in the finale — remember that we’re Lightwoods moment, sans Jace (the adoptive brother)?? — while Jace is relegated to crying or supporting Clary.)

3. The Jace character: While this post is principally about Clary, I can’t help but note that the show did everything possible to isolate Jace and make him incompetent and unlikable.

- Book Jace comes across as arrogant and as a wise ass, but Clary and Alec see the arrogance for what it is -- a coping mechanism/ PTSD following a childhood full of trauma at the hands of Valentine. Through his relationship with Clary, Jace learns that he is worthy of being loved, and that he can love without destroying. And, Jace’s parabatai bond is a source of strength and joy for both Alec and Jace. Show Jace gets none of this. 3B kept Clary and Jace apart from each other much of the time (what w/ Evil Clary preferring to help her murderous brother burn down the world). 3B also effectively eliminated the parabatai bond: Alec is entirely focused on his relationship with Magnus, and he is impatient with a clearly suicidal Jace. You can count on one hand the number of minutes that Alec and Jace are on screen together in 3B.

- Book Jace becomes (with Clary) head of the NY institute, having rejected and fought against bigoted members of the cohort. I appreciate that this likely could not be shown b/c the show does not have the rights to TDA, but this does not explain why the show made Jace so incompetent as head of the NY institute. Show Jace gets the job only because of nepotism (Herondale blood). Show Jace is on board with the downworlder registry. Show Jace is so incompetent that he abdicates in favor of Alec after about a day. None of this made any sense.

- Book Jace is all-in w/ Clary from the beginning. He has one encounter w. Aline, but that’s presented as being as much about Aline’s confirmation of her sexual identity as it is about Jace in turmoil. (I know some people object to CC’s writing of Aline, but again, it’s her story.) But even if the showrunners felt that the Jace/Aline hook-up was “problematic” -- and I get that some fans feel that way -- why did the show choose to do some weird male version of slut-shaming of Jace? There is the Jace encounter with Maia. (To be clear, this was shitty to the Maia character, too. She hooks up with a drunk rebounding Jace, whom she had just tried to kill. behind a bar.) And, the comments about Jace, Kaelie and book club. Everyone keeps talking on the show about how Jace sleeps around, and they judge him for it, when, in reality, Jace is pretty darn faithful to his relationship with Clary from the moment they meet. Simon, Clary, Alec, Magnus, and Izzy all have more sexual encounters (and in the case of Simon and Izzy, more partners) vs. show Jace. And no one calls Simon or Clary slutty. No one decides that Alec is unworthy b/c he lies to Magnus. And no one decides Magnus is unworthy or slutty or not devoted to Alec because he’s had many sexual partners in the past.

- As noted elsewhere, the show isolated and shamed a clearly depressed and suicidal Jace in 3B. He’s shown devastated and alone in 3B when he thinks Clary is dead in the “Lost Without You” montage: Alec (his parabatai) and Magnus are busy comforting each other; Maia is comforting Simon; Mayrse is nowhere to be found. Same thing after Jace almost gets himself killed on the mission involving the Seelie: Alec yells at him and tells him to suck it up; Mayrse once again is absent; and only Izzy checks in. Then, in the flash forward, Alec, Magnus, Izzy, Luke, Mayrse, and Maia all seem entirely unconcerned with Jace’s state of mind. Once again, he’s told to suck it up and move on.

4. Female characters/ sexuality generally on the show: So much could be written about the show’s treatment of its female characters generally. Book Izzy is strong and fierce, and yes, body and sex positive. Show Izzy is all over the map. S1 captures Izzy’s sass, but she’s treated like slutty eye candy sometimes. S2 and S3 Izzy has more depth, but less sass. Tell me again why she had to be a drug addict? Or, why she gets disarmed by Clary (who had a couple of months of training at that point in show time) in the finale? Or why she alone (vs. Mayre or Alec) is sent to check on a clearly suicidal Jace? To be clear, I loved the Jace/ Izzy bond, but why does the show let Alec and Mayrse off the hook w/ regard to Jace’s mental health, and leave Izzy w/ caretaking duties? And Mayrse, who seems to exist in season 3 solely for the purpose of being punished — and then being redeemed — for her S1 homophobia. She becomes “captain of the Malec ship” after being deruned, and then is shown caring for Alec when Magnus is in Edom, and nurturing the Malec relationship. But, she vacations in Brazil in the finale with zero regard for her grief-stricken, suicidal adoptive son? And then there is Maia. Why does she hook up with Jace against a wall behind a bar? And what’s with the forgiving her abuser storyline? And Clary. Believe me, nothing made me happier than the show’s decision to make reasonably short work of the incest story line. But to have Clary literally jump into bed with Simon, her bff? Immediately after learning --falsely, as it turns out -- that Jace was her sibling? Was that Clary’s first sexual encounter? Was is not weird to suddenly start sleeping with your friend (who you turned into the vampire, and who can walk in the daylight b/c he drank your ex-boyfriend/ now you think your sibling’s blood)? I know the books present Jace, Clary and Simon as a love triangle — YA, after all — but book Clary wrestles w/ her feelings for Simon. I get that aging them up on the show — which I liked — would have changed the dynamic around these relationships and the characters’ sex lives, but the handling of the Climon story line was so clumsy. And, in any event, why is S2 Clary snarky about Jace’s sexual past (the book club comments)? And in 3B, why does dark Clary manipulate — or worse — a basically roofied Jace at the club?

5. The Memory Wipe: OH.MY.GOD. I CANNOT EVEN CONVEY THE DEPTHS OF MY DISLIKE FOR THIS TROPE OF A PLOT POINT. In the book, Simon volunteers to give Asmodeus his memories, thus saving Magnus (and everyone else). Once again, this makes narrative sense -- Simon never wanted to be a vampire, and he (unlike Magnus) could survive the loss of his memories, and even return to mundane life. And, after Simon gives up his memories, his friends NEVER give up on him. Clary, Izzy, and the others watch him, they reach out to him, and eventually, with Magnus’s help, they reconnect with him. Magnus even says that stealing Simon’s memories was a little bit “fascist.”

Show Clary has it much, much worse. Let’s remember how it played out in the finale:

- Jonathan goes on a murderous rampage. Clary saves the world using her rune power, killing her last living relative, knowing she would be stripped of the Sight and her memories.

- Notwithstanding Jonathan’s mass slaughter and Clary’s sacrifice, the MOST IMPORTANT THING is that Magnus and Alec have decided to get married at the institute the very next day, after dating for about three months on-and-off in show time.

- And so we have much of the finale devoted to the wedding. We see everyone smiling and happy (despite the slaughter of shadowhunters around the world the day before and Jonathan’s death at Clary’s hands). We see Clary in a very revealing dress sobbing as she dances with her boyfriend and her runes are obviously disappearing -- but no one notices. We see Jace letting a sobbing Clary walk out the door.

- And then we see Clary alone, sobbing on the street in a revealing party dress, in the cold, with no memories, no I.D., no best friend, no love of her life, no money, no home (burned down in season 1), no mother (killed by Alec), no father figure. Nothing. I get that sacrifice is a shadowhunter virtue, but the trope of a memory wipe (I see you, Chuck) is SO far from canon, and so inconsistent with how Clare wrapped up the Clary (and Jace stories). Zero emotional logic.

- Then, to make matters worse, we jump ahead one year, and no one gives a shit about Clary or Jace or their sacrifice at all. Alec and Magnus are living their best life mixing cocktails in Alicante (leaving Alec’s clearly devastated and suicidal parabatai to just figure things out, I guess). Maryse (Jace’s adoptive mother) and Luke (Clary’s father figure) are vacationing in Brazil, seemingly more concerned about the humidity than they are about Clary or Jace; Izzy and Simon are loving life together at the NY institute (so much for Clary and Izzy as parabatai, or Simon and Clary’s friendship); and Simon tells a grieving, suicidal Jace -- the same Jace who almost killed himself a couple of weeks prior in show time -- to stop checking on Clary and to move on. Apparently, Simon thought that Maia’s naming a salad after Clary was enough. So much for Jace’s mental health. So much for Clary and Simon’s friendship (and in the books, their eventual parabatai bond).

- But, we we did get closure for the lizard/ Lorenzo; Underhill’s first name; and an update on Raphael. All of these developments were apparently more important than honoring Clary’s narrative arc, her chosen identify as a shadowhunter, her relationship with Jace, and her chosen family.

None of it made any sense.

1. Why would the angels strip Clary of the Sight when she used her rune power to SAVE THE DAMN WORLD? After all, let’s see who gets to keep the Sight/ memories in the showrunners’ telling: Valentine (insane, imprisoned an angel, killed downworlders and shadowhunters ); Jonathan (murderous, insane); Alec (killed Clary’s mother while possessed); Izzy (also possessed); Jace (killed his grandmother and mundanes while possessed, threw Clary off a roof, almost killed Alec); Jocelyn (almost killed Jace, circle member); Aldertree (despite getting Izzy addicted to drugs and torturing downworlders). The list goes on. But Clary’s invention of runes to stop her insane brother from destroying the world incurs the wrath of the angels?

2. The showrunners would have us believe that Clary lost the Sight (and her memories) because the angels were spiteful. How does this fit with Cassie Clare’s conception of angels AT ALL? They are completely unconcerned with human emotions in the books. And, why would only Clary suffer this fate when, as noted above, there are shadowhunters who did terrible things for entirely selfish or otherwise awful reasons?

3. In what world would Jace not notice his girlfriend’s runes disappearing? In what world would he ever let his sobbing, de-runed girlfriend -- whom he just got back from the twinning rune/possession/killing her last living relative -- walk out the door alone?

4. For a show so concerned about representation, what about Jace’s story as a survivor of childhood abuse and trauma? What about Jace’s near suicide earlier in 3B? Why does everyone in Jace’s life (specifically Alec after the Seelie mission and Simon in the finale) tell Jace to suck it up and move on when he is clearly depressed and suicidal? What about the show’s depiction of the relationship between Jace and his adoptive family? What message does the finale send about who was — and was not — a member of the Lightwood family when Mayrse and Alec either ignore Jace or yell at him when he is grieving and suicidal? So much for family. And, what about Clary’s mental health, after the showrunners stripped her of her friends, family, chosen family, memories, identity, home, and love?

And then, after all of this, the showrunners made things worse by talking up how important the wedding was for them, even as they made it clear they didn’t care about the resolution of the Clary, Jace and Clace story lines.

- The show runners misidentified the supposedly spiteful angel who I guess would have been the big bad in Season 4 in press coverage of the finale.

- They said they didn’t know where the Clary, Jace and Clace story was heading, and that “fan fiction” would figure it out.

- They talked about how difficult and important the seating chart was for the wedding, and about how they had tried to get every character, no matter how minor, back for the “reception” scene. And they spent precious time in the finale showing us party scenes involving ancillary non-canon characters (Underhill, Lorenzo) vs. coming up with a coherent resolution to the protagonist’s story.

- They engaged only with Malec content on social media, and talked endlessly how the show was a “love letter” to fans, and ignored less favorable fan reaction involving the Clary and Jace characters.

- Same drill for the writers, BTW. A young female writer for the show (who supposedly was the book stan in the writers’ room) has been on social media explaining how great it was Clary’s story line came “full circle” in finale. She’s now heading to a con with the show runners, having studiously ignored questions about the show’s treatment of Clary and Jace. (I get why she would do this — work, and all — but still.)

- To the extent the showrunners, producers, and writers have addressed Clary and Jace at all in press coverage of the finale, they have argued that the memory wipe was no harm/no foul b/c the final scene suggests that love conquers all. First, we knew that -- we are talking about a pulpy YA novel, after all. Second, if the last scene sends the message that love conquers all, it’s because Kat M. and Dom S., the performers, imbued that scene with more depth and emotion than the writing deserved. Finally, the love conquers narrative ignores the fact that Clary and Jace earned their character arcs as INDIVIDUALS, not just as half of a ship. Clary deserved her identity, her chosen family, and her love. Jace deserved his hard-won happiness with himself, and in his relationship with Clary (and in his relationships with Alec and Izzy). I personally didn’t want a wedding -- I don’t think anyone should get married after a few months of mostly unsuccessful dating. I did, however, want to see these characters enjoying their hard-won happiness vs. a dystopian future for two characters only, w/ a rom com meet cute tacked on at the end.

Fundamentally, the showrunners made SHTV into a fan service-, ship war- driven series of plotpoints in 3B and the finale. There are lots of potential reasons for this: Maybe they preferred the Malec storyline, and thought that playing to Malec fans might help the show get picked up (or maybe get a Malec spinoff approved); maybe they thought that punishing Jace and sidelining Clary might please some segments of the SHTV fandom; maybe they bought into the idea that the books are “problematic” and need to be fixed, or that dislike of certain performers justifies trashing the character. Whatever. The end result is the same: For me, they lost the narrative thread of the characters, and the emotional logic of the stories. They fed into a stupid ship war and a stupid book vs. show war. And, they played into scarcity, as if honoring Malec required tearing down Clace.

At the end of the day, the show runners’ decision to wipe Clary’s memory broke the show for me. No matter how much I love Malec, and no matter how amazing the last scene was (and how lovely the performances were in that scene), I will always believe that Clary and Jace deserved better.

And so I want to say to the showrunners and writers: NEXT TIME, LET YOUR PROTAGONIST HAVE HER STORY. SHE EARNED IT. (And FFS be tiny bit humble when there is source material :-).

#shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #shtv #clary #jace #clace #cassie clare #cassandra clare #tmi

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kiwisfics · 5 years

Text

[Nova and Hancock]

Her eyes were cold as she glared at the man in front of her, the icy blue color making her irritation all the more visible. She had her reasons for not trusting people, men in particular, but that didn’t mean she was letting this guy bully her into stepping down.

“You wanna move?” She cocked her head, eyes watching his hands as one of her own rested right next to her gun. Her fingers twitched as he moved, anxious to grab her protection, but in no hurry to have the town she’d wandered into turn on her so quickly. She was the outsider here, who’s to say this wasn’t an integral part of their town: hazing the newcomers with smoke in their face and a cocky grin.

She hated cigarettes. Brought back memories she’d rather forget—happy or not—they burned her lungs more from the bitterness of her thoughts than the smoke, though it didn’t feel too good going into her lungs either.

“First time in Goodneighbor? You can’t go walking around without insurance."

Her fingers twitched again, all too aware of where this conversation was headed. At least men were the same sleaze-bags they’d always been, that didn’t seem to have changed. "I’m not interested.” She glared at him, hoping her appearance was close enough to that of someone who had been raised in the Commonwealth, not in pre-war Massachusetts. She’d dropped the vault suit as soon as she could, but, in reality, there were plenty of ways to spot her softness.

“Now don’t be like that. I think you’re going to like what I have on offer. You hand over everything you got in them pockets or accidents start happenin’ to ya. Big, bloody accidents."

The tingle on the back of her neck warning of danger intensified and her hand wrapped around the pistol tucked in her waistband. She took a half step back, a twinge of fear sparking in her chest, reminding her that her once mostly irrational fear was very rational now, 200 years later. Gender hardly mattered now—anyone would be able to handle a pre-war softie like her—but still, her fear for men fueled the trembling beginning in her hands.

"Whoa, whoa, time out.” Her eyes flickered in the direction of the new voice, expecting it to be someone who’d seen the weapon she was all too prepared to pull and was coming to back up her assailant. She took a step back, having to force herself not to pull her gun upon noticing his appearance.

Wait.

What?

She hadn’t expected a ghoul, in fact, she didn’t even know there were ghouls that didn’t attack on sight. Preston had mentioned it, she thought, but she was still reeling from her departure from the vault to recall in detail. Truth be told, that entire encounter felt hazy, had she really slaughtered those people? Had she really killed that-that… thing?

“Someone steps through the gate the first time, they’re a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.” He was defending her? That was the last thing she’d expected.

“What do you care? She ain’t one of us."

A lump formed in her throat. No, she wasn’t going to cry—anyone could see the outcome of that—but she’d thought she’d at least put on a good act. She wasn’t sure if he meant one of them as in their town, or the Commonwealth as a whole, but she knew good and well she wasn’t either. She was just a woman out of her time, hunting for a son she could only hope was alive.

"No love for your mayor, Finn? I said let her go.” Another thing to add to the list of surprises. He was the mayor.

“You’re soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there’ll be a new mayor."

"Come on, man. This is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something."

Nova reeled back as the mayor stabbed her would-be mugger, just as scared when he hit the ground as when he had been standing over her. Brutal. She’d been prepared to fire a bullet through his skull moments before, but the absolute abruptness of the attack knocked her off guard. Had she really expected a peaceful outcome for any conflict from this war-torn world? It was kill or be killed, in the most literal sense of the term.

"You alright, sister?"

Her eyes raised from the body when he addressed her, looking from him to the body and back a couple of times before she seemed to catch up with the situation again.

That was a loaded question. Was anyone alright in this world? There were monsters and people killing each other everywhere she turned; no she wasn’t okay, but she doubted he wanted the real answer and screaming in his face about how she wanted to shove herself back into the cryopod she’d crawled out of didn’t sound like a good idea.

She wanted Nate.

It was something she’d never expected to think. Yes, she’d loved him—as much as you could make yourself love anyone—and no, she wouldn’t wish him dead, but she hadn’t dwelled on his death the way she expected most wives would have. They were dumb kids when they’d married, her to escape the burden her last name carried and him for the delusion of loving her. In the end, she’d married a man like her father, but that wasn’t the point. He was intimidating and experienced. He could handle this far better than she could.

She wished she had died.

It was morbid and most certainly not a thought she would act on, but she couldn’t help but think it. Nate had far more of a chance than her of saving their son. Shaun deserved more than the human disaster she was to give him a chance of being rescued.

"Anyone in there?"

She blinked, slowly coming back from her thoughts. "You're… a ghoul.” It sounded so dumb, so sheltered. No one who belonged here would have stated something as obvious as that. It crossed her mind as an afterthought that she might have offended the man who just straight up murdered someone in front of her.

His chuckle caught her off guard, though it eased her concerns a bit, “Good eye. Lot of walking rad freaks like me around here, so you might want to keep those kind of statements on the low burner next time. Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone’s welcome."

"Sorry.” She weighed her words carefully, not wanting to farther prove she’d practically just stepped into this world and had no idea what was going on, but, she decided eventually, what did it matter? He could probably tell just from the way her startled eyes darted away when they caught the slightest movement. “I didn’t mean anything. It’s just, you’re the first non—feral? Is that what he called them?—that I’ve met."

She’d left Preston behind the moment they’d reached Sanctuary, too unnerved by the group to stick around for long, kind as they seemed—Marcy Long aside. Though she’d blocked most of what he said from her mind—ghouls, Minutemen, raiders, it was too much—she could recall some of what he had said, she didn’t have an outstanding memory as it was, and the stress she was under didn’t exactly make her want to remember.

"Did you step out of a vault yesterday?"

More than just a vault. "I should go.” She was gone before anything more could be said.

Nova rolled a pen she’d found in one of the buildings she’d scavenged over her knuckles, repeating the process as she stared at the water in front of her. She’d really let herself get sucked into trouble this time, hadn’t she?

She’d let passion cloud her judgement, the idea of robbing a bigoted town too much to resist. At least something felt normal again: she was screwing herself over.

Fine. She finally stopped rolling the pen. It was a… somewhat honest mistake. The last thing she wanted was to make herself seem blindly trusting, but she had gotten herself in this mess. She just had to hope he believed that her naivety was what got her into this situation.

She stepped lightly, something she’d always done in the presence of multiple people, making each footstep completely silent and slinking around practically pushed against the wall. The less eyes that met her frame the better.

Nova offered a nod to Fahrenheit as she noticed her before heading towards Hancock’s form in the opposite direction.

She couldn’t help but be proud over the fact that Fahrenheit had seemed impressed with how quickly she’d dealt with Bobbi, but she knew—even if absolutely no one else noticed—she knew how to use a gun. That was one of the joys of family in the country, plenty of targets and space to hone your senses.

She rubbed the back of her head as she announced her presence with a less than comital “So, uh, I might have messed up.” She avoided his gaze, hand twitching for something to fidget with. Yet another reason Nate should have survived; he didn’t have anxiety. “Maybe. Just a… okay definitely and a lot. Sorry."

She’d never liked admitting she was wrong, especially when it was obvious, people always seemed to love holding her mistakes over her and she thought about them enough as it was. Still, something about his amused grin made the apology a bit more bearable.

"Hey, this is Goodneighbor. No hard feelings.” At least that was something she could be grateful for, despite everything. “Here, for protecting my stash.” Nova was all too quick to accept the caps, whether she’d earned them or not, she was eating through caps far too quick. “Wise decision turning on Bobbi like that."

"Wanted to steal from jerks, not the guy who killed a bully for trying to take my lunch money.” It felt good to joke, even when it came to such a morbid subject. Guess jokes were probably morbid around here anyway, what with the world having ended and all.

“Lemme tell ya, this classy little tricorner hat of mine is getting heavy. Am I turning into the man? Some kind of tyrant?” Nova cocked her head. Tyrant was the last word she would have used to describe him, especially in the terms of the days she came from. Besides, anyone would protect what was theirs. She faintly remembered punching a kid in grade school when he took one of her crayons and had to fight down a grin. “I spend all my time putting down the people I would’ve been proud to scheme with just a few years ago. I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what really matters: Living free.”

“You can do that? Gotta figure people won’t be too pleased with you leaving with someone who stumbled into town two days ago."

"Hey, the mayor’s still the mayor, whether he’s ‘in residence’ or not. I’ve walked out of here plenty of times. Keeps me honest. Can’t let power get to my head. That’s not what being in charge of Goodneighbor’s about."

Nova hesitated, all the lines she’d taught herself echoing in the back of her mind. Men are dangerous. Men will use you until they get tired of you. The thoughts lead down a rabbit hole of things her father had taught her, ranging from the general to the more personal, but still, the words slipped out before she could stop them and she wasn’t about to say she’d slipped up. "You’re welcome to tag along with me.”

“Yeah, I like it. You might just be the right kind of trouble."

She’d never admit it, but, just for a moment, she considered responding with, I could say the same about you.

#john hancock #john hancock x sole #hancock x sole #hancock x sole survivor #fallout 4 #fallout x reader #fallout imagines #fallout #fallout 4 x reader #fallout 4 x imagines #nova cort

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howtohero · 4 years

Text

(Note: This is Part 3 of a three part story. Part One. Part Two.)

You need my help? You invade my home. You invade my blog. You send a bomb to my office and then you send me through some sort of grief spiral all so you could turn into a ghost to better commit crimes and now you want my help? <I remember a few of those events differently, and I appreciate that my death moved you, but yes that’s the gist of it. I need your help.> You’ve got a lot of nerve Kaminksy. <Listen, I’ll grant you that the bomb we got in the mail was one of mine. I recognized it as soon as you, like an idiot, opened the package. But I didn’t mail that bomb to the office. This is not my scheme. I never intended on becoming a ghost to better commit crimes. I was quite fine committing crimes as an alive person!> Wait, you didn’t send the bomb? <No, of course not!> Then who did? <I don’t know!> And that’s what you need my help with? You want me to help you find whoever attacked us? <No, I can handle that on my own. I don’t think you’d approve of the hyper villainous revenge I have in mind for once I find them.> So what do you need my help with? And to be clear, I am not actually offering my help. <That’s very sweet of you. Hold on I think I’ve got a tear in my eye.> Ghosts don’t cry Brainwave. They wail. <Oh they wail, good to know. Good to know. Can I ask what else they do?> What else they-? Ah, that’s why you came to me. You don’t actually know how to be a ghost do you? <Listen, I just figured since you do all these guides, and I know you’ve mentioned ghosts once or twice that you could maybe help me find my bearings.> All right Brainwave you drive a hard bargain, I’ll help you figure out your new lease on death, but you have to find the person who tried to kill us, and bring him to justice. <Deal! Teach me about ghosts, I’ll find the person who killed me, kill them, and then bring their ghost to justice!> You’ll bring them in alive thank you very much! <Uch, fine. Whatever.>

#250 Being a Ghost

So, you’ve died, that’s a bit of a bummer, and what’s more? You didn’t even get to enjoy the eternal rest you were promised. You’ve certainly had better days. Remember the time you caught that really big fish? You were browsing in the supermarket, ranking all the groceries based on annoyed your enemies would be if you hurled them at them, and all of a sudden you notice a ginormous fish attempting to shoplift some boxes of crackers, but you caught them and the supermarket gave you some free eggs and your enemies were very annoyed when you hurled them at them. That was a great day. This day is worse. Because you are dead. But you’re not really as dead as you thought you’d be. You’re still around, just different. Your physical body has expired, but your soul, your spirit lives on, and thus, you’ve been given a new lease on life. A ghostly one. (Oh, hey, we’re doing one of these today? I thought we agreed to take a few weeks off after you know...) Nah! Who needs a break! It’s important to get right back in the saddle! (All right, but I expect you to make up those vacation days. I was gonna go horseback wrestling.)

Being a ghost isn’t all that different from being alive. You can still think, you can still experience emotions, you can still smell and see and hear things. You can still be disappointed by your friends and loved ones for not supporting your career as a ghostly standup comic. (When entering into any creative career it is important to have your own unique shtick, to set you apart. And being a ghost is as good of a shtick as any in standup comedy!) However, just like when you first became alive, it will take time to learn how to do these seemingly basic things as a ghost.

As we get into a lot of this stuff I just want to nip a few common misconceptions about ghosts in the bud:

Lie: Ghosts can’t touch things. Truth: Ghosts can touch things, but not in the same was that living things do. Ghosts are indeed incorporeal so they cannot feel things against their bodies. But that doesn’t mean they can’t move or manipulate things that are external to them. They do this by harnessing the “dead energy” around them. “Dead energy” is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. It’s basically a catchall term for any forces or presences that cannot be used, studied, or even noticed by living beings. From conversations that I’ve had with ghosts I’ve gleaned that using dead energy to move things is kind of like a cross between telekinesis and touching things while wearing gloves. Being able to manipulate death energy is how ghosts can rattle chains, flick lights on and off, bisect cows and hurl the pieces at bigots, hold the microphone during karaoke, all the fun stuff they used to be able to do while alive.

Lie: Ghosts look like bedsheets. Truth: Ghosts can look like bedsheets. But that’s their choice. Ghosts are spirits who have finally broken free from the mortal flesh prisons. They are no longer hindered by an unchanging form. (I mean, sure you can change your appearance when you’re alive but to do that you have to like put on makeup or go to the gym or eat one million pizzas and that all requires grit and determination.) A fun perk about being a ghost that many people don’t know about is that they’re basically limitless shapeshifters. If you don’t like the way you looked while you were alive, there is no need to continue to look like that now that you’re dead!

Lie: The only job a ghost can get in today’s economy is some form of haunting. Truth: Even just twenty years ago, ghosts were rather limited in what they could or could not do. They could haunt houses, they could haunt castles, they could haunt comedy clubs (yearning for the day that they could finally be accepted as the world’s first, only, and by default, greatest ghost comedian). They could haunt pretty much anything, but that’s all they could do. I think the fact that there were basically no limits on what a ghost could haunt made people think that ghosts had plenty of career opportunities but that was just not the case. Nowadays, thanks in large part to the Headless Horsemen and other ghost activists groups, ghosts play a role in many many more industries than their old haunting haunts. Ghosts can be lawyers. Ghosts can be doctors. Heck! Ghosts can even be writers! Ghosts have become secret agents, search and rescue leaders, even the occasional superhero! (And sure, there are few supervillains out there too, so if there are any ghostly supervillains out there who are reading this for some reason. Get over yourself. You’re not that special.)

Lie: Only people with a certain “sixth sense” can see ghosts. Truth: This one’s actually a pretty funny story. Ghosts can turn invisible and intangible at will. It’s a function of their limitless shapeshifting. So, once upon a time, a bunch of ghosts got together and decided they really enjoyed the privacy that being invisible afforded them. When you’re visible people judge you like “Uch, that ghost is so spooky, does it have to resemble the corpse of a little girl?” and sure, that ghost didn’t need to look like that. It was an aesthetic choice. But is that so wrong? Do ghosts really deserve to be judged for their appearances? These ghosts decided that being able to see them was something only a select few trusted individuals would be able to do. Since then ghosts have occasionally decided to allow people to believe that they have the incredible power to see ghosts and the rest is history!

With all that in mind you’re ready to begin this new phase of your existence. (Get it? phase? Because ghosts can phase through things!) Good point! As a ghost you now have a number of incredible abilities that you didn’t have when you were alive. We’ve spoken about shapeshifting and turning invisible but you can also become intangible! Which is where that misconception about ghost’s not being able to touch things comes from. (I once read that the only things ghosts could touch were bedsheets and rusty chains, and that they wore bedsheets so that their fellow ghosts could see them, and they rattled chains to get people’s attention because they couldn’t tap them on the shoulder. The things people will believe!) Intangibility is great for getting into places you could never get into when you were alive. Like your father’s secret study where he keeps all of his mint condition figurines or the “cowboy’s only” lounge at the airport.

Most ghosts also have the ability to produce some sort of ectoplasmic slime. This stuff is relatively harmless to human beings but it is very gross and smells and tastes very bad! It’s also great for creating a spooky ambiance. You can use it to scare criminals, keep people out of places you don’t want them in, ruin a perfectly good breakfast. Once you get a bit more used to being a ghost you’ll learn how to shoot this ooze as a projectile and then you can finally enter into the annual slimeball fights that are probably a thing in the ghost community!

In certain situations you’ll also be able to possess living things. This is generally frowned upon, superheroes generally try to not to override people’s freewill. That’s a very supervillainy thing to do. I guess if you were a supervillain you could do this and it might help you infiltrate places or even to glean information from people. I don’t know just some possibilities. Obviously I’m not condoning any of this. I assume only superheroes are reading this blog. Possessing can only occur if you are a very strong-willed ghost and they are a very weak-willed living being. I suppose then its not even so bad is it? Like if their will is so weak that they can’t prevent you from taking over their body isn’t it kind of like they wanted or at least allowed this to happen? Anyway, it’s really only a supervillain thing. Don’t do this unless you’re a supervillain. (Uh, and don’t do this if you are a supervillain. No possessions please!)

Ghosts can also fly! They have no need to stay on the ground because, as we’ve said, they are untethered souls. So enjoy swooping and soaring through the skies. In this instance, you’re actually better off than living beings who can fly. They have to worry about crashing into things, or getting bugs stuck in their teeth, or getting attacked by birds who feel threatened by them. Ghosts don’t have any of those problems! They can turn intangible and invisible! Just fly through whatever the heck you want!

But for real though, being a ghost isn’t all fun and games though (you know, all those classic games where you shoot horrible horrible ooze from your mouth at your enemies and then fly off into the night rattling chains the whole way). Your soul yearns for eternal rest, yet it cannot achieve it until it fulfills its final purpose on this Earth. Not everybody becomes a ghost, generally it is only those who have unfinished business at the time of their death. Sometimes humans are kept around as ghosts because they are to complete some mission for some higher power. Something like avenging their own death or sitting through this being’s friend’s seven hour off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-Broadway show (it’s in Maine). So, if you find that you are indeed chained to this plane of existence, you might want to think about why this could be. If there are any ghosts out there who would like to talk about what they might want to be doing with the extra time they’ve been given, well you know where to find me. (Wait! No! Don’t invite any more ghosts here! Diego A. Wayghosts said he’d quit if he had to perform an exorcism on the washing machine again!)

Being a ghost doesn’t have to mean your life is over, it just means your life is different. Many people find a renewed sense of purpose in becoming a ghost. Being a ghost allows you to pursue your passions without having to worry about eating, drinking, breathing, and not contracting a horrible illness! (Most of the ghost illnesses are relatively bearable and tend to pass within a few days.) Being a ghost gives you some extra time to take care of the things you kept pushing off when you were alive. So if you’re a ghost, good luck out there. We believe in you.

You there? <I’m here yeah.> Did you get what you needed? <I think so, and sorry in advance about your bedroom.> What did you do to my bedroom! <Well that slime thing sounded super interesting and I figured you wouldn’t be in your bedroom since you were writing this post so...> You got slime everywhere! What the hell man! <Hey, don’t say that word. If what you said is true, then as soon as I find the guy who killed me I could pass on and end up in Hell.> Fredrick, it doesn’t have to go that way. <You said I’d only be a ghost until I wrap any of my unfinished business.> And who says that has to end with you going to Hell for all eternity! Maybe you’re still here in order to make amends. <What are you getting at?> All I’m saying is that you spent most of your life as a supervillain. An over the top, absurd, sometimes downright stupid supervillain. But towards the end of your life, you moved in with us, and whether you like it or not, you occasionally helped us explain things to new superheroes. You spent the last year and a half of your life actually doing some good. And then, at the end, you sacrificed yourself to save the rest of us. Maybe that’s why you’re still here. Your soul is in conflict with itself. It doesn’t know whether you were good or bad. <Bad. I’m a bad guy! How dare you imply otherwise! You know what? Just for that, when you get around to cleaning up your bedroom, I’m gonna come back and ooze all over it again!> Gross, no thanks. Listen to me, you have another shot here. You’ve been given incredible powers. You’ve been removed from everything holding you back when you were alive. I think you can really use this opportunity to do a lot of good. <Bah! No thanks!> Whoever killed you is a bad guy, I think we can both agree on that. You’re not going to find them by going back to mutating alligators or creating a lab grown dodo bird and selling it to the highest bidder. You find them by fighting any bad guys you come across, work your way back to the source. Brainwave, I think it’s time you actually put your money where your mouth is and did something good for a change. <That’s not who I am.> It’s not who you were. It’s not who Dr. Brainwave was. But Dr. Brainwave blew up last week. He’s dead. You’re something else. Something new. And I think you have a chance here to be something better. <Listen, even if I bought into what you were saying. I don’t know the first thing about being a good guy.> Sure you do! Don’t kill anybody, don’t commit any heinous crimes, and don’t try to take over the world. Everything else you need to know... well, we’ve been writing this guide for a few years now haven’t we? That should get you started. <Hrm.> You’ve got the chance to do something really good here Frederick. Don’t let it pass you by. <Fine. Fine, I’ll give it a shot. I don’t want my life to have meant nothing. I guess... I guess if I can’t take over the world, then I might as well leave it a better place than I found it. I’ll make it the kind of place that doesn’t need to be taken over.> Ok! Now we’re talking. And remember, I’m always here if you need help or guidance with something. You and me Brainwave, we can do some real good here. <Don’t call me that.> Pardon? <Brainwave, Dr. Brainwave. You’re right, that man is dead. It’s time to start over.> Well, if you need help, you know where to find it. <Heh, yeah. Thanks. For everything.> Anytime old friend. Good luck out there. I believe in you.

#superhero #superheroes #comics #comedy #humor #funny #hilarious #Dr. Brainwave #The Death of Dr. Brainwave #A How To Hero Event #ghosts #being a ghost #spirits #apparations #death #Headless Horsemen #Diego A. Wayghosts #sixth sense

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potter-loves-malfoy · 6 years

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you have a few favorites? They don't have to be brand new or anything. Just some that you love?

I have some new and some old! Also some Jeddy cuz I’ve been reading a whole lot of Jeddy lately, but I’ll put those in the end! Also, this is gonna be mostly smut because that's what I mostly read unless I’m in a very wholesome mood. This is gonna be long, like very long, I’m bad at picking favorites there are just too many (34 to be exact, apparently and this is the most I could narrow it down). (I also ran out of things to say because I remember loving those fics SO MUCH but I dont remember enough to give a “review”)

The Magic Cat by dot_the_writer

When Harry sees Draco Malfoy with painted nails and wearing an oversized jumper covered in cat fur, his obsession from school comes back in full force. Featuring supportive friends, cute cats and lots of Harry figuring out what he wants.

This one I read just this morning when my best friend asked me to rec her some hurt/comfort (hi Jess) and it’s my most recent favorite. Sooo cute!

A New Page by bixgirl1

Draco just wanted to find out what was up with Potter’s new attitude. Some light stalking, the discovery of a hidden diary, and a lot of wanking later, and he has some answers.

They’re just not the ones he expected.

(Things have changed since sixth year, folks. …Mostly.)

This one also, I read fairly recently and I mean @bixgirl1 fics, do I even need to say more?

The Tapestry of Kinship by khalulu

Harry is at loose ends, Draco is good with needles, and Draco’s young daughter wants to see a certain tapestry repaired. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will never be the same.

Helix by Saras_Girl

Seven months after the end of the war, Harry is feeling lost. Fortunately, he is about to be offered an unexpected and sparkling chance to find himself again. [2014 advent fic]

Sanguis Vita Est by Shiguresan

Whilst Voldemort’s prisoner, Draco is made a vampire and forced to take Harry as his first meal. With Draco managing to resist the temptation to drain him, just barely, in a moment of blind rage at what he has been forced to become, he aids Harry in the destruction of Voldemort. But even with that threat vanquished, once back at Hogwarts, Draco finds himself disturbingly addicted to Harry’s blood. And amongst all this, a dark shadow looms ominously on the outline of the forest, watching them closely. A vampire!Draco story and also an ‘Eighth year’ story.

I read this ages ago but I remember hesitating before I started to read this because it’s 312k+ and I didn’t really read super long fics back then, but I loved this so much, also vampire!Draco is a good

Turn by Saras_Girl

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

My favorite execution of the “character’s life kinda sucks so character magically gets sent to an alternate universe” trope. Oh also, it’s part of a series

dirtynumbangelboy by magpie_fngrl

After Harry’s unfortunate encounter with his ex, Draco Malfoy makes him a proposition. Draco wants his parents to stop matchmaking him and Harry wants to make his ex jealous. All they need to do is simply pretend they’re in love. Problem is… Draco already is.

Again another amazing fake relationship fic!

Give Me Sweet Oblivion by tryslora

Italy seems like a long way to go to keep a fetish secret. But the club is exclusive, and the far away location, and Muggle nature, promises anonymity from Wizarding Britain. The only problem is that sometimes, great minds think alike.

One of the actual hottest smut fics that I’ve read, recced to me by my friend @the-cellar-spiral Fun fact, we planned and failed to write a kind of sequel to this, we had @tryslora ‘s permission and everything, we just never really had time, but who knows maybe in the future.

Every Me and Every You by bixgirl1

Harry liked his life just fine, thankyouverymuch — so it was bad enough when a sly fairy cursed him to leap into alternate realities. But seeing Malfoy in all of them? Definitely way too much. And worse yet: needing the bastard’s help to figure out how to get out of of it.

It was a disaster waiting to happen, really.

Well… probably.

Another AMAZING alternate universe fic, using @magpiefngrl ‘s tumblr prompt AU’s as said alternate universes that Harry keeps going in and out of, which makes it 974957839 times better! Also Unspeakable!Draco, also the alternate realities are almost always sexual and it’s great

Dating for Dads in Denial by aibidil

In which one wizard designs and another reluctantly patronises a magical matchmaking service, amidst the chaos of children and parenting.

Since You Asked by Magnolia822

Newly retired Draco Malfoy writes an anonymous agony column for the Quibbler, for which he quickly gains a reputation for offering pithy, practical advice. His life is comfortably predictable until he receives a letter from a reader seeking a divorce from his wife of thirty years. The situation seems far too familiar … could the writer be the Savior himself?

Salty Sweet by Aelys_Althea

Draco was a Master. He’d always been one, but having a town of Muggles consider him as close to God’s gift as they would ever receive was certainly validating. Except it wasn’t enough. After years of settling, of conjuring masterpieces with his fingers and his prowess, Draco realised he needed a change.

How hard could it be to find an apprentice pâtissier that did what they were told? As it happened, doing ‘what was told’ was about the last thing on his inevitable prospect’s mind. Trust Harry Potter to be the one to turn Draco’s life upside down.

Moldova’s Magical Tea by aibidil

Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and—to everyone’s surprise—Draco Malfoy are opening a magical tea shop to revive wizarding tea culture and, hopefully, to bring the community together after the war. Harry, who is unemployed and trying to find his way in post-war society, wants to help his friends with their new business—but that means spending a lot of time around Malfoy. Featuring Muggle music from summer 2001, trips to the Muggle cinema, herbology and magical herbal infusions, and Draco trying to convince Harry that, while he’s still a snarky git, he’s no longer a bigot.

The Critiquer by dysonrules

When Harry submits his cock photo to a renowned Cock Critiquer and gets a terrible review, he decides to take a photography class to hopefully improve his skills.

Career Choices: Harry: Shiftless layabout; Draco: Cock Critiquer

But, In Dreams by kedavranox

Harry is a Seer, with a particular affinity for speaking to the dead, but this comes at a price he’s slowly killing himself to pay.

My Name Was Safest in Your Mouth by alpha_exodus

Harry didn’t ask for Malfoy to walk into his shop after so many years. But one event leads to another, and soon they’re scrambling to help Hermione find the solution to one of the most insidious viruses the wizarding world has ever seen. To make matters worse, Malfoy’s hiding something, and Harry really wants to kiss him—except Malfoy doesn’t date. Ever.

I Can’t Take It! by XxTheDarkLordxX

After the war, Draco Malfoy became an author. A best selling author whose books move the hearts of those who read them. Which wouldn’t be a problem for Ron if all of them weren’t about Harry! It was obvious to him that Malfoy was in love with his best friend but why was it that no one else seemed to think so? He was going to get to the bottom of this and get Harry to stop mooning over the blonde idiot at the same time. Perhaps, they just needed someone to come along and get them to fess up. For the safety of his own sanity, Ron was going to help Malfoy ensnare Harry. That is, if they can get along long enough not to kill each other.

The Full Monty by magpie_fngrl

Harry poses for a naked Auror calendar and Draco goes batshit crazy with lust.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop

It’s Potter’s fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It’s been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco’s getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he’s falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Moon-Eyed by loveglowsinthedark

Draco Malfoy, Head of Veela Affairs at the Department of Magical Beings, does not do people favours.

Harry Potter, recently turned werewolf, is not “people” – not to Draco anyway.

Does Draco plan to fall in love with Harry when he decides to help him? No. Does he end up falling in love with him anyway? Pft, what do you think?

Adventures in Solitude (Are You There, Sirius? It’s Me, Draco) by oceaxe

Draco is grateful to have had Sirius’ portrait to confide in all those years ago, about his sexuality and unwanted feelings for a classmate named Harry. But when he gets the portrait out of storage after twenty years, the secrets he has kept from Sirius all along come out. Secrets about Draco’s role in the war… and secrets about Harry Potter.

Proof of the Pudding by gracie137

When Greg’s bakery opens on Diagon Alley, Draco doesn’t expect it to the place he ends up finding love, but then again Harry Potter had always ended up defying Draco’s expectations.

AKA: The One Where Gregory Goyle somehow ends up running both a bakery and a match making service.

The Rules of Matchbreaking by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)

For Prompt #51:When Draco gets fired, he reluctantly agrees to break up a girl’s relationship for her disapproving mother. Through word of mouth, the one-time gig turns him into a professional Matchbreaker, however he winds up falling for one of his clients and must somehow balance his secret job and love life.[excerpt]:“So who is it? The Curse-breaker and the Veela? The head of the Department of Magical Transportation?” Draco’s eyes lit up. “The Dragon-tamer?” Now that particular Weasley could be fun.

“No. It’s Harry,” Hermione said, the name exploding out of her in a rush.

Draco blinked, stunned into silence.

“Harry,” he said, after he recovered his faculties. “You want me to break up Harry and the Weaselette?!“

One Night at the Leaky by birdsofshore

Harry should have known better than to accept a drunken dare. Especially when Malfoy was sitting right there, looking like that and wearing those bloody tight trousers.

This is the very first Drarry fic I read, while trying to research dares for a seungchuchu fic I was writing at the time and it is the fic that made me ship Drarry and it will always hold a special place in my heart.

Ligabus Filium by Tessa Crowley (tessacrowley)

It should be careful, deliberate, but it isn’t. Like every other part of their relationship, it happens gradually and then all at once, before they even realize it. And when the little blue threads bind them together, there’s no going back.

The Printed Press by Soupy_George

Draco Malfoy was still slightly amazed that he was standing on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He never would have thought that Harry Potter’s very public and very … sweary, emotional explosion would have led to him offering Draco, of all people, a job.

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl

Professor Malfoy’s world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

Foundations!verse by Saras_Girl

Reparations by Saras_Girl

Harry is about to discover that the steepest learning curve comes after Healer training, and that second chances can be found in unexpected places.

Foundations by Saras_Girl

When one door closes, another one opens – with a bit of a push. Life, love, and complications. [sequel to Reparations]

So this was included in my healer!Harry rec list but this series is just so good also it has way too many fics in the series for me to link to all of them but once you read the two main fics there’s no way you’re not gonna wanna read the one-shots that come with the series as well.

Are You Mine? by gracerene

A trilogy of fics set in an Epilogue-Compliant Harry Potter ‘Verse, with various accompanying time-stamps and one-shots. Fics are in chronological order.

Not Just When You Want to Be by gracerene

A little over a year after the end of the war, fate seems intent on pushing Harry and Draco together. Staying together is a different matter entirely.

What I’m Waiting to Find by gracerene

James has devoted the past two years to being the best damn Chaser that Puddlemere United has ever seen…and to getting over his teenage crush on Teddy. But when Teddy comes back to England after a long stint abroad, James’s resolve to move on is put to the test.

All of the Time by gracerene

Twenty-five years later, Harry and Draco find their way back to one another.

I read this one fairly recently as well and this is definitely one of my all-time favorite series, the first and third fics are Drarry and the second is Jeddy. I honestly love this so much that I lowkey want to go find @gracerene09 down and thank her for writing such an amazing series. Oh fair warning though, the first fic made me ugly cry and opened a wound that only the third fic could heal so you know, prepare yourself. There are also accompanying oneshots that are also v amazing!

This Must Be the Place by aibidil

When your dad is Harry Potter, your face shows up in Teen Witch, your social media videos go viral, and sometimes your life depends on pretending to date your metamorph godbrother, whom you’ve been over for years, thank you very much. Or, the one where James and Teddy do animal yoga and risqué karaoke and their families could do with seeing fewer videos of them snogging.

I’m a sucker of the fake relationship trope and @aibidil wrote this sooo beautifully

The Hidden Side by gracerene

Twenty years ago today, James Sirius Potter was born into this world. Four years, two months, and six days later, somebody took him.

Oh god this, THIS Auror!Teddy is one of my favorite Teddy’s. Also super intriguing plot and still quite a few unexpected twists even though the biggest revelation you guess/know pretty early on. Oh and background drarry!

#a 'few' favorites #i'm a mess #i got v carried away #favorites #Drarry fluff #drarry smut #drarry fanfic #drarry fic recs #drarry rec list #jeddy #jeddy fanfic #my rec lists

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 5 years

Text

Baby Daddy - Chapter 13

You can read it here on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

Laura blinks her eyes open in the gloom. Her arms and her shoulders hurt. It takes her a moment to realise she can’t move them. They’re chained above her, and her weight is hanging from them. She drags her feet along the floor—grit crunches under the soles of her shoes—and gets them under her. She moves her weight to her legs to ease the pain in her shoulders, and then shakes her aching head to try to shift the curtain of her hair hanging in front of her face.

“It’s always an abandoned industrial hellscape, isn’t it?” Peter asks in an acerbic tone from somewhere nearby. “Never a nice condo, or even someone’s garage. So predictable.”

Laura grunts, nowhere near alert enough to appreciate his sarcasm. Her sluggish brain is still trying to get a fix on what the fuck has happened. She turns her head and peers in his direction.

He’s hanging suspended in the same manner she is—arms wrenched up above him, and his ankles bound in a chain.

They’re in a…a meat locker? The room is dusty, and dark, and it’s not refrigerated now, but it’s clear that’s what it was used for once: there are hooks hanging from the ceiling and old stains on the floor.

“I made the jump, Uncle Peter,” she murmurs, still not quite understanding how she came to be in this place. “Made it.”

“I know you did, Lulu.” His voice is strained. “I know you did.”

She remembers jumping.

She remembers a sudden burst of pain in her chest.

She remembers more pain after that—hot, acid, so bad it flared white against her vision—and someone laughing as they pressed burning ashes into the hole in her chest.

She drops her chin to her chest now, and sees the bloodied, tattered hole in her favourite t-shirt. The skin underneath it is unblemished though. She feels a little weak still, from her exposure to the wolfsbane, but she knows there’s none in her system still.

She was shot, but she’s been healed. And she knows it’s not a mercy.

She looks at Peter again. His sweater and his jeans are pocked with holes, stained with blood, but he’s not hurt anymore either.

“Why?” she asks.

Peter always knows how to follow the train of her thought. “I can only assume they want Derek too, and they know that if they break his pack bonds, he’ll realise we’re dead, and not come back looking for us.”

They don’t know he left, Laura thinks. They don’t know he ran. They think he’ll come searching for his pack like any beta would.

“Derek doesn’t even feel the pack bonds like I do.” Laura’s throat is dry.

“He should though,” Peter says. “A beta should.”

But then Derek’s been an omega in everything but name for so, so long, hasn’t he? For the first time since she faced up to how she’s failed him as an alpha, Laura almost feels glad. Because if Derek can’t feel the bonds the way he’s supposed to, then maybe he’ll just keep running.

Maybe Laura’s failure will save him.

***

It’s hours before anyone comes. Laura listens, and sometimes she can hear the faint sound of the hunters’ voices, muffled through distance and several heavy doors. She hears men talking, and one woman. It can only be Kate Argent.

Laura’s eyes sting with angry tears when she thinks of how this woman raped her little brother when he was just sixteen, and manipulated him into giving her the information she needed to murder their pack. She destroyed them. She burned them to the ground, and now she’s back to salt the earth.

Laura thinks of the tiny life growing inside her, little more than a hummingbird’s thrumming heartbeat at the moment, and of eyes that may never open. She wonders if her baby would have had the green eyes of a Hale, or Stiles’s long lashes and burnt-caramel gaze.

“Don’t you dare,” Peter murmurs. His expression sharpens as he turns his head to look at her. “I can smell your fear, and fear is a good thing, but only when you use it to fight, not to cringe. We’re still alive, and you’re still the alpha. Be afraid, but be angry too. Be angry to the fucking end, and take down as many of your enemies as you can.”

Laura swallows and nods.

***

Kate Argent is a smirk and a swagger and a sharp-eyed predator. She walks into the meat locker, her boot heels clicking on the concrete floor, and turns on the blazing lights. After hours in the gloom, Laura squints in the sudden brightness, but forces her chin up to meet Kate’s gaze.

Laura is the alpha.

There’s an old man with Kate, his white hair balding. He’s wearing Sears jeans and a windbreaker. He looks like someone’s harmless old grandpa, except Laura knows better than to mistake him as anything but dangerous. It’s Gerard Argent, Kate’s father, and very probably the architect of all Kate’s actions.

“Well,” the old man says in his scratchy voice. “Laura Hale.”

“Alpha Hale,” Laura corrects, and hears Peter’s low growl of approval.

Gerard chuckles.

Kate circles Laura. “Where’s Derek? Where’s that cute little brother of yours?”

Laura doesn’t miss the way Gerard’s mouth turns down in distaste at the reminder his daughter seduced a werewolf.

“Not here,” Laura says.

“Aw.” Kate pouts. “He’s missing all the fun!”

Peter’s chains rattle as he readjusts his position. “Don’t worry, Kate. If you’re still interested in werewolf dick, then I’ve got a nice big one you can choke on.”

Kate whirls on him, pulling a firearm from her thigh holster and jabbing it in his stomach.

Laura watches, breath catching in her throat.

Peter’s upper lip draws back in something that’s not quite a snarl, not like a smirk. He might be hanging chained and helpless, and completely at Kate Argent’s mercy, but he’s not cowed for a second. He’s too much of an asshole for that, and Laura thinks that she’s never loved him more fiercely.

“Though I understand if I’m not your type,” Peter says. “You prefer boys who aren’t old enough to vote, hmm?”

“Whatever it takes, dog,” Kate says, her eyes narrow.

Peter shrugs, and his smirk widens. “If we’re dogs, then you’re a dog-fucker.”

Gerard Argent growls, his face going red, and Kate looks at him quickly—a flash of something that’s almost insecurity passing over her features. A sore spot, an old point of contention between father and daughter, and Peter honed in on it immediately.

Because of course Gerard Argent is exactly the sort of bigot who thinks nothing of murdering entire werewolf packs, but heaven forbid his daughter spreads her legs for one of them.

Peter’s eyes flash blue as he leans closer to Kate. “Bitch. Dog-fucker bitch.”

Kate’s jaw clenches, and her grip tightens on the firearm pressed into his gut.

Peter lifts his chin, fearless, like he doesn’t even notice.

Laura knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s doing what he did back at the loft. He’s making himself a shield. He’s goading Kate, drawing her anger, in an attempt to protect his alpha, and to protect the cub she’s carrying. It will be a vain attempt in the end, Laura knows, but this is what he does. Her uncle and her left hand. This is who he is.

“Where’s Derek?” Kate demands, sliding the barrel of the firearm up to his sternum, and then back down to his abdomen again.

Peter’s smirk grows. “Not here, dog-fucker.”

“Well then,” Kate says. “I guess we really only need his alpha for bait, don’t we?”

She pulls the trigger.

***

Peter’s shirt is soaked in black blood. The wolfsbane is poisoning him, preventing his body from healing. Laura can imagine the black spider’s web of veins on his skin, and knows that when it reaches his heart he’ll die. Whatever strain of wolfsbane Kate used, it’s slow-acting.

That’s not a mercy, Laura knows, and it wasn’t intended as one.

Kate wants Peter to die slowly, and in pain.

His mind keeps racing, even as his body fails him.

“They’re waiting for Derek,” he murmurs. “That gives you time, Lulu. Maybe there’s an advantage there. Be angry. Remember to be angry.”

He shudders as the poison blackens his blood.

“I’m sorry. They were supposed to come after me. I have so many fucking trip wires in my apartment it’s like living in a cat’s cradle.”

Laura whispers to him that she loves him, that she doesn’t blame him. She’s not sure if he even registers the words.

“If the Argents have a weak link, it’s Christopher.” He draws a shaking breath. “He was always the only one of them who didn’t twist their code. He can’t know about this. He wouldn’t approve. It’s possible one of the other hunters knows him. If you get the chance to speak to one of them, ask them to contact Chris. Tell them you have information for Chris’s ears only.” He shivers, hands clenching and unclenching in the shackles above his head. “It’s a long shot, but maybe…”

“Maybe,” Laura whispers back, knowing that it won’t work, but also that Peter needs this. He needs to die hoping that he’s at least left her with a faint chance.

“Sow discord,” Peter says, his voice straining. “They hate us. Remind them what Kate did. How low she went in their eyes. Dirty dog-fucker. Make them spit on her reputation. Might not help you, but…”

But it might hurt Kate, some indistinct day in the future, and that might be the only consolation Laura gets in the end.

“If it comes to the worst…” Peter squeezes his eyes shut. “If it comes to the worst, Derek will be alpha. Away from here, and he can build a pack, and maybe it won’t be the end of all of us. Maybe one day there will be new Hale pups, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Laura says, tears sliding down her cheeks. What about herpup though? What about the tiny heartbeat inside her? Doesn’t it deserve a chance to live?

But this is what Peter needs. He needs that sliver of hope that, despite everything, the Hale pack might continue. Not the one they had, and not the one they were left with, but some nebulous concept of a future pack, with Derek as alpha, and Derek’s children. Laura can’t imagine it, and she doesn’t want to—not at the expense of her child—but she won’t steal that image from Peter if that’s all he’s clinging onto now.

“I taught you to run, Lulu, remember?” he asks, his voice cracking. “I taught you to run, even though you hated me for it.”

“I remember,” Laura whispers to him. “And I never hated you.”

Peter shudders, all the tendons in his neck tensing, and then slumps in his chains. His face is wet with tears. Tremors run through his body, and he makes small, hurt noises before he slips into silence for a long time.

Laura shifts her weight from foot to foot and tries to ease the pain in her shoulders. She wishes she was close enough to touch him, so that she had more than empty words to comfort him with. She wishes she could take his pain.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter whispers at last, and then, before Laura can answer, he says: “I’m so sorry, Talia.”

Laura’s heart clenches.

Peter turns his face to her, but she knows it’s not her she’s seeing.

Laura has failed as an alpha on so many levels, but here, in this moment, she can be the alpha Peter deserves. She can be Talia Hale.

“A left hand should never outlive their alpha. But, Talia, I just didn’t die.” His chest rises and falls heavily. “I wanted to, but I just didn’t die.”

“No,” Laura says, trying to keep her voice steady. “No, Peter, you stayed alive because you were still needed. Derek and Laura still needed you.”

“I’m so sorry, Talia.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She blinks, and for a moment Peter vanishes behind a blurred screen of tears. “You are the best left hand an alpha could want. And you are the best brother a sister could ever hope for.”

“Talia…” Peter coughs, and a thin line of black fluid spills from the corner of his mouth. “I’m scared, Tally.”

“Don’t be scared, Peter,” Laura tells him. “I’m waiting for you. Everyone’s here waiting for you. You’ve been so strong, but you can rest now. You can let go whenever you want.”

Peter nods, and his eyes flutter closed.

Laura watches him through her tears, listening to the erratic beat of his heart, and dreading the inevitable moment that she no longer hears it, and she’s left here all alone.

#baby daddy #sterek #my fics #discontentedwinter

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dhaskoi · 6 years

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Love, Judgment & Forgiveness

This was my entry for the Supercat Christmas in July fic exchange for the incomparable #damelola. If you liked my earlier drabble about Lena getting caught with the kryptonite you might like this too.

Cat leans back in her seat with a sigh as she lays the paper down on the empty seat next to her, the DC cityscape slipping by outside the town car’s window. When you work in the big white house your workday never really ends, but she’s found that with an early start she can snatch some time to herself on the drive in, usually spent flipping through her preferred papers. Her fondness for newsprint is a little old fashioned, especially when her own publications (and she will always think of them as hers, no matter what shenanigans take place with CatCo stock) are steadily switching over to a focus on digital content. The smoothness of the transition a significantly greater online presence is one of the things James has gotten right. But Cat can’t imagine a time when she won’t love the tangibility of ink under her fingers, the weight of the folded paper in her hands, the rustle of the pages. The day that picking up her morning paper doesn’t give her a little thrill she’ll know it’s time to cart herself off to a nursing home to play shuffleboard and be wheeled out into the sunlight at set times like a potted plant. God willing she’ll die before there’s any risk of that.

She knew it would be hard, walking away from CatCo and National City for the second time. She knew that this would happen, reading about Kara’s adventures and triumphs second or third hand and feeling left out. The traitorous voice that used to whisper that she was already left out hardly even stirs these days, after all the times she’s repressed it. Cat had told herself that White House Press Secretary was a job worthy to the challenge of keeping her fully distracted from what she’d left behind. It turns out that once she’d settled into the role and started to get the hang of Beltway maneuverings the mechanics of the job were in fact less challenging than being a CEO. She hadn’t realized how badly her schedule had been bloated by encounters with murderous, superpowered ex-employees, scheming billionaires (other than her), alien invasions and whatever crisis of the week their resident superhero had to deal with.

That said, she’s learning a lot from Olivia. She suspects her old friend had more reasons than a desperate need to replace her decimated staff when she offered Cat the job, but Cat is so used to being on the other side of that equation that it took her an embarrassingly long time to realise she was being groomed for more. She’s still considering what path she wants to take after her stint as press secretary wraps up. On to communications director to put her name on some worthwhile legislation and get the experience she’d need to make a credible run for governor or the senate? She doesn’t intend to be one of those idiots who thinks they can spend their way into an office without any accomplishments to prove she’s worthy of the task.

Some new business enterprise? The way news gets distorted on social media has riled Cat for years, but being the WHPS has given her a new, more urgent perspective on the subject. It’s different hearing briefings from the FBI about acts of violence set in motion by lies spread on Facebook and Tumblr. Idle thoughts about a new type of media platform that integrates social media more directly, combined with rigorous fact checking and moderation, have been growing less idle lately. Getting a new company off the ground at this stage of her life sounds like a nightmare, especially in a field that cutthroat, but the money from the CatCo sale and Carter’s impending college years are two significant differences from the insane and sleepless days when she was getting CatCo off the ground.

Which brings her to door number three. A return to CatCo with the skills and knowledge she’s acquired here, using them to elevate her company further, take it to even greater heights. Her understanding of how to leverage media influence for social change has been honed to an even sharper edge by her time in Washington – new knowledge of how the political machine works from the inside has given her some interesting thoughts about changes she’d like to make at CatCo if she went back. The thought of it is tempting and unnerving in almost equal proportion. Would she be moving forward or falling back into the same old rut if she went home to the city where she truly made her name? And could she bear to see a certain bright-eyed reporter growing closer to the woman who seems to have stepped into what used to be Cat’s place in her life? These are questions she doesn’t have answers to yet. Until she does she’ll keep supporting and learning from Olivia –

Something in her driver’s body language catches her attention and Cat frowns, turning away from the window to reach forward and tap her on the shoulder.

“Lisa is there a -”

The whole world blurs as the car jerks to the side and Cat is thrown against the seatbelt suddenly cutting into her torso. Force, pure force tossing her around. It’s like being a bug in a jar, picked up by the hand of a giant angry toddler and shaken hard. Cat still remembers her first encounter with the sensation from her mercifully brief stint as a war correspondent when she’d been too close to an IED. For years after she’d persisted in the happy delusion that that part of her life was over, until with the arrival of its own superhero National City suddenly seemed to have a new hostile alien or ridiculous metahuman attacking every damn week. No matter how many times it happens you never get used to it. Noise, tyres screeching, engine revving, Lisa in the front seat swearing - and then silence for a second before the sound of voices shouting and feet pounding. Cat raises a hand to her head and tries to focus past the shock and the disorientation. There’s an ache in her neck that makes it hard to raise her head. Don’t stop thinking, that’s her rule in situations like this and it has always served her well. First task? Check on the person in the car with her, who is also the one person who might immediately be able to tell her what’s going on, or get free? Do both. Cat scrabbles at her seatbelt even as she calls out.

“Lisa? Lisa can you hear me? Lisa?”

No response. Cat hopes she’s merely unconscious. The crash didn’t feel as though it was that bad. Did they have an accident or – no, there’s gunfire. Despite the circumstances and the surge of adrenaline Cat feels a sort of tired resignation creeping over her for a second. Does this always have to be her life?

Then the door slams open and rough hands are grapping at her shoulders, yanking her out unceremoniously to land on her hands and knees on the unforgiving tarmac. She feels it cutting into her palms and her knees and takes a moment to be grateful that the situation isn’t triggering a flashback. Therapy works, apparently.

Ordinarily the Press Secretary simply doesn’t rate their own secret service detail and Cat hasn’t broken the tradition. Due to her colourful personal history (most press secretaries have never faced a single attempt on their life, let alone multiple attacks by supervillains) Cat has the distinction of being offered a detail by Olivia. The worry was that someone with her high profile assuming such a public position might become a target in a way that the Press Secretary usually isn’t, but Cat dismissed the concern. She doesn’t need a coterie of bodyguards to feel special - and she doesn’t believe that men and women whose job it is to take a bullet guarding the country’s leadership should be used as adornments to someone else’s ego. Vanity is one thing, but that just smacks of insecurity to her.

And if she’s being honest with herself she couldn’t tolerate the loss of freedom, especially freedom of movement, that came with a security detail. Evidently, that was a mistake.

There’s indistinct yelling around her as she looks up – right into the barrel of a gun, wonderful – and she catches something about ‘alien loving bitch’, oh of course, Cat thinks, the woman who named Supergirl becomes the face of the administration that passed the alien amnesty act. It was only a matter of time before some bunch of backwoods bigots crawled out of the woodwork. She really should have seen this coming, except she can never take these kinds of lunatics as seriously as she probably should, refuses to engage with the fearful mindset that considers them real threats. Cadmus running around being, well, being Cadmus, also made it easy to forget that they weren’t the face of all prejudice in America and the threat didn’t end with Lillian being locked up.

Looks like she’s going to pay for that now.

The reality finally sinks in as she sees her assailant’s finger tighten on the trigger, some nondescript thug in coveralls with weaponry easily brought at any gun fair in the country.

This is it. This is when she dies. No lucky escape or last-minute superhero save this time. The smallness of it stings a little. After everything she’s survived this is how it all ends for her?

Time slows.

Cat has always known that the time gifted to us is finite and too precious to be wasted. She’s understood so ever since she came home from school at the age of ten and found her beloved father dead in his study from a stroke decades too soon. As a child she was furious, betrayed, she blamed everyone and everything and cried out the injustice. As an adult she came to understand, slowly, that loss and pain are part of life, that they sharpen the edge of every experience. Cat doesn’t fear death. Unfinished business, on the other hand . . .

Carter. He’s not so little nowadays, but he’ll always be her baby and he still needs his mother. This is going to break his heart. Will his father come through for his son this once? If any deity should be listening, please let him grow up happier and steadier than she did.

Adam. They’ve stayed in touch, sporadic yet ongoing. He even sent a card for her last birthday. She can never be the mother to him that she wanted to be, but there was hope for closeness, for something of the relationship she thought she’d lost any chance at.

Kara. There’s a lot she still wanted to say to the most promising young woman she ever mentored. A lot that she might never have said, regardless of what she tells herself in this last moment. She can only hope Kara knows, that her veiled and not-so-veiled comments made it clear how important the other woman was to her, and in how many ways. And she’s selfish enough to hope that she’ll be missed, that Kara will shed a tear or two just for Cat.

And then -

The familiar whoosh of displaced air and the distinctively heavy thump, felt as much as heard, that can only be caused by a pair of strong legs suddenly hitting the ground at speed. There’s no stopping the smile that begins to from on her face, an ingrained reaction to the knowledge that a certain blonde Kryptonian is still her guardian angel.

Cat looks up and is startled to see a flash of dark hair instead of the expected blonde. With a flicker of disappointment, she realises it’s him, not her, and then she has to check that assumption too as further details sink in and she realizes something very strange is happening. Black and white is her first impression. A black, vaguely leather looking bodysuit with a metallic sheen and a matte white cloak that sweeps back from her shoulders. Long dark hair falling in a queue down her back. She’s moving too fast for Cat to see more than that, as she pushes herself to her feet.

The mystery woman – mystery girl, Cat realizes - rips through the attackers with superspeed and rather less moderation than she’s used to seeing from Kara or Superman, although it doesn’t look as if her surprise savior has killed anyone. Her shoves and throws as she blurs from one location to the next are more than forceful enough to break bones and she throws their weapons away with enough energy to put bystanders at risk. One of the thugs gets thrown into the side of the van that rammed Cat’s car with enough force to leave an ugly dent.

She’s new, says the analytical part of Cat’s mind that never switches off, even when the rest of her is saying her final goodbyes. Determined but short on practical experience. Like Kara when she first started out the new arrival isn’t familiar with the million little details that add up to doing a complicated job right and she hasn’t had the benefit of anyone else’s experience. She’s trying, but it’s clear no-one has taught her how to fight safely with her strength.

What are they going to call her, Cat wonders? There’s no convenient letter shaped symbol on her chest to hang a name on, no obvious theme for branding. With a jolt of realisation it occurs to her that these decisions are not hers to make anymore. Someone else – Kara? James? Please god not Lois – will choose a name for this new arrival. The sense of loss she feels at that realization is stronger than she might have expected. Then Cat realizes it’s over, every attacker down, and the new superhero in town is headed towards her at a swift trot. The expression of concern on her face is a little surprising from someone Cat has never met.

Oh hell – Lisa. Cat rushes towards the car, a little unsteady on her Jimmy Choos but not slowing down as she heads towards the driver side door to check on Lisa.

“Ynugh! Cat,” a hesitant pause at Cat’s lack of response, “Miss Grant! Miss Grant are you okay?”

The voice isn’t quite the light, warm tone so familiar to her (yet another giveaway of the secret she’s supposed to keep ignoring) but it’s close. And so are those worried blue eyes. The face though . . . there’s something about it that claws at the edge of Cat’s memory. Something that’s obvious yet out of sight. She pushes it into a corner of her mind for later consideration, so she can focus on the more urgent present.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, Lisa, my driver, I think she was knocked unconscious -”

Before Cat can complete the thought the girl is reaching forward and with a tearing shriek of abused metal the door is ripped away and flung aside. Lisa’s seatbelt is no obstacle to Kryptonian strength (Cat’s assuming – she’s certainly got the flight, the strength and the speed) and in the time it takes Cat to blink Lisa is being laid gently down on the road by the mystery brunette. Cat is already shrugging out of her blazer to make an impromptu pillow while the brunette looks her over with an analytical care that Cat recognizes. That’s a tick for x-ray vision then.

“She’s okay, she’s okay. It’s safe, she doesn’t have any spinal damage,” the young brunette says reassuringly when she sees Cat hesitate to disturb Lisa’s head.

“It’s just bumps and bruises and a mild concussion,” she goes on as Cat tucks the folded blazer under Lisa’s head.

“I am so glad you’re okay, Miss Grant.”

“So am I, miss . . .”

Cat lets her voice trail off questioningly. Danger past and her immediate fears assuaged her investigative instincts are kicking in. She wants answers. She wants the story.

She wants to know what the hell is going on.

The young woman focuses an intense gaze on Cat, before breaking into a beaming smile. Finally, able to get a clear look at her, what stands out is how pleased she looks with herself. Cat is reminded more than anything of Carter as a child when he thought he’d managed to sneak an extra cookie without her realizing. He was so adorable when he did that she occasionally let him get away with it, purely for the pleasure of his happy I’m-so-clever smile. She’s striking, no surprise ( why do superheroes always look as though they came straight from central casting?) with fine features, clear skin, long dark hair and the blue eyes Cat already took note of. Possibly the brightness of the smile she’s directing at Cat is skewing her judgment slightly there.

“I’m a friend, Miss Grant. I promise you that.”

Cat looks her dead in the eye and makes a show of dusting herself before planting her hands on her waist, summoning every ounce of poise she has.

“Really? Isn’t it considered friendly to introduce oneself where you’re from?” Cat smirks a little, reminded of her earlier thought and a long past conversation with Kara. “If you don’t provide a name you’ll have to live with someone else’s pick.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something suitable, Miss Grant.” More grinning. “You’ve got some practice naming superheroes.” She tilts her head in way that’s familiar to anyone who has spent much time around Kara, focusing elsewhere for a second. Add another tick for super hearing, Cat decides. “And that’s my cue to leave. Stay safe, Cat.”

She grins wider and it’s so bright and fiercely joyful that the connection Cat had wondered at is undeniable. Then she tenses, and Cat barely has time to take a faltering step back before the girl launches into the sky, going fast but not so fast she can’t be seen, until there’s a strange shimmer and she’s simply gone. Cat stays watching for a moment, the way most people do when they’ve just seen one of the supers fly away, before the sound of sirens shakes her out of the reverie.

“That never stops being impressive,” she murmurs before returning to Lisa’s side, already drafting the release and considering how the administration will break the news without admitting they don’t know anything.

The next several hours are spent in the D.C headquarters of the D.E.O, recounting the same five minutes over and over, while Sam Lane pitches a hissy fit in the background. Which explains why she’s hours behind the curve when James Olsen decides outing himself as the Guardian is a good idea.

Read the rest on AO3

#supergirl #supercat #cat grant #kara danvers #kara zor-el #fic #LJ&F #the full story is not totally friendly to lena or james #but if you think there were unexplored implications of their behavior at the end of S3 #you might like this #lena luthor #james olsen #alex danvers #lucy lane #this thing grew way out of control #but i'm committed to finishing it now

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calliecat93 · 3 years

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Star Trek Episode 67-69

Elaan of Troyius: So this episode had a secent idea, having an arranged marriage to bring peace between opposing cultures but remain at odds during the voyage with Kirk trying to act as a diplomat between them. Elaan is... not a good character. She’s a spoiled brat who acts disrespectful to Kirk and outright ungrateful and argumenative to everyone. Though at the same time she IS being forced into a marriage that she doesn’t want and no one, not even anyone on the Enterprise, shows any sympathy... but again consideirng her attitude and behavior, she hasn’t given them much reason to. There was a decent idea here with culture clashes and could have gone into things the nuance of these arrangements since they are unfair, but there are reasons why it is that way. But the characters are unlikeable, the plot is nothing special, and the themes of opposing alien cultures was done better in episodes like Journey to Babel. Then they have Kirk put under a love spell... again. Seriously, was that necessary? Or was Kirk making out needed to give the episode something to look forward to? TBF he mostly kept it together and broke out of it without any problems, but still. We don’t need to throw a girl at Kirk to keep the plot spicy, just saying. Not gonna lie though, Spock and McCoy just standing there when they catch them making out and asking him if he’d step out to talk with themfor a moment was pretty funny. They look so displeased, haha! That being said not a great episode, not at all. 2/5.

Whom Gods Destroy: My memory could just be fuzzy after almost 70 episodes, but I think this is the first episode with a shapeshifting antagonist since The Man Trap. Shapeshifting plots are always fun. So Kirk and Spoxk get teapped in an insane asylum where the inmates have taken over. This... really doesn’t reflect well on how mental health is handled. For example the episode begins with saying that they discovered a medicine to cure mental illness. Despite there being various types, and they aren’t something that can just be cured and I doubt that changed in the future. It shows how badly of an understanding we had of it back in the 60’s. It sucks since having an episode about mental illness in different beings and how they are treated/mistreated in professional care could have been interesting. The main villain is an over-acting man child and neithe entertaining nor intimidating. I guess this episode is also where the whole ‘Kirk makes out with green-skinned alien women’ came from... honestly S3 is likely where most ‘Kirk is a womanizing skirt chaser’ comes form cause this season in particular really enjoys the ‘throw women at Kirk’ plot. I just zoned out after a while on this one. Oh and if you expect me to believe that Spock had a hard time identifying the real Kirk when he had done so easily in the past (ie What Are Little Girls Made Of?) then... sorry, nope. It’s not the worst episode, I liked it slightly better thant he last one, but once more not great. I would like to see a modern ST series tackle mental illness though, good thing I’ve got plenty of those up ahead. 2/5.

Let That Be Your Last Battlefield: Racism is an awful thing. I shouldn’t need to say that because it should be obvious to any rational person... but the recent years have made it clear that many of us aren’t rational beings. ST was made in the 60’s and at this time they were in the aftermath of Martin Luther King Jr’s asassination and the threat of the Cold War. While it’s easy to overlook now, ST was quite progressive at the time for featuring PoC in prominent positions, such as Kirk having had at least two officers ranked above him who were both Black men. We’ve seen various Black crew members, have an Asian man in a prominent command position with Sulu, and Nichelle Nichols story about the impact of Uhura is utterly beautiful. We even had an interracial kiss (a non-consensual kiss but still) which was controversial for the time. Now many of these things can be seem as not at all enough nowadays and it’s hard to disagree, but for the time these were HUGE deals and to appreciate progress, we must remember the steps taken to get there. And Star Trek was a big deal because they were willing to take those steps at a time where so much as including one non-White person would cause major backlash.

Why did I bring all of that up? Because in this episode we tackle racism head on. We have had other episodes tackle bigotry in some form, such as the Romulans intro episode where some officer was bigoted towards Soock for being Vulcan and Kirk made it very clear that he better get over that attitude. This one puts it in full focus. And... it gets it’s point across well enough, but it’s not perfect. The episode protrays the two sides as equally guilty for the hate and violence between them... despite it being ade VERY clear that the one man was driven to ciolence because the other side tormented and abused him and his people. I don’t condone violence and the end is very much tragic due to the continued hatred, but I think that the recent times have made it clear that blaming a side who was driven to violence because the other, much more powerful side tormented them into it... well, it’s not good to put it lightly. That being said, for the time, it has a powerful message and even if modern times reveals the flaws, the message of mutual violence and hatred against different races and how it can end in utter tragedy with everyone of both sides dead is a strong one. They also make sure that depsite what I said about the one side, the other isn’t presented as good either. We also see both spreading their view onto the crew, a third party who are dragged into it and have to try and deal with it without letting things escalate. With what was happening in the world at the time, it was probably necessary to have this kind of episode and as I said, it does so overall well. There were some strong scenes, like the three commanding officers initiating the self destruct sequences to try and force the enemy to returning the ship to it’s proper course. That was dang intense! The episode has it’s issues mainly due to the evolving times, but the message is still a strong one, and it is one that is needed even to this day. 4/5.

Nine episodes left to go. The seaosn has been... a thing. But there’s no turning back now. Three more tomorrow, we’ll see what’s in store then.

#st watchthrough #star trek tos

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sapphicscholar · 6 years

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your fics are helping me get through the shittiest breakup right now, so thank you. I know you probably have a million prompts but would you be interested in writing a story where maggie is having a really dark day and feeling really depressed/worthless within herself (either because of internalised homophobia, past trauma etc) and alex takes care of her? maybe even some soft tearful smut later?

Hey, I hope you’re doing alright! I’m sorry it’s taken me a little while to get to this prompt (I didn’t want to do a shitty job when my focus was so divided with work and applications). Sending all the best thoughts your way! It’s now posted to AO3.

Author notes:

CW on homophobia, abusive families, anxiety/depression, etc.

A/N: Now that we’re in the thick of the holiday season, I’ve gotten a few asks for chosen family and hurt/comfort. I know it can be really hard dealing with family (or making the perfectly legitimate choice not to but seeing posts on social media that make it seem like everyone else has a loving, supportive biological family). No matter what choice you make (and I know sometimes there really isn’t a choice, depending on the situation), I’m sending you all the best thoughts. I hope you’re able to make time for yourself, even if it just means finding a quiet room to be alone for a little bit, maybe some wifi to catch up on gay af fanfic or cute puppy gifs, which I’ll try to post in spades over the break when I have time to be on my phone or computer. There are links to resources here as well.

A/N 2: Regarding a few lines in this fic: Obviously not all religion is inherently homophobic, nor do I think anyone smart and scientific (e.g. Alex) must necessarily be an atheist. But I think for so many of us who were raised Catholic (fun foreshadowing here for the nerd notes at the end today), religion was something that shaped our upbringing in an often profound way and was then thrown back in our faces when we came out. Are there Catholics who don’t follow the Church on its teachings about LGBTQ issues? Of course. But, for instance, the fact that my family happened to be supportive of LGBTQ rights in a general way didn’t mean that I wasn’t terrified of coming out to them; it didn’t exempt me from years of internalized shame after hearing priests and religion teachers teaching that homosexuality was an intrinsic disorder of the soul; and it certainly didn’t save me from the humiliation of having to write that gay sexuality was a sin on a test to get an A, of knowing that I put the jobs of my family members who worked for the Church at risk just by being out, of being forced back into the closet to serve as a teacher at a Catholic high school. And even with all of that, I had it easy (and I certainly had it much easier than my fiancée), which I say not to guilt anyone who is still religious, but to explain the perspective from which I’m writing in advance.

Resources:National Domestic Abuse Hotline (online and phone options): http://www.thehotline.org/

US and International Hotlines for a variety of causes: https://sapphicscholarwrites.tumblr.com/post/167199297270/dont-ever-hesitate-reblog-this-tumblr-rule

Self-Harm Resources:http://myresourcemasterlist.tumblr.com/selfharmhttp://self-care-club.tumblr.com/post/139740925552/giant-self-help-masterposthttp://chooserecovery.tumblr.com/post/64162912692/ultimate-self-injury-recovery-masterpost

Suicide-specific resources:https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/https://themighty.com/suicide-prevention-resources/(For ones that link outside of the US):https://sapphicscholarwrites.tumblr.com/post/164643935260/selfharm-surviver-holybadbitch98https://sapphicscholarwrites.tumblr.com/post/164329606770/uie-fuwaprince-us-helplines-depression

Chapter Text:

“Are you and Maggie doing anything for Christmas?” Kara asked, popping another handful of popcorn into her mouth as she nudged Alex, who had started to nod off during the last episode of The Walking Dead.

“Hmm?”

“Christmas—what are you doing?”

“Oh,” Alex sighed, pulling herself up and rubbing at her eyes. “I don’t know. I mean…I know Maggie used to celebrate it with her family, but obviously that hasn’t been the case in years.”

“Right, right.”

“And it’s not like she goes to church at all these days.”

“I mean…you’re not exactly religious, but we still do Hanukkah with Eliza.”

Alex shook her head. “It’s different, I think. I was never religious; it was always more about…I don’t know, being with family and having something in common. I thought mom might be disappointed in me for being gay, but I never thought her reasoning would be that God said it was bad or anything like that.”

“Right,” Kara conceded. “But it might still be nice to celebrate together—you know, build new traditions.”

“I kinda fucked up with that whole thing on Valentine’s Day,” Alex sighed. Sure, they’d talked eventually and found a way to celebrate, to reclaim memories that had hurt Maggie for so many years. But Alex didn’t want to try to surprise Maggie this time and risk dredging up buried trauma once more. “I don’t know. I’ll talk to her.”

Closing her eyes, Maggie blinked back hot tears that threatened to fall. She focused on her breathing: Breathe in—1, 2, 3, 4, 5—hold—1, 2, 3—exhale—1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. She fumbled to take off her watch, finding her pulse and focusing on its too fast beat, waiting for it to slow in time with her deep breathing. She ignored the clock, ignored the reminders of how soon Alex would be home, how weak she would look sitting at the kitchen counter and crying over a piece of paper—a stupid Hallmark greeting card with some trite bullshit scrawled across it in fake cursive.

Of course, the card itself hadn’t set her off. It was the hand-written note inside. The sight of the same handwriting that had adorned the rare note in her lunchbox in kindergarten was what had left her eyes stinging, not the vague platitudes about having a very merry Christmas and an even happier New Year. As she read, she was overcome with surges of anger and sorrow and a guilt that she had never quite been able to shake, no matter how much “pride” she claimed.

She tried to seize on the anger—the rage and frustration that she’d used as motivation to succeed: to do well enough in school to get herself out of that small Nebraska town; to do well enough in college to keep her scholarship; to do well enough in the academy to guarantee her a job, even as a non-straight, non-white woman. And there was plenty of it. Anger at her father’s suggestion that her family had always been there for her, as though they hadn’t left her alone at her aunt’s house with barely enough clothing for the week. Rage at this idea that she had been the one to wrong the family simply by living her life honestly and authentically, that she had ruined something otherwise perfect by being herself. Frustration at the phrase, “your friend,” as though her father hadn’t stormed out of their bridal shower precisely because Alex was so much more than just a friend, as though he hadn’t forced her out of her home and family as a mere child because her feelings for Eliza exceeded the bounds of friendship.

But then there was the photo of all of the cousins and nieces and nephews she’d never met. There were sentences about just how much older everyone had gotten, the sickness and bad times they’d been through without her there, the deaths she’d never known about, let alone mourned. Because she’d already done that—mourning the loss of a family that still existed—but not for her. Not with her.

It still got to her, still struck her with a guilt that felt like it could wrench her open, could undo everything she’d worked for, could tear down every inch of progress and confidence and sense of self she’d fought to build for herself.

Maybe he was right. Maybe they were all right. Maybe she was selfish—selfish for putting herself and her desires above her family, the people who had raised her, who had sacrificed their lives to try to make hers better.

And there was another voice—much quieter, harder to hear, harder to believe—that seemed to call back, to tell her that she was worth it, that her life wasn’t worth sacrificing on the altar of bigoted beliefs, no matter who else worshiped there. She thought the voice sounded an awful lot like Alex’s, and its echoes, the voices of her new family: M’gann and J’onn and James and Kara and Eliza and Winn and everyone else who had come together to prove to her that she had people in her corner even when she felt most alone and least worthy of love.

But they were just that: voices. And in the face of the letter, its words right there, her fingers able to trace over them, feel the indents where her father had pressed down just a little harder, those marks and proof of a family that existed in reality—a family she could barely even think of as family anymore—those voices advocating for her faded to the background, drowned out in a chorus of self-loathing so overpowering she could barely manage to stagger toward the bed, her deep breathing long forgotten.

—

Alex found her there nearly an hour later. Her body was rigid, trembling every so often but otherwise catatonic. She looked as pale as Alex had ever seen her, and there were tear tracks streaked across her cheeks, her eyes puffy and rubbed raw from the harsh swipe of her shirt sleeves. Her fingers were clenched into fists, and her short nails were leaving deep moon-shaped imprints in her palms.

“Maggie!” Alex called out, rushing forward. She’d seen her like this once before—just once—and it had terrified her as much then as it did now. Remembering her DEO training, she forced herself to stay calm, to detach herself from the situation and let her medical instincts take over.

“Hey, Maggie, it’s me, Alex,” she said, her voice low and even as she knelt down on the ground next to her, pulling out the bottle of water she carried with her in her bag and putting it beside Maggie on the bedside table. “You okay if I sit here?”

Maggie managed to get herself to nod.

“Great. And if that changes, I can move, okay? I’m going to stay with you, but I can be a little farther away, or I can get closer if you want.” She paused to let Maggie process. “Do you think you can breathe with me?”

“It’s not helping,” Maggie forced out, her teeth chattering shut.

“Maybe if we do it together, it’ll help a little, okay?” Alex murmured. “Can I put a blanket on you?” Seeing the nod of assent, Alex pulled out the fluffiest blanket they had—the one with no tags, no rough patches or odd seams, the one that Maggie had wrapped around her after everything with her dad and Cadmus—and carefully draped it over Maggie, taking care not to tuck it under her, lest she feel trapped. Feeling how cold Maggie was to the touch, she slipped over to the edge of the room and turned up the thermostat before making her way back over to the bed.

She knelt next to Maggie, helping her to slow her breathing, holding her hand once she told her it was okay to touch, checking her pulse and smiling broadly as it came down to close to normal levels, telling Maggie just how proud she was when she was able to unclench her muscles and relax slightly into the mattress. Once the worst of it seemed to be over, she got Maggie to drink water and stretch out her stiff muscles.

“What do you say to a hot bath together? It’ll warm you up, and we can light the nice candles.”

“Even the cookie one?”

“Definitely the cookie one,” Alex agreed, smiling at the signs of Maggie returning. A few moments later, she came back into the bedroom, having lit the candles and begun filling the bath. “You good to walk?”

“Yeah,” Maggie nodded, standing up and rolling her neck to work out the cricks that had developed in it. She still let Alex take her by the hand and walk her to the bathroom, cracked a joke or two when Alex asked to help take off her clothes, grinned when Alex pulled out the extra fluffy towels they had picked up a few weekends ago and set them on the radiator to warm while they were in the bath.

For a while they relaxed in silence, Maggie sitting between Alex’s legs, her head resting on Alex’s shoulders while Alex ran her fingers through Maggie’s hair.

“My dad wrote,” Maggie said, her voice quiet.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“What? No, Maggie, never. You’re—god, you’re one of the best people I know.”

“That’s not true. You know Supergirl.”

“Yeah, well Supergirl never gives me the last slice of pizza, and you always offer to share.”

Maggie snorted, shaking her head against Alex’s shoulder. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean? Because honestly, Maggie, you are one of the most caring people I know. I—you’ve made me better. And not just by helping me to come out,” she clarified, anticipating Maggie’s objection that anyone could’ve done that with enough perseverance or bluntness. “You’ve made me rethink some of those things I assumed I knew. You helped me to see aliens who weren’t just like my sister as people who needed protection, not just prosecution or imprisonment. You showed me possibilities for a life I never thought I’d have.”

“But you didn’t say anything about my family. People have died, Alex—people I loved, people who loved me. They died, and I didn’t know.”

“There’s a difference between choosing not to know and never having been told.”

“Is there? Phones exist. Hell, mail exists. I never tried reaching out.”

“You did nothing wrong!” Alex tried to bite back her anger, knowing that wasn’t what Maggie needed. “Look, I get where you’re coming from. But self-preservation, knowing to take care of yourself—that matters too. You had no way of knowing how they would react if you tried to reach out. They had already hurt you, Maggie.”

“Still. They’re family.”

“And so am I, but if I hurt you—god, Maggie, if I hurt you that way, I wouldn’t want you to feel like you owed me anything. You don’t owe anyone your forgiveness.” Trying to find words, Alex let out a sigh of frustration. “You did try, Maggie. Think about it that way. You tried—you invited your dad to our bridal shower, in part because I wasn’t thinking quite clearly. I thought…I could only think in terms of my own relationship with my mother. And we went through some rough, rough periods, but it was different. I didn’t see that clearly then. But you gave him a chance he didn’t deserve—a chance you were good and pure and kind enough to give him—and he threw it away.”

“He came.”

“Yes, and he left.”

“I know,” Maggie huffed. “And I thought that would be it! And if it was…well, maybe this would all be easier, you know? God, I just—he said no! He doesn’t want me the way I am. So why won’t he stop acting like it’s my fault?”

“I don’t know,” Alex admitted, her voice barely a whisper as she wrapped her arms around Maggie. “I really don’t. And I don’t—I don’t have the perfect advice to offer. I’m happy to call him and yell at him, or get a restraining order, or burn the letter, or ignore it entirely and hold you, or kiss you until you can’t think about anything else. I mean, whatever you want, you know? I’m here for you, and I’ll support you no matter what you choose.”

“Even if I choose vegan ice cream and a whole night of Rizzoli and Isles?” Maggie teased, opting to ignore the tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“Even both of those terrible choices.”

“You love Rizzles just as much as I do.”

“You’re a cop! How do you deal with all the procedural violations?”

“I watch for the hot ladies with delightful romantic chemistry on my screen and put up with the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah. They don’t even get to make out, though.”

“Neither do half of the actual gay couples on television!”

“Fine,” Alex whined, though she kissed Maggie’s cheek anyway, which led Maggie to turn around, finding Alex’s lips with her own and letting herself be held, letting herself be cared for.

Eventually they got out of the tub, the water having grown lukewarm. Wrapped up in a fuzzy towel, Maggie nudged Alex with her shoulder. “You think it’s okay that I don’t try to reach out to him for Christmas?”

“I think that’s your decision, and you are allowed to celebrate however you want.”

“I mean…I want to celebrate by going sledding and destroying you in a snowball fight.”

“Whatever you want within reason,” Alex clarified, laughing at Maggie’s pout. “And maybe, just maybe, we can think about traveling somewhere cold for a vacation. Don’t see why we’d want to, though,” she added, winking at her fiancée.

“So cheesy movies and as much junk food as Kara can bring over? And maybe when she leaves you and I can find our own way to celebrate…”

“I think that sounds perfect.”

#ask me #anon #prompt fill #fanfic #cw homophobia #cw family abuse #cw depression #angst #hurt/comfort #sanvers #supergirl #maggie sawyer #alex danvers #kara danvers #holidays #maggie-centric #ao3feed

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