#(ha! this time I will have proof for my counselor that I am in fact the worst and I'm not just making that up)

[isfjmel-phleg]

😶

[under0-0s]

Self harm anon again.. Your response had me in tears I've tried to stop it. I really have. I've been trying to for about 5 years now (I think?) And I do actually try to distract myself, by watching movies, developing my OCs, drawing my OCs, watching Youtube, deep diving into my fandoms..

And my mom recently discovered it. She thinks its a rash of some sort, but I keep telling her that its not, that its me doing it.

I just... I don't know..

...

Hey. I'm really glad you wrote again.

You don’t need to apologize for still struggling. Trying for five years already says everything: you're fighting. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, even on the days when you slip, you are still in this. And I am proud of you for holding on, even when it feels like your grip is loose. That effort matters. You matter.

It’s also okay if those distractions don’t always work. They’re tools, not magic spells. You’re allowed to have days when nothing seems to help. And the fact that you still try anyway? That’s powerful.

About your mom, it's a lot to suddenly have someone notice, and even more to try and explain. You’re not wrong for being honest. That’s incredibly brave. I hope, even if she doesn’t understand everything right now, that this opens the door for support. You deserve to be supported. You shouldn't have to do this alone.

If it feels safe, you might try talking to someone, a counselor, therapist, teacher, or even a hotline/chat made for this kind of support. You don’t have to carry it all. Even when your brain tries to convince you otherwise, you are not a burden. You are a human being who’s been hurting for a long time and still has the capacity to create, to love fictional worlds and characters, and to want to get better. That’s incredible.

So, keep your OCs close. Draw your heart out. Watch those videos. Sink into those fandoms. Let them be your little lifeboats when the waves feel too strong. And when you need to talk, even if it’s messy or raw or unsure, I’m here. You’re not alone in this.

You’ve made it through every bad day so far. That’s proof enough you can keep going.

I'm rooting for you. Always.

[dine-on-nervine]

still cursing the lack of Xkit Editable Reblogs

When was the last time you were sick? How incapacitated were you by the illness/ailment? Not really sure, I seldom get the kind of sick where I have to miss work or bail on plans.

Do you often reflect on your past in terms of "eras" or “milestone” time frames (eg, looking back and saying, “it’s been 10 years since X”, etc.)? I do speak in timeframes and "in 19xx"/"when I was ##"/"in # grade" terms and, as an adult, "when I was with ____" (the blank being a woman's name).

Is there something you would like to do or be, but have pretty much accepted it won’t happen because it’s just “not the kind of person you are�� or is otherwise incompatible with your personality, character, etc.? This happened with becoming a camp counselor. When I was a camper in my teen years -- see, proof of what I said in the previous question -- summer camp was my reason for living, and so I wanted to give back by becoming a counselor so I could show the kids all the cool stuff that I had been shown or discovered. I graduated from high school and for many years entirely forgot that was what I wanted to do... and I felt kind of silly about how I could have forgotten that. It took a few more years before I came to realize or discover that almost every single counselor I had had, they were teachers and this was a summer gig they had (or the ones that were not teachers were pastors). Which caused me to derive that to be a counselor there you have to have had some education on how to handle people, plus the kind of vetting that those two professions require to prove trustworthiness around youth. Since I didn't go into teaching and have no idea if they had some other way to establish you're not a murderer or pervert, I came to the conclusion that it simply wasn't meant to be because I didn't take my life in education's direction like my parents did. I no longer felt as bad about forgetting what my goal was when I discovered that it was totally outside of my reach anyhow.

When was the last time you experienced cognitive dissonance? Every time I read about political happenings. I honestly don't understand how so many people have that disconnect between What Facts Are Right There In Front Of You and What You Believe And Support Regardless Of Facts And Logic.

If you use Letterboxd, what causes you to “heart”/“like” a film? Don't know what that is and I don't watch movies.

Do you like people watching and is it something you do often? If so, where are your favorite locations to do so? I do enjoy that at times. Pretty much anywhere people are, most often for me it's thriftstores but street festivals and the like are pretty rich for that. Uses to be years ago I'd sit at the mall with my back to the wall at Orange Julius with a friend and we'd take in all the passers-by. Seemed less conspicuous.

Whether you want to have children or not, what do you think has had the greatest influence on your views of children/childrearing (eg, your parents, your own upbringing, your interactions with children as an adult, etc.)? I never wanted children because my biggest fear was that I would fuck them up the way my own folks fucked me up, or in different ways. That sounds harsh but it's what guided me to never reproduce.

Is there anything that you enjoy that you simultaneously find intensely cringey? Is it so cringey that you wouldn’t normally admit to actually enjoying it? Probably, however I like what I like and it affects no one else.

When was the last time you felt someone was being dishonest with you — not necessarily downright lying to your face, but acting or responding to you in a way that seemed false or did not feel like their true self? A month ago. While what she said was plausible enough, I am sure there's a LOT more to the story than the two reasons she gave me. And I don't need to ever know the truth, that's her decision and she'd already mentally checked out months earlier so it was just a matter of time and any reason whatsoever to finally bail.

Similarly, when was the last time you saw a side of someone that made you question your preexisting perception of them? When she said she didn't care that a plant I'd left in her care died. She's one of those people who careerwise and personally is always being empathetic, but in this instance... not even the slightest. I think it's because she was trying to cover for the person who let it die while she and I were out of town, but she absolutely refused to apologise. And she knew very well that I cared about this plant, she even got offended earlier that I would even ask if it was being taken care of... yeah, and then it wasn't so maybe there was a reason I would ask?

If you were a doll, what outfit(s) and accessories would you come with? I would be like the Barbies at a thriftstore: I'd be naked and chances are no one would ever try to dress me.

What was the last bit of praise you received? I have to give my coworker Erik a lot of credit, I met him at a previous job years ago and then he came to this one. He was also a manager at his next job after that first one and brought in one of my favorite coworkers at this place from that place. So: He's always got too much stuff on his plate (one reason why he got that job -- I didn't want it!) so when deliveries come in I attack them to get the special orders pulled, find things that got lost in the shuffle, and get mountains of boxes herded up and put away in record time solo. And so he thanks me all the time, "as always" he adds, for doing such a great job.

When you hear or see your name written out (as in /your/ name, not someone else who shares your name), do you immediately recognize it as your own, or is there a moment of disconnect before that recognition? Actually at my work there is another person with the same first name, who has been there for years longer, so if anyone calls that name I just assume it's for him... unless it's on a Saturday and then I'm the only one. Anyone who wants me will add the initial of my last name, where just using the first name is almost inevitably him. (It could be worse. When I started there were *three* Johns -- who went by Junior, just John or Senior, and JJ. None of those are still there, though JJ's two brothers now work there, and we do have a new John but he's just John in public and "Dickhead" behind his back.)

[thenightlymirror]

So, there was a manager’s meeting. Unlike the last one that saw my old manager being dragged to the emergency room by Carlene due to a severe gluten allergy closing up her throat, this one was far less dramatic. My old manager wouldn’t speak to her at all, and, in wild contrast, the next day acted fake nice to everyone which Veronica, another GM I haven’t given a fake name yet, walked over and made fun of her bubbly demeanor in a sorority squat address to her circle.

The result of these meetings was that the three or four European investors that own our company are alarmed at the dive our stocks have taken, so nothing is to be spent. Which means the disaster of a cemetery I just escaped will not be able to hire a replacement memorialist.

The GM complained to Big Jim and the other market manager that she had a terrible backup of memorials, a hundred now behind the garage, and she was going to need help to take care of it all. The next day, I was told to go over, take photos of all the markers there, and issue the paperwork.

I was a little annoyed.

I drove over, and walked around the garage to see what was there. 3 flushes, a companion, and 6 monuments. That’s it. Of course, in the office, not a single bronze marker had been installed. But I issued that paperwork the week I had left.

I walked into the office, and everyone was surprised to see me. The office manager, Becky, was very surprised, and though I was given strict instructions only to issue paperwork and leave, she started showing me all the stacks of paper on the desk, and rushed to get the GM on the phone.

I’m sitting at my old desk, and Becky has the GM on her speakerphone telling me that she doesn’t need any paperwork issued, but that I should work on unapproved proofs. She’s saying she doesn’t know what my new schedule will be, between the two cemeteries, from now on.

I walk out to call Big Jim, who is at that second meeting with her, and tell him what’s going on. No way, he says. I poke around a little, and I don’t even have access to those databases anymore to do what she wants.

I’m sitting there issuing work orders when I hear a woman in the lobby yelling that her monument is here but not installed. I figure, the stupidest thing that could happen right now is if one of the counselors were to walk back and grab me to speak to her.

Andrew darkens my door.

“Do you know anything about this monument? Could you explain to this customer what’s happening?”

No. I’m just here to issue these work orders. That’s it.

“Don’t hide behind that wall like a coward! Come out here and speak to me!”

I calmly look at Andrew like I’m going to kill him, and get up to speak to the woman.

Another company made this stone. We don’t have any of the paperwork. We have to call them and have them send it over. She won’t leave until it’s done. Okay.

Becky, I need you to log in so I can find these things in my computer. She comes in from the breakroom, going “Oh gosh, this woman is awful. What is she asking about? Oh my.” And walks away.

I’m still staring at my computer which she didn’t touch. I stand up, walk to my door, and bark, “BECKY.”

She gets up and starts walking over. “Log into my computer so I can help this woman, right now, please,” at volume.

She logs me out instead . I log in and ask her a third time to log in the the database so I can find this woman’s paperwork.

We eventually find a contract as the superintendent takes her out for a back and forth on where the foundation is going to go.

Nightmare.

Anyways. I issue the work orders and leave.

The next day, Carlene seems pissed. But what’s weird is she seems defensively pissed at me for already being pissed at her, but I don’t know what for yet. What is going on?

So, the managers talked, and I will in fact be helping them out for now on, but I am being told there will be strict boundaries. “Once you’re at the boundary of a black hole, you’re already in,” I say.

Im given access to all the databases and logs again. Im so pissed. I’m basically the memorialist for two cemeteries now. My desk is piled with work because of the few hours I was gone the day before. They say if it’s too much and things fall behind here, they’ll put an end to it. Well, it is too much, and so I’m going to end up failing at both positions before I’ve even had time to be adjusted to the new one. The response to each of my concerns is basically, yes, but you’re doing it.

There’s 57 unapproved proofs. That’s a lot. But, at a cemetery that never installs the markers once they get in, what difference does it make? The earliest ones are a few years old and so their files have been wiped except for the proofs. It then appears that no one has been looking at these at all, except until last Friday. Then four new orders were made yesterday.

I make a spreadsheet and structure how I’m going to tackle this thing.

The next day, I get an email from one of their customers and realize, I’m not just sending out emails, I have to design all these markers with the families still. This woman sent me an email two weeks ago when I didn’t work there anymore, I forwarded it to the office manager, no one responded to her.

I upload all her stuff, and then get an email back that someone already sent it. My old GM. See, she’s just been emailing the company directly and not communicating through the database or logging any of it in the marker logs. I can feel electricity on my skin.

I walk into Carlene’s office so panicked that I’m stuttering. She goes, “BUH BUH BUH you’re short circuiting. I get it.”

I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do all this.

The entire time this is happening, I’m still running the memorials desk at the busiest cemetery in the Midwest. Our counselors have the reputation of being the most obnoxious alive. And I’m having a panic attack. The worst one, calls me, and afterwards I slam down the phone and instead of tossing my desk, I just slam the desk fixture above, which silences the entire office for a minute.

After working some more, I get up and take the golf cart out to see the swans. I stop at the lake and stare at the fish for a few minutes, and calmer, the engraver stops by with his truck and I speak to him for a while.

[your-local-grinning-cat]

The Ultimate Compilation Callout Part 4

It has been confirmed that she is the General Lilia Vanrouge Blog.

So please block:

@/general-lilia-vanrouge

In confirming she is the General Vanrouge account, it has also been revealed that she is willing lie about her knowledge of everything happening (now that was expected), but also that she is willing to lie about her name and who she is to try to sneak back into an rp server full of minors (many of whom are 13-15 years of age) that she was previously kicked out of and also willing to lie about having a mental illness to try to avoid any and all culpability in her actions and behavior.

I. Am. Fuming.

I received a message on tumblr from someone that has been following the drama and has also supplied some proof of her past lies.

Ahhh but I needed proof of that. I can’t just go off hearsay.

But I have the power of an admin on my side.

When all this had been going down, the admin of my Discord server had given me the Malleus mod’s account numbers in order to ban her.

But I was a bit confused by the wording, and since they had used the word “ban” and not “block” and because I did not have Carl-bot, I thought the numbers would be useless.

But I was pissed and so I decided to give it a try in the search.

I am SO glad I didn’t block her.

Because LOOK who showed up when I searched with her current account number, just like this Tumblr user told me she would! Same name I was given and everything.

I was so… I was SO tempted at this point guys. I was SO TEMPTED to just… reveal both her old Discord name and her new one. But I am trying to be the bigger person. I am trying so fucking hard not to reveal IDs unless given permission or they are already public. I had to tell myself numerous times that I do not condone harassment. Because I don’t. I don’t. I DON’T. But this woman. :) :) :) :) :) :)

Now. In this alt rp server, they are supposed to post their boundaries.

First of all, here is the proof that this list of “boundaries” is, in fact, posted by this woman.

Now. *takes a deep breath*

Here is the full thing.

So, first of all, there is the confirmation that she is indeed the mod of the General Lilia Vanrouge account.

Second of all, she NEVER WANTS THE CURRENT TUMBLR DRAMA (that she knows NOTHING about!) BROUGHT UP TO HER. Oh, I’m sure you fucking don’t sweetie.

Third, she says to not interact if you’re a minor. I put that as a giant ass red flag there for a reason - not because interacting with minors is wrong or bad necessarily, but because she is a hypocrite and I will call her on it in just a little bit but let’s get to the top thing that is really, personally, making me see red.

Finally, she is now suddenly, out of the blue, claiming that she has BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) and therefore sometimes has mood swings, so “give her a little space.”

For those of you that have been paying attention, or have talked to me at all, I have my own mental health struggles. And I am, therefore, passionate about this topic.

In fact, Che’nya has, at times, slipped into an almost unofficial counselor role at times, simply because my empathy bleeds through so much when it comes to this.

And one thing that has always, always, pissed me off is when other people use mental illness as an excuse to explain away their shitty actions, behaviors, and attitudes.

Mental illness is not a fucking game. It’s not a joke. It’s not a coat or a mask you can slip on or off as you please to suit your needs.

You’re really going to sit over there and say you have BPD just to try to excuse all your shitty behavior? You’re really going to try to say “Oh, I know I was rude and disrespectful and cruel and demeaning to you - but I have BPD so maybe just give me some space okay?! You can’t blame me for my actions, I have a mental illness!!”

You’re really going to come out and say that when you have said nothing of the sort this entire time and were previously saying all your actions and bad behaviors could be blamed on the trauma of losing your child?

You’ve moved on from saying you lost your child to saying you have a severe mental disorder to excuse your actions.

Even if you do have a mental illness, and you aren’t just a lying, narcissistic piece of shit - you do not use your mental illness to explain away all of your behaviors and actions and get away with them with no consequences or repercussions.

To the SINGULAR MOD that owns the blogs of Malleus, General Lilia, Falena, Aijuka, Jack, Marja, Eric, Baul, Fellow, Meleanor, Sebek’s mother, twistedminds, and whatever other blogs you may come up with, from the bottom of my heart:

FUCK YOU.

*breathes deeply*

Okay.

Okay.

Alright.

I am calm.

…Calm enough.

Going back to the third thing, I said it was a MASSIVE red flag because she is a hypocrite of the highest caliber and I can prove it.

So let me just prove once again she has gone on record before saying she doesn’t interact with minors - especially minors as young as 13-15 of age.

At least, ACCORDING TO HER IN PUBLIC WHERE SHE CAN BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE……….

And then this was provided to me by the person who informed me of her trying to sneak back into their rp Discord server after she had been kicked out.

In this server, you need to assign yourself roles.

Considering she was booted and then attempted to sneak back in under a new Discord name and a revamped profile, she assigned herself roles twice.

She was at this role message twice.

She saw how many minors that were 13-15 years years of age are in that server twice.

She cannot claim ignorance of the ages of many of the members in that Discord server.

And yet she says “DNI minors”????? In a server she took the effort to SNEAK INTO?????

🚩🚩🚩

Hypocrite x10000 with just as many red flags to boot.

Now that discord is obviously okay with having older members interacting with minors, and that is their choice.

But it is one this to have everyone aware of the age boundaries so they can respect them, and another to have someone seem to be indicating that they either don’t know of the minors in the discord or are just being plain hypocritical and posting that but not actually caring.

Which… no matter which way you look at it, both options can be quite dangerous, sketchy, and, to put it frankly, can make it uncomfortable for minors. To treat minors as you would adults like yourself… yeah no.

So while that DNI itself is not a red flag, the IMPLICATIONS BEHIND IT for the discord she is in while posting it are. And the fact that she SNUCK BACK INTO IT makes it EVEN WORSE.

As the messager said in their very first message to me, a lot of them found it extremely creepy.

And I 100% do not blame them.

This woman needs to just fucking stop. Or at least leave the twst rp community, as much as I wouldn’t wish her on anyone else. I just want her gone.

EDITED TO CORRECT!

So that I am not accused of spreading misinformation, I was told by the OG messenger that I slightly misunderstood the place she snuck into. She snuck into a second twst discord server of theirs. That was my mistake and I apologize.

Direct quote from tumblr messager’s DM to me -

“Server 1: she simply rped & acted weird and got banned

Server 2: she joined under a different name but with the same account, saw how many minors it had, indirectly lied about who she is & we banned her”

So there were two separate servers, which explains how she was banned in the first server but still managed to sneak into the second server.

Apologies for that mix up!

The Ultimate Compilation Callout

Hey Guys! AR OOC once again to say I am 100% done.

I'm done with this. I thought it was finally dying down and the drama was finally getting to be over with but then she came back and is now trying to say that we are the ones in the wrong. And she is STILL trying to blame Leona's mod when, as both @/castaway-achlys and I have stated numerous times at this point, they were asleep during the entire event. They did not ask for us to defend them. We were both just tired of hearing our friend be exhausted and stressed out by her.

And the fact that so many people have come out to give their own experiences of her being rude and cruel to them just proves this is not a singular event.

I'm putting all this under a cut because it's gonna get long guys. In fact, I’m probably going to end up needing to create a couple reblog chains to get it all out.

But I'm done playing nice. I have all the receipts. Like I went allllll the way back to when the discord was first created. I caught her in her first lie.

Which, coincidentally, her very first lie in the Discord server happened on the very first day it was formed. What a way to start.

I call her the Malleus mod as an identifier in these screenshots, because unlike her, I am not petty enough to reveal peoples’ personal information on the internet just because I don’t like them.

HOWEVER. I will remind everyone that she is not JUST the owner of the Malleus account. Even if you don’t want to look under the read more because there are a LOT of receipts, know that these are all her known blogs.

I do not condone harassment. Harassment is basically what started all this. Just block and go.

Malleus Draconia @/therealmalleusdraconia

Falena Kingscholar @/the-falena-kingscholar

Aijuka (A Leona gf OC) @/the-one-aijuka

Jack Howl @/frosh-jack-howl

Fellow Honest @/fellow-honest

Meleanor Draconia @/meleanor-draconia

Baul Zigvolt @/baul-zigvolt

Sebek’s Mother @/thethickestone

Marja Felmier @/marja-felmier

And her latest: Eric Venue @/ericvenue

(Bonus non-rp blog @/thetwistedminds)

Before we get too far into it I will say there is a slight color code! But only a tiny one!

Gross light green color - look at that lie! 👀

Gross darker green color - a lie is revealed! 🤭

Orange - note the date/time! 🗓️⏰

Let me show you what I mean in the lie I’ve already mentioned - her very first one. :)

There we have the orange, telling you to note the date. That’s because I was wanting to make sure it was known that the pet posts were made on the same date that the discord was created.

And then we have the gross light green around Malleus mod claiming that this bunny is her bunny and that it was her bunny’s birthday recently.

Now here is the follow up with the gross darker green of a lie revealed. 😌

And there we have it! The color coding system and her very first lie told the very first day the Discord channel was active and easily disproven with an image search.

Now let’s get into the FUN STUFF! /sarc

We’re going to be doing some rehashing here but I’m also going to probably be including some new things so stay with me folks! This’ll be a ride! Buckle up!

So, originally I was thinking I'd start with the current drama. But considering that a lot of that has already been covered and what hasn't been covered needs more context, I'm just going to keep going in chronological order, I guess.

I've been up for over 24 hours compiling receipts, editing them to protect IDs, and then getting them all sorted so let's finally do this so I can pass out!

First up is something that actually has been covered a bit but I'm going to expand on it slightly - her blatant lie to @/elysia-nsimp (I'm not tagging anyone because I'm not forcing anyone to get notifications on this lmao).

Here's what everyone has already seen. But to expand on the event, we didn't call her out on her bad behavior, even though we probably should have as she had just lied straight to another mod's face about her blog ownership. I simply DM'd the mod in question privately to make sure they were okay and then tried to keep the peace in the main chat.

Because, believe it or not with this major callout post, I don't generally like confrontation. But I stepped in there for Elysia and I stepped up during this for Leona's mod.

Now, later that night, she posts this as if nothing had happened and she hadn't just been told that she needed to work on her roleplaying skills:

Uh huh. Sure. That's your last account. Because you have shown so much self-control when it comes to filling character voids within the twst rp community already. I'll be generous and give you a month before you break.

Now these next ones need a tiny bit of background information and a note: the Malleus mod is German and, as far as we know, lives in Germany. These next pictures are little indicators that she has not experienced the United States at all. These indicators may not seem important now, but they will be in just a little time. So keep them in mind for after the pause.

You cannot tell me anyone who has spent any length of time in the United States has not at least heard of Walmart.

Quick pitstop to say wow! You didn't even make it a month! Congratulations!

Also, note the question from the admin and the pretty obvious passive aggressiveness from me. We were sending plenty of hints that they needed to stop - sometimes coming outright and saying it, sometimes simply implying. Either way, we were all ignored.

She says she's not a mind reader. Well, apparently she's just not a reader period.

Now... a bit of an oddball here. And I want to say I do not necessarily think this is a lie. I am including it for a lie that is coming. The one that I included all those America comments for.

I'm sure you will note that I said that I don't "necessarily think" it's a lie - indicating that I do think it could be a possibility. That would be correct.

She has been lying since day one and, after this doozy of a story I'm about to share with you, I honestly don't know what to believe when it comes to her.

So.. to sum this up...

We went from a cringe ask from an OC account that she didn't want to answer -> the asker wasn't supposed to be on tumblr because they were underage (???) and was trying to date her irl and somehow had all of her information (oh but don't worry guys she deleted the ask!) -> he found her social media accounts and sent her NSFW pictures and started spam liking, demanding pictures of her kids, sent pictures of her at-the-time boyfriend, sent pictures of his family and his kids -> so she blocked him on everything and then started spam creating the rp accounts to see if he did it with other people or if it was just her (...mmmhmmm...) but nope he was only interested in Malleus -> she then apparently moved to America for a bit to crash with her boyfriend because this underage person went to Germany to find he.

Oh, by the way, why was this guy obsessed with her? Oh, he was obsessed with German women. He decided that all German women were pretty. And she's German-Russian! And Russians have intense standards for women you know! After this guy found out she was German AND Russian, I mean... it was only a matter of time before he upped his game to try to find her!

Guys, she's not saying she's too beautiful for her own good - the underage stalker speaks for itself!

Now, since this stalker found her through her Malleus account and was obviously very determined, you would think the first course of action would be to, ya know, delete the Malleus blog. Right?

No, no, no! Then she would have to start all over and, of course, if she switched accounts she would be forced to make a post on her current blog saying what her new blog is and he would just find her there. That's why she's trying to make her other accounts more active than her Malleus account (her Malleus account was still, by far, before all this happened, the most popular of all her rp blogs)!

Can I also mention that in that post announcing her pregnancy ON HER MALLEUS ACCOUNT WHERE SHE SUPPOSEDLY HAS A STALKER, she had tagged ALL OF HER BLOGS AT THE TIME?

But yes, Malleus mod. I definitely believe your story. :)

Please. Please tell me you all can understand why I just cannot find it in me to trust a single word coming out of this woman's mouth.

Especially now that during this whole drama, she has been lying through her teeth and trying to pin the entire blame on Leona's mod.

Now this part is nearly over (thank whatever gods anyone believes in) but let's just post the last few of the "before drama happened" pictures, shall we?

...I'm realizing I didn't underline the part where I called her out for having that many blogs in the gross dark green of a lie caught... oops. This is what happens when you have far too little sleep.

But either way, here is another time when she was called out on a lie of hers. And her little comment at the end means she read it and she acknowledged us.

She just didn't care because it didn't suit her.

~~~~~~

ALRIGHT!

THAT'S THE END OF PART ONE!

Yeah. This is going to come out in PARTS. I can't cover it all in one post because there is a picture limit.

So, I'm going to end up making a reblog chain...

Eventually.

Real talk? I need to sleep. Desperately. It's nearly two in the afternoon where I am and I have not slept yet.

Do not underestimate the power of spite and my loyalty to my friends. Both are very strong motivators.

But my body's needs are finally winning.

When I wake up, I'll have the Ultimate Drama Arc to post and expand upon and then the Return of the Drama Arc.

Yay. (said in the most unenthused voice ever lmao)

Anyway. Enjoy all this. I'm gonna go die. /j

[agent-cupcake]

Can I ask your opinion? So, I feel like everyone into 3H is in love with Dimitri, but I can't connect with him. I don't dislike him, but I feel like there isn't much to his personality without all his various mental health issues. It's hard to get a feel on what he's really like, so I end up just seeing him as a walking ball of trauma and not a three-dimensional character. Do you have any thoughts on Dimitri himself and how to separate him as a person from his psychological issues? Thanks!

Hmm, I guess my first thought is that everyone resonates with characters differently and so if you don’t particularly feel connected to him, that’s not wrong. Fictional parasocial relationships are very similar to real-life relationships, so it follows that nobody is going to like every character. I can’t say that a portion of my love for his character doesn’t come from his mental issues because that’s something I personally relate to and feel drawn to in others. That’s just who I am and how I build relationships. There is also something to be said for the unavoidable way mental illness informs a person’s behavior and character, it’s as much an aspect of them as being born with blond hair or losing an eye.

That said, I will do my best to explain why I think Dimitri is wonderful. Not in spite of his mental illness, but because I don’t think that’s all he is.

So, Dimitri is, as he says, a very clumsy person. This unfortunately extends to his social skills. He has a lot of very socially awkward tendencies and a general lack of self-awareness. This contrasts with his innate desire to please people, or at least avoid upsetting anyone. The thing is, Dimitri doesn’t always completely understand what upsets people or how exactly they might feel. His childhood isolation left him rather emotionally unaware and desperate for the acceptance and approval of others. That’s not to say he doesn’t try to understand other people’s feelings, but it’s not an intuitive process. He has a habit of saying kind of dumb or uncomfortable things out of nowhere, which is most likely his real feelings coming out in rather inept ways. He means well, but he’s just so dang clumsy.

The desperation to be included and validated I mentioned, I think, can be seen in the way he tries so hard to make the other Blue Lions see him as a peer and equal all the while keeping himself rather closed off from them. Dimitri approaches conversations as a means of focusing on the other person, trying to make an appeal to them rather than as an interaction where both parties could be seen as vulnerable. Of course, just like most other socially awkward introverts, he opens up when he feels closer to the person, but that takes a while. Gotta unlock the supports, you know? Although it’s not necessarily obvious, his incredibly stiff behavior (especially pre-timeskip) and the way he switches between overly formal and awkwardly friendly in his interactions with people as he tries to figure out how to socially and emotionally navigate relationships really gives me the impression of someone trying desperately to fit in without even the faintest clue of how to actually manage that. He also does his best to avoid social situations, which, mood. Basically, Dimitri’s a big dumb massive introvert trying to act like he’s not.

FURTHERMORE, he is a dork. An absolute goof of a person. Dimitri canonically thinks so-bad-its-good puns and jokes are hilarious. His own style of telling jokes is saying things that may or may not have contextual humor in a normal voice and then claiming after the fact that he intended it as such. Now, his supports with Alois are absolute factual proof of the so-bad-its-good humor, but might I also direct your attention to the scene before the battle against Miklan in Conand Tower (the event name is “Tower in a Storm (Blue Lions)”). Basically, Gilbert is explaining the history behind Conand Tower and Dimitri says, in an incredibly earnest voice, “You’re very well informed, Gilbert. Please, tell us more.” This is a joke. Supposed to be, at least. The delivery is somewhat emphasized, but not in a recognizably sarcastic way. Gilbert, who knew Dimitri very well when he was young, realizes it’s a joke after a second. But there are other things Dimitri says that I believe are his bad “jokes” and since nobody knows him well enough to tell, they don’t call him on it. There’s no proof, but his line in the Lord’s intro where he says, “And here I thought you were acting as a decoy for the sake of us all.” to Claude has to be an attempt at sarcasm. Dimitri is oblivious, but not stupid. In his Goddess Tower conversation with Byleth, when discussing the topic of wishes, he says, “Perhaps it would make more sense for me to wish that we’ll be together forever. What do you think?” In a completely normal voice. Following are two speech bubbles of “...” before he laughs and proclaims that it’s just a joke and that he’s getting better at telling them. Now, this is a two-parter because I see this as both his horribly awkward tendency to say things he feels without thinking too hard beforehand as well as his silly deadpan style of “jokes”. Granted, he does apologize. Dimitri’s got socially awkward zoomer humor. It’s endearing.

Here is a video of Dimitri hitting on Byleth pre-timeskip. I’m not sure how far it goes to endear someone to him, but the mostly awkward and occasionally smooth attempts of Dimitri’s flirtations are absolutely a highlight of his character. 

Now, this isn’t quite as cute as all that, but I think character arc and change do a lot for making a character feel more three-dimensional. Dimitri is hypocritically selfish. Although those are both negative terms, I don’t necessarily mean them as such, at least not in their totality. Both are things to overcome, which he does. And that’s why I feel like they’re a valid point of discussion when trying to explain the allure of his character.

The hypocritical part comes from the way he easily allows and forgives the flaws of others while constantly castigating himself for the same reasons. He says things that show an absurd amount of a lack of self-awareness. For example, he tells Edelgard, “Hm. You will prove a lacking ruler yourself if you look for deceit behind every word and fail to trust those whom you rely on.” All the while straight-up lying to and emotionally avoiding his friends. Dimitri also tells Marianne, when she is punishing herself for putting other people at risk, “What matters is that they came back safely in the end. You shouldn’t blame yourself for that.” Really, his C and B with Marianne is an exercise in hypocrisy. The standards Dimitri has for himself are incredibly, unattainably high. He’s setting himself up for failure in that way and, to an extent, knows what he’s doing because he knows that those same standards are too much for his friends and allies to meet. He wishes to take on everything himself. But, what I find so beautiful about this, is that Dimitri eventually realizes that he can’t do that. He is not strong enough to take on the weight of the world on himself, he comes to understand that it’s something he must allow himself to share with the people who care about him. He comes to realize that, as difficult as it is to accept, he is a weak person. Despite all of his introversion and inability to emotionally open up, he figures out that having a support system and allowing yourself to rely on people who love you is a necessity. Personally, I think this message is incredibly important in real life. Watching Dimitri come to that conclusion and argue it’s importance really rounded out his arc and journey as a person. Now, the relatability of this conclusion will differ, but I don’t think it has to do with his mental illness as much as it is a fundamental aspect of growth.

The selfishness is basically outlined above. Dimitri is selfish about his pain and secrets, purposefully and selfishly driving people away because he wants to keep the burden to himself. His vice is guilt and he indulges in the pain of it like an addiction. Hatred, too, is a drug. He thinks he needs it to keep going, even though all it does is bring agony to himself and others around him. Learning to accept and let go of these feelings is, again, something I think is important and a character arc that I really love, especially when you see him suffer as much as he does. Now, the execution of this is lacking, I admit. But that’s an issue for another time I think.

I am not quite sure if I did much to change your opinion, but this is all I can think of for now. There is probably a lot more than I’ve left out because I think about Dimitri far too much to be healthy. So, I’ll leave you off with some honorable mention aspects of his character that I think are super fun:

Pre-timeskip Dimitri has his hair tucked behind his ear. He can lift a wagon by himself. In the DLC, when faced with an impossible-to-open gate, it was not muscle man Balthus who said he couldn’t open it, but twinkish teen Dimitri. He’s not really smooth with one-liners. Like, at all. Notably, when attacking Manuela post-timeskip, he says, “Perhaps I should have appeared before you holding a bouquet of flowers, rather than the weapon that will end your life.” Adding to this, at one point, Dimitri fucked up a pick-up line so badly the girl came after him. Areadbhar has a mitten on it in the Azure Moon final picture. He breaks everything. His Crest activation ability even supports this, using twice the durability of any given Combat Art. One of his post-timeskip counselor messages is, “I lived in the slums for a long time, and I saw how the people there suffered from poverty and the ravages of war. There must be something I can do to save them." His room in the academy is right next to Sylvain’s, meaning that for almost an entire year Dimitri was a single wall away from hearing whatever nonsense Sylvain was getting up to. Dimitri is the only Lord that takes the throne and doesn’t abandon his people in some form or another.

And, finally, he is pretty sexy. And that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “The Verdict.”

Put a lot of work into this, and now its approaching a close. I hope you all enjoy.

Again thank discord member Eddi for writing the experimental logs and coming up with the scientists names. I hope you especially enjoy what I have done with your work. I really appreciate it, and was super excited to collaborate on a work.

WARNING: Not really any violence in this one, but it does mention drugs, and suicide, so viewer discretion is advised. 

“Are you alright?”

Adam barely heard the question eyes wide and watching as the lights glowed down from overhead inside the sterile, white marbled courtroom.

“Adam?’

He blinked and looked up, turning his head to stare at Admiral Kelly who sat at his side, a hand resting on his shoulder, “Did you hear me?”

“Sorry,, I’m fine.’

She went quiet, eyes narrowed in concern clearly not entirely believing him when he said he was alright, but having no proof otherwise. He had to take a moment to think about it himself, and determined that….. He did feel fine. In fact, he felt better than he had earlier. His palms were no longer sweating and his breathing was coming in a normal, even rhythm. 

He was alright, he was going to be ok.

“The prosecution calls Dr. Wilkenson to the stand.”

Adam lifted his head in surprise, eyes narrowing as the slim man took to his feet, nervously adjusting his tie and his glasses in turn before making his way to the witness stand. This was one of the men who had helped to design the steel eye project.

“Dr Wilkenson, do you mind reading for us, the words that you wrote regarding the Steel Eye project.”

The man was handed a piece of paper, and he nodded it, taking it into his hands before clearing his throat. 

Experimental log #1

I am shocked at the extent to which my ‘colleagues’ are willing to go for greater heights of recognition and achieving their goals. I am attempting to either reduce the pain subjects feel or in some way reduce the reliance on addictive painkillers. I fear however this will all avail naught. The pain induced by the interface itself means that one would have to redesign the entire system. To keep my superiors happy I will also be conducting movement tests. 

-Recording break-

The tests went as well as expected, The soldiers who have volunteered are unresponsive and lethargic when they are wearing the full suit, this is likely to the immense amount of suppressive painkillers they are on. A mixture of fentanyl and Carfentanil, A mixture I would expect to find in painkillers for a horse or even small elephant. I am advising the introduction of a stimulant. However I am also voicing concerns over such a thing as the level of stimulants needed would be far higher than is safe. 

“You seem to have had some doubts about the Steel eye project, Doctor.”

The man nodded, fidgeting with his glasses again, “I did…. Due to ethical concerns. I felt that the testnng was moving to quickly, and I also felt that the introduction of such potent medications would also be an ethical violation. As I worded in my original log, I felt that the dosages required to keep someone functional while wearing the Steel eye suit were well beyond reasonable.”

The lawyer shifted slightly on their feet, “Tell me doctor, why -- after you quite-- did you not bring these ethical violations forward to the proper authorities?”

The doctor shifted nervously, “I would have liked to, counselor, but -- before entering the project-- i signed a top secret nondisclosure agreement that stated: were I to introduct this information to any outside source, that I would be jailed for the rest of my life….” he looked down at his feet, “Obviously, now I regret deeply not having the courage to come forward and say something sooner. 

Audio visual log transcript.

The researcher, confirmed to be Dr.Wilkinson approaches the test subject, attempting to wake them in various gentle manners before finally slapping them with an open palm. Once awoken and adjustments to the drug intake are made by Dr. Wilkinson which resulted in protests from the subject. The subject is encouraged to run laps on a large track which is timed by Dr. Wilkinson. After Which the doctor assists the subject out of the suit and hands him over to a medical worker who seems to have been held on standby. 

The lawyer cleared her throat, reading.

Observers note: 

It is to be mentioned to the Commission that Dr Wilkinson was sworn to secrecy and required to sign the statute of secrets until such a time the information was brought to light in any manner other than his own actions. Additionally Dr Wilkinson took part in the development of the Iron Eye project and was a vocal proponent of non-human test subjects and ensuring the users were as safe and stable as possible. 

“We are not on trial here today for the actions of Dr. Wilkenson who has agreed to testify for the prosecution in exchange for immunity against legal action. We are, however, here to discuss the actions of those scientists who continued on with the steel eye project long after it became clear that there were ethical concerns, and that those ethical concerns were being routinely and blatantly violated.”

The prosecution shifted again, hands gripping the lectern, “The prosecution would like to present experimental log 3 for evidence.” 

Experimental log #3

After reviewing James’s experimental logs and the currently used painkillers and suppressants the current stimulants suggested caffeine and amphetamine. It has been decided that the stimulants lack a level of strength to provide combat effective units. Thus the upcoming experiment will be focused on achieving the right cocktail of drugs to provide optimum combat functionality. The tested stimulants will be mixtures I have personally developed and calculated. As well as commercially available and recommended mixtures that James developed.

-Recording break- 

As expected the mixtures that James developed did not aid in any manner and testing with those ceased after the first failure. The recommended mixtures are only marginally better. I have discovered however, to no shock, that my own mixtures are highly functional. Proceeding forwards, We will be making use of mixture 22c. 

Audiovisual log transcript:

Several volunteers stood in a line in prototype Steel-eye suits, each seeming to be asleep. The researcher stops by each of them to place a second vial of chemicals in the drug port. The first subject seems not to react beyond several flickerings of the eyes and a pained moan. In response to this the researcher dumps several un-tested vials in to a large plastic bucket with ‘Failed’ on it in sharpie. The next few subjects react somewhat more, becoming semi verbal and looking round, however they are still lethargic an slow. Only responding in half words or gestures. The researcher dumps several more untested vials in to the ‘Failed’ bucket. The final few volunteers however become far more alert and aggressive, moving round, pushing each other and joking. The researcher struggles to persuade them out of the suits and is eventually forced to deactivate the suits by removing the power supply cables. 

Observers note:

Mixture 22c appears to be a mixture of methamphetamines and cocaine. There also appears to be an addition of Dimethyl sulfoxide which increases the absorption rate of the drugs but also removes the requirement for precision with the needle insertion allowing for a larger needle to be used to increase drug delivery dosage. 

The court room was silent, silent as the lawyer turned to look at the assembled audience and then back at the judges, “Methamphetamine…. And cocaine, two drugs known to be ‘highly’ addictive and grossly unethical. Drug experimentation on humans is strictly controlled by the EDA and that is ONLY involving the clinical use of newly discovered drugs. At this point it should be more than clear that the use of illicit drugs on unknowing test subjects in a developmental environment goes beyond gross negligence and into malicious tampering. Dr. Ayishat Abara has demonstrated great contempt for Dr. Wilkinsons moderate methods and gone on to produce a cocktail of drugs that is rarely found outside of crackhouses and meth labs. 

With a solemn expression, the lawyer turned to look at the rest of the crowd, “This is not even considering the long term effects and the psychological damage caused to the victims of Steel eye…. Which led many men and women to take their own lives. Experimental log 18 being the prosecution's next piece of evidence.” 

Experiment log #18

After extensive physical testing and further refining of the stimulant delivery system and mixtures of the stimulant and painkillers I have decided that it is suitable to move on to combat testing. The upcoming test will be a simple firearms test, I have requisitioned a modified 30mm rapid fire weapon that I feel will be suitable for use with the Steel Eye suit. This will be a live fire test. I have no intent on taking baby steps when such a project is due to draw such renown. 

-Recording break-

The subject was more than capable of using the weapon. Though seemed to lack the force of will to maintain its use for long. To combat this I will be including small amounts of ritalin as well as increasing the stimulant dosage. This should counteract the negative reactions exhibited by the test subject.

Audiovisual log transcript:

The subject is active and moving around the test area. Different to all the prior times, however the subject also seems to be on edge or hyper aware of something. The researcher wheels in a large caliber short barreled  automatic cannon Attaching it to the Steel eye suits arm and instructing the soldier on how to use it. After a few moments of instruction the subject seems comfortable and begins firing down rage at several targets, Displaying uncanny reaction speed and almost superhuman reflexes. This continued for several minutes, The subject however seems to grow more and more despondent and unresponsive as the tests go on. The researcher leaves the area for a short while seemingly to get more stimulants or ammunition. During the break the soldier places the short barreled against their own temple and discharges the weapon. This subject is registered as the test subject for the past 11 experiments. 

The entire room flinched and gasped. Adam felt his stomach churn again, but less to do with fear this time and more to do with pure disgust and horror. He looked away again as the recording shut off and the lawyer stood before the room for a long moment allowing the footage to sink into the minds of those in the courtroom, “This test subject, this man, Dakota McCallister was on his 11th time as a test subject when this footage was taken. After reviewing all of the testing logs with Dr. Gladstone, we have found no evidence that the subjects were monitored for mental health concerns. Additionally none of them were even screened before testing began. None of the men and women involved in the Steel eye project were ever referred for mental health testing before, during or after the experimentation was complete.”

Experimental log #23

I have discovered the most efficient way to motivate the subjects is to offer further testing time within the suit and increased dosages of the drugs used to suppress the side effects of wearing the suit. This has prevented further unwarranted self removal from the project as occurred in experiment eighteen. The upcoming test is the first live combat test. I have taken one of the subjects and isolated them for a few days, preventing use of the suit. They will be permitted to use the suit and instructed that if they wish to continue using it they will attack a target of my choosing.

-Recording Break- 

The experiment went far better than expected. The subject did not question the instructions given nor did they seem to show any lack of remorse for their actions. Short of a few further tests to ensure subjects can work together. Further testing is unwarranted. 

Audiovisual log transcript:

Within the test arena there is a single individual they appear to be a military volunteer. Missing a limb. Quite possibly a earlier subject from the Steel Eye testing. The subject is nervous and clearly unstable. The researcher enters, alongside the Steel eye testing unit. The subject of the steel eye seems to be hyper alert and jittery. The individual spots the Steel eye suit and panics, attempting to move away from it. The researcher indicates the individual to the subject and the subject charges the individual, striking them with the backhand of the suit. The individual is thrown across the testing area to impact against the far wall. The landing angle indicates not only a broken neck but several other lethal injuries, including a crushed skull. The researcher, seemingly satisfied provides the subject with a vial of some kind, And leaves the testing area. 

“Researchers and test subjects alike died during the experimentation, and yet the scientists did not stop.” She looks down at her notes, “The experiment went far better than expected? What is that even supposed to mean, you expected more people to die? YOu expected the test subject to be more unstable. Furthermore, the use of the suit and the drugs as a reward for the already unstable test subjects is a simple demonstration of how poorly this experiment was run and overseen. These ethical violations should never have begun much less allowed to continue.”

Discussion synopsis regarding further system problems.

The researchers confirm that all systems are working to their optimum capabilities given the research time and that they have done everything in their power to keep the subjects safe and healthy throughout the testing process and that no undue risk were taken. Dr Abara indicates disdain for Dr Wilkinson’s methods and suggests he be court marshalled for his attempted ‘sabotage’ of the project. This is dismissed by Admiral Ableman. Problems are mentioned regarding power sources and suggestions are raised including back pack mounted power units. This is eventually solved with Dr Nkosi suggests making use of injured soldiers and using the space where their limb would be to mount power packs. The next issue raised is the fact that the Steel Eye suit puts too much stress on soldiers in active combat scenarios as mentioned by Dr Abara stating that ‘subjects fell apart too fast.’  Again Dr Nkosi provides a solution by suggesting the use of augmetics. Dr Stein at this point provides a interface solution using the prosthetics. With all problems solved All relevant papers are handed over to the Admiral and Colonel for the production and shipping out of the combat capable Steel Eye suits.

The lawyer stood quietly before them, hands clasped at her front,  “Experimental testing lasted less than a decade. The pain of the interface was never fixed, and yet they sold it off to desperate UNSC officials in order to win the Drev war. Fifty men and women were subjected to implantation. Thirty of those are dead ten of those are permanently psychologically damaged. Five are still in treatment while five more are the only ones who manage to be functional and hold jobs. However,” She motioned towards Adam, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “We also see that -- even then, they are not exempt from psychological dysfunction, though they were never compensated.” She shuffled her papers, “The prosecution has no further comments at this time.” She turned and went back to her seat, pausing to sit and speak quietly with her partner for a moment as the judges deliberated.

Amidral Kelly learned over, “If that was no reasonable doubt, then I don’t know what is.”

Adam nodded, he was feeling pretty good about this all things told.”

Off on the other side of the room, the defence took to their feet. It seemed mostly as if their strategy was not getting their clients out of trouble but simply mitigating the punishments related to the crimes they HAD committed. He heard a lot of tripe and waffling about supposed loopholes in the system and about how they had WON the Drev war after all. There was even a couple arguments about how everyone there had signed an agreement to participate so it actually wasn’t all that bad.

The entire thing seemed as if it was going to be tied up in a neat little bag for them .

That was until.

“The defence would like to call Admiral Vir to the witness stand.”

He froze in palace eyes wide and looked around in confusion. Of course this was perfectly legal and in their  rights for them to do this, but he had no idea what they are going to ask. He stood slowly and made his way towards the witness stand staring at the defence as he took an uncomfortable seat on the wooden witness chair.

“ Admiral Vir, How old are you/”

He had to admit that he didn’t expect that question and paused for an unbelievable amount of time before answering, “Twenty six.”

“So young for an admiral.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

The prosecution stood, “Objection your honor, this information is irrelevant.”

“We will allow it.” The prosecution sat.

“And you are not currently taking any medications for your PTSD.”

“No, but I do have a service dog.”

“And do you receive metal evaluations often, as an admiral.”

He shifted in his seat not sure where this was going, and not liking it one bit, “Yes.”

“So you might say that it is safe to assume that the UNSC considers you mentally sound enough to command an entire armada of ships at the age of 26.”

“I…. yes.”

“Admiral, do you have any phobias.”

He swallowed hard unable to tell at all where this was going on, “No, councilor, I don’t.”

“Do you know anyone who does?”

“Yes, I have a friend who has claustrophobia.”

“And how does that person react in enclosed spaces.”

“They panic.”

“Do they actively seek out enclosed spaces, or do they avoid them?”

Adam shrugged, “They avoid them of course. They don’t even like elevators”

“Right, so it would be safe to say that if someone has trauma or panic related to a certain event or object, they would be likely to avoid that object or thing or association with that object at all costs.”

His hands had begun sweating again. A line of it trickled down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades, “I would assume so.”

“Admiral Vir, would you please show the court your prosthetic leg.”

His hearing completely cut out and all there was was a loud ringing. He saw one of the defence object but then watched as the judges deny that defence.

He was ordered to stand out in front of the court.

His hearing came back slowly as, shaking hands pulled up his right pant leg.

“Admiral Vir, would you mind removing the prosthetic for us.”

He felt heat rising to the back of his neck and up onto his face. The defence argued for him, but it was no use. The Bailiff brought him a chair, and he nervously, and self consciously unstrapped the prosthetic with a soft snick, quickly moving to cover the injury. He felt about ten times smaller as he handed the prosthetic over to the Bailiff, paraded in front of the courtroom like some kind of freak show.

He tried not to think about it, keeping his chin high eyes staring straight forward.

“Please show the judges the serial number on the thigh.”

The Bailiff did as requested.

“Can you ready that out for us your honor, please.”

“SE490000.”

“Dr. Gladstone can you please examine this prosthetic and tell me what you see.”

Adam was held on standby as the doctor moved forward uncomfortably to examine the leg which the bailiff was holding, “It…. is a modified bioprosthetic with Drev Chitin, I don’t…”

“And who would you say was the manufacturer?”

The man paused before his eyes widened slowly, “This…. This is-” he looked up, “This is a steel eye prosthetic.”

There was silence in the courtroom.

“Thank you Dr. Gladstone.” The defence motioned the Bailiff to return the leg to Adam, who strapped it on with still-shaking hands.

“ Admiral Vir,  the defence requests that you remove your uniform jacket. If you would be more comfortable that can be done in privacy of course.”

Adam stared at them in confusion. The prosecution stood to argue again, but again were denied.

“Would you like to step into the back room admiral?”

Running on autopilot he shook his head probably having preferred some privacy but being far too confused to actually request it.

He stood and slowly unbuttoned the front of his uniform jacket, staring with the high neck collar and then down either side.

He handed the jacket the the Bailiff, who held it form him.

He stood now in only a white undershirt.

“Admiral please turn around and hold your arms out to the side.”

He did as told.

The room muttered softly.

“Dr. Wilkenson, do you recognize those.”

From behind him, adam heard the weak response, “Those are iron eye interface ports.”

“Thank you admiral, you may put your jacket back on.”

He did as ordered feeling his neck and face turn hot red as he took his seat back on the stand.”

“Admiral, if steel eye had such a negative effect on you, then why would you be wearing a steel eye prosthetic and iron eye interface ports. Wouldn’t those exacerbate your condition.”

He opened and closed his mouth.

The prosecution stood, “Objection your honor, Admiral Vir is not the one on trial here, and this is humiliation.”

“Sit down, council.” The defence was looking rather smug, “presenting to the court footage from the Burg war on the Gromm homeworld.”

Adam’s head was filled with the sound of screaming and gunshots. The camera he was watching through was shaky and jostled this wa and that as the figure ran. Up ahead a massive bubble of force dominates the skyline and hundreds of borg ships swarmed around its top like an eruption of bees.

Drev and other marines ran up and beside, and just ahead of that.

He saw a familiar figure.

He saw himself.

Running at the front of the group. Even over the sound of the screaming and the gunfire he could hear the repetitive hydraulic hiss and whirring of the servo motors as the steel eye suit spurred him to impossible speeds. The Steel eye prosthetic hissed the loudest as he was propelled over the ground.

His heart began to beat faster and faster inside his chest, lines of sweat poured down his back and the halo of lights overhead was growing as if to encompass his vision. He felt sick and dizzy all at once, feeling as if he was tiling sideways and going to fall over. He watched as the image of him ran headfirst into a burg, grabbed it by its slimy centipede limbs…. And ripped it apart. His vision blurred and his ears were ringing.

Muffled gasps filled the court.

He gripped the sides of his chair willing himself to stay in reality, to not pass out or be sucked into some horrific sort of flashback.

He wanted to throw up.

The ringing in his ears only stopped a few minutes later with the Bailiff gently shaking his shoulder.

“Admiral.”

He sat up straighter, his hearing still muffled, but at least he could see.

“Admiral, why did you put on the suit again if it had such damaging effects on you the first time.” “I…. It… i... “ He continued to stammer for a moment before stopping and taking a deep breath, “I thought it was the only way. I put on the suit because I thought if I didn’t than I was forfeiting earth to the Burg, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.” “And how would you describe wearing the suit.”

His heart was thundering in his ears. He felt like he was going to fall over, to be sick. Phantom shots of pain ran up and down his spine. He was shaking so badly he wondered if the entire courtroom could see it, “Indescribable pain….”

“But you didn’t tear it off.”

Soft, “No.”

“So, despite the alleged trauma that the Steel eye project caused you, you wear a steel eye prosthetic, iron eye interfaces, and you have even put on the steeleye suit a second time…. Based on those actions, it hardly seems like the behavior of someone who has received laying trauma from the Steel eye project. Could it be, that your PTSD stems from the war itself and not from the Steel eye project.”

His mouth opened and then closed. His ears were still ringing, and it was hard to think around.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to put two thoughts together. Even his internal monologue had gone silent. 

“Admiral, please answer the question.”

That was when another side of him reared its head. Where the soft squishy 26 year old manchild could not answer the question, there was someone else there t pick up his pieces.”

The admiral, and the Veterin, and the Drev Sentinel,and the warrior stepped into his palace.

His hearing cleared very suddenly and he sat up turning his gaze on the defence.

The targeting system in his prosthetic eye snapped into focus placing the radicals just over the lawyers face.’

“Council, I can see that you are attempting to undermine my claim of PTSD related to the steel eye project to mitigate the lasting effects of the trauma on my person. Based on your argument, I would never have put on the prosthetic or the suit had it caused as much harm to me as I claim. I will have you know, however, that the leg was a gift from a Drev soldier following the war as a gesture of peace taken, discarded from the battlefield and modified. That leg later went on to save my life as it adopted me into the Drev clan. It is an everyday reminder of the war, and the things I lost. It took me months to be able to wear it for what it was -- as a gift-- rather than a reminder of the war. As for the Burg war, I have made mistakes in my time and that was one of them. THe Steel eye suit is a drug, and no matter how much one hates it you always want to come back. That feeling of power, being ten times stronger than you should be, it's like being a god, It is everything you hate and love all in one, and yes I was in ‘debilitating pain’ but i kept going because I  thought at that time it was the only way to save the universe.’ He leaned forward in his seat, “So the next time I am lying in the dark prone in the fetal position because one of the pipes on my ship accidentally made a hissing noise, I will take a moment to think about whether it was te steeleye project or the war.” 

His voice did not quiver or break, and instead of feeling small, he could imagine the defence shrinking slightly at his words, whose volume had never raised. 

“You may take your seat admiral.”

He did as told again straight backed and unmoved by the eyes that stared at him.

Admiral Kelly was staring at him as he took his seat, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

Thedefence  brought forward a few more points crosse examining Dr. Wilkenson before the prosecution stepped forward again.

 “The prosecution would now like to call expert witness Dr. Lemar Dedtric to the stand.”

There was some shuffling for a few moments as another man stood from he crowd and walked forward taking his seat and sworn to truth  before the eyes of the court.

“Dr. Dedric, tell us a little of your credentials here today.”

The man nodded, “For the past twenty years, I have headed the  leading psychiatric foundation at the University of Northern Mericanda. I have practiced psychiatry for those same twenty years, published over 100 papers and founded more than twenty psychological foundations for veterans. At the university level I focus primarily on Post Traumatic Stress as related to combat with a secondary focus on the psychological effects of biotechnology implantation.” “And you also reviewed this case like Dr. Gladstone?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And do you believe that there were any psychological effects related to the use of the Steel eye suits on these men and women?”

He nodded, “Most certainly. I think the admiral explained it most clearly when he described the steel eye suit as a drug. As we know, Upgrade addiction was recently added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental illness last march. Studies that led to the institution of this particular illness found that subjects who were exposed to extreme bio interfacing where more likely to continue adding interfaces as time went on. When asked the subjects reported that their desire to augment came from the feeling of power the interface gave them. The steel eye subjects, based on the notes presented in court indicate a proclivity to going back to the project or something similar despite degrading mental health.”

“The prosecution would like to present video testimony from a few of the remaining steel eye operatives.”

With these testimonies, the case lasted well into the day, and far into the night before court was adjourned and reschedule fo the following day. He slept as if in a haze nad returned early to listen to the rest of the cross examination He was called up multiple times for both sides, but never cracked once during that time. It was as if he was watching himself from the outside.

The defence never called up their own people to the stand, and were likely not going to call them up at all.

That was fine by him.

And then finally, mercifully the judges stepped off into the deliberation chambers staying there for a good half of the day before everyone was called back.

“After much deliberation the Geneva court has come to a verdict….. A verdict. A verdict of guilt on all charges which includes the maximum sentence of life in the Turma maximum security prison facility on multiple counts of Torture, mltiple counts of manslaughter, and multiple counts of gross ethical violation, Court Dismissed.”

Adam sighed sinking back in his seat to stare up at the ceiling.

What a long day this had been.

But at least now it was over

[cbk1000]

So, I was chatting with a co-worker today, and she was telling some stories about her childhood, and in the course of this, she mentions that she was adopted. Ok, cool. She elaborates that she was actually raised by her grandparents. Ok, ok; with you. An aunt and uncle of mine are actually raising their grandchild (her dad, my cousin, is a bit of a deadbeat to say the least). I ask if she was close with her mom, and she says, “Oh, yeah, my whole life; we were raised together.” Lovely; did they tell you she was your sister or something? Yes, they told her that her birth mother was her sister; she got pregnant at sixteen and they decided she did not need to be responsible for a baby at that age. 

Ok, cool; cool. Not the first time I’ve heard this sort of story.

Then my co-worker is like, “I actually didn’t know the truth until I was 20 years old. And it’s quite the story.”

LISTENING.

So here’s what she tells me: her mom gets pregnant at 16. Grandma/adoptive mother helps her actual mom hide the pregnancy, lying to everyone, including her husband. She sends her away to a hospital for unwed mothers which is run by nuns, and again lies and tells everyone that she’s at a summer camp for three months as a counselor. My co-worker is born; but of course, her mom can’t come home with a baby. Grandma/adoptive mom goes to get her and brings her home, leaving my co-worker at the hospital to be cared for by nuns. A few weeks later, grandma/ adoptive mom is like, “Hey, got word that this child was abandoned by its mother at this hospital for unwed mothers; we should take her in.” Bam; co-worker is adopted by her grandparents, and raised completely oblivious to the fact that her older sister is actually her mother. (Side note: she related a funny story in which she went off with a boy when she was about 13 to a drive-in movie, and her ‘sister’ came and pulled her out of the car and tore this boy a new asshole about how he was too old to be running around with 13-year-old girls. Co-worker of course does the “YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER!!!!” thing as people are yelling at them to shut up because they’re ruining the movie. ‘Sister’ gets nose to nose with her and goes, “If you only knew.” Of course this is odd, but not something a 13-year-old thinks about overly much.) 

Fast forward to 20: a cousin drops the “So when did they finally tell you that you’re adopted?” bombshell on her. She was never told that she’s adopted. She is freaking out. She said she was too scared to talk to her parents about it, so she asked an aunt if it was true that she was adopted. Aunt confirms it for her. Co-worker then asks, “Am I Cherie’s?” Aunt hesitates and says that she doesn’t have any proof, but, yes, she suspects that her older sister is really her mother.

Fast forward much farther. Grandpa/adoptive father is on his death bed. He has hours remaining in his life. He tells her he has to confess something to her, and that he feels terrible they kept it from her all these years. She is adopted; he’s so sorry they never told her.

She says, “Daddy, I know. I know I’m Cherie’s kid.”

There is a long pause. He says, “You’re Cherie’s??”

HE DID NOT KNOW. HE DID NOT KNOW THIS WAS HIS GRANDDAUGHTER AND NOT JUST HIS ADOPTIVE DAUGHTER. 

He says of his beloved wife, while he is living out his last few hours, “That damned conniving woman; I always wondered why you looked so much like Cherie.”

Naturally I am delighted. I say that her grandmother/adoptive mother sounds like she was quite the character. My co-worker says, “You have no idea.” 

Then she tells me that her grandmother/mother used to go to Tijuana all the time with some girlfriends. Border security was much more lax back then--and I stop her at this point. I say, “Are you about to tell me your grandma/adoptive mother was a smuggler?”

Yes, friends. That was what she was about to tell me.

This lady felt so bad for the people trying to cross the border for a better life that she would stack like eight people at a time in the trunk of her Cadillac, smuggle them across the border, and then help them find work. Every Christmas they got cards from all these people her husband did not know. He would stare at these Christmas cards in total confusion, asking who these people were and why they were sending Christmas cards. Co-worker’s grandma/adoptive mother would then be like, “Oh, you do too know them! Remember, they lived just down the street from us” and make up a whole bullshit backstory with such confidence that eventually he would say, “Oh, yeah; I guess I do remember them.”

Anyway, I want a movie about this lady and her totally clueless husband wandering around in the background while she smuggles people across the border and adopts their own grandchild. 

[liquorisce]

decisions, decisions pt 2

Fandom : Bleach 

Pairings : Ichihime (ft. some ichi x ishi bickering which we love around here)

Rating : T

Part 1

A/N: A few months ago I wrote a post-tybw-karakura-gang-finishes-high-school kinda thing called ‘decisions, decisions’  ft career choice discussions and orihime thinking of leaving town for uni. I wanted to write some more of that stuff and more ichihime pining obvs, so here it is. also i hate myself for not being able to participate in ichihimeweek2020, i suck, but anyway, ‘nuff with the nonsense, here’s the fic: 

(ps: pls be nice to me and like/reblog/comment or whatevs and tell me what u think, ily thx)

...

It’s five minutes to two, and Ichigo fought to stifle a yawn. The menacing five hundred pages of English grammar exercises in front of him wasn’t helping. 

“... Unbelievable,” he curses, slamming the book shut, much to the annoyance of his bespectacled classmate sitting across him. “Why the hell can’t they just teach us proper English in school?! I’m absolutely fucking positive that Honda-sensei didn’t mention more than three tenses in her class. And what kind of English lesson takes place in Japanese anyway?!” 

“... Quit your whining, Kurosaki. Some of us are trying to study here.” 

Ichigo fumed. By ‘some of us,’ Ishida was pointedly referring to just himself and the long-haired beauty sitting right opposite him, who, judging by her giggling at his outburst, welcomed his distraction. The same giggling that was contributing to the problem, contributing to Ichigo’s immense distraction since after dinner. 

“You’re not even human, Ishida,” he says dismissively. “Keigo’s literally made his bed on my dad’s couch, you can hear his goddamn snores, and Mizuiro left to ‘watch the stars’ with some new girl thirty minutes ago.” 

“You’re the one who invited us over to your place for an all-nighter group study session and you’re calling it quits before the sun is up? As expected, you’re weak.” 

He was right, this had been Ichigo’s idea, Yuzu had offered to make them dinner and his dad had plans tonight, so they were guaranteed some peace and quiet. Despite the noise and the chaos of their group, he missed hanging out with his friends. Ever since the school had given them voluntary study holidays for the upcoming University Entrance Exams, he didn’t get to see much of everyone, as they were either studying or training for competitions. Even today, Tatsuki and Chad left after dinner because they had to get up early for practice and they had decided they wouldn’t be giving the exams anyway. 

Ignoring Ishida’s pointed attempts to rile him up, he turns his attention to Orihime, who despite enjoying their banter, was more focused on the cram book in front of her.  

“Inoue, how are you still so motivated and so… awake?,” he asks, exasperated. “It’s almost 2 am! And you’ve been scribbling away furiously for the last thirty minutes. What are you even studying?”  

“Mouuu, you’re right. I’m not able to solve this proof anyway. Maybe I should call it a night?”

“Electromagnetism?” Ishida asks, skimming the title of the chapter, “Oh, I’ve done this one, I can explain this to you if you want.”  

He doesn’t know what irritates him more, Ishida’s nerdiness, or the soft look in his eyes as he unfailingly offers to help Orihime out, as he’d been doing a lot more of late, ever since they had started studying for the entrance exams together. In fact, it’d been this way this entire evening, starting from when he took a seat right next to her at the table as if he fucking belonged there, leaning over into her notebook, whenever she needed help, his arm casually brushing against her long, silken locks, her answering smile bright and incredibly close to him, and - Ichigo forces that thought to a halt because it has him gritting his teeth.  “... For God’s sake, give her a break,” - 

“... Shut up, Kurosaki, not everyone is applying to study *English* in University”- 

“And what exactly do you mean by that, asshole?” Ichigo snarls, with more venom than needed, because despite having had enough with Ishida’s condescending attitude towards his study choices, his recent behaviour had Ichigo prickling under his skin.  

“... Err, Kurosaki-kun…” Orihime starts, because she’s used to Ichigo and Ishida arguing (they’re just being affectionate, she always insists), there’s a glint in Ichigo’s eyes that’s different.

“... Exactly what I said, some of us don’t have the luxury of skipping the math and science exams,” - 

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun is right! I think my brain really can’t function anymore tonight,” Orihime declares loudly, inserting herself in between them. “Kurosaki-kun, I think I will leave now. Thank you so much for hosting us today.” She bows, her formality annoying him even more, but still throwing him off guard.

As always, Orihime’s pleasant demeanour diffused the rising tempers… somewhat. With one last glare, Ishida grudgingly agreed, “Then I guess I will take my leave as well.” 

Ichigo wants to be polite and say something like, “we should do this more often,” but he’s pissed off, and couldn’t wait to be rid of Ishida’s arrogant mug, so instead he offers, “Inoue, can I walk you home?” 

He doesn’t notice the faint red on her cheeks or the hesitation on her face, when she mumbles, “If it doesn’t inconvenience you.” And he’s torn again - tearing his eyes away from the pretty blush dusting her cheeks unable to stop himself from wondering bitterly if she’d let Ishida walk her home without much protest.

“Ishida lives in the other direction and it would be out of his way, so I don’t mind.” 

“Well then,” Ishida says, looking at her with more fondness than Ichigo would have liked, “Your eyes are all red and puffy. Sleep well. Don’t strain yourself, okay?”

“Yes sir,” she gives him the salute, “... good night!” 

“... And text me that you got home safe. This idiot can’t be trusted with anything,”- 

“... for fuck’s sake, just go home already!” 

“Kurosaki-kun,” she whispers, amused, as she watches Ishida walk away with a cheeky grin on his face, “you’ll wake the neighbours with your angry yelling.”

“Ah, you’re right,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly, as their footsteps fall into place beside each other, “I’m sorry for all the swearing, I don’t know why I let Ishida under my skin so much.”   

“Hmmm,” she says, “It’s kind of cute, your bickering. If this were a yaoi novel, I’d totally ship it!” 

“... what the hell?!” His face is red, not just because the thought of him… and Ishida… Ew. But also because this is coming from Orihime, the last person he’d ever expect to engage in fantasies of this sort.

Giggling, she quickly switches to a more somber note. “You seemed... on edge today. Did something happen between the two of you?” 

He doesn’t know how to answer that question. Truth be told, he’s barely able to understand it himself. Sure, there was the usual trading of insults that took place between the two of them, but it was different this time. His whole demeanour just pissed him off. The way he always seemed to know what Orihime was asking, the way he was always able to help her, the familiar way he spoke to her… and the revelation that they’d been studying together for weeks now! 

“I don’t know,” he sighs, because he can’t even explain what he is feeling, let alone the reason behind it, “... I guess it’s just the stress of the exam.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it,” she whines, “I’m so thankful Ishida-kun is giving the same exams as me, and we can share practice questions and tips. I really wouldn’t be able to do this alone.” 

He ignores her mention of him and the tick in his jaw in reaction. “But I don’t get it. You’re giving almost all the exams. Why?!? There’s surely no need.” 

She blushes, ashamed, “I know it sounds stupid, but I really haven’t decided what I want to study in University. I figured if I just gave all of the exams, I would have more options to choose from.” 

“... Come on,” - 

“... And I will also prefer to go wherever I get a scholarship.”  

His fist clenches, “... So you’re definitely applying outside of Karakura?” 

“Yeah, although I’m not sure if there’s any point. It’s so difficult to aim for the National Universities, I’ll never get through. But the counselor says it’s worth a shot for the scholarship.”

“... I thought your aunt was helping you with tuition?” 

“... Only till high school. And I cannot burden her anymore. I’ve received so much from her already.” 

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way her voice wavers at the end, the guilt evident in her words. And he can’t stand it. “... Cheer up,” he says softly, playfully elbowing her. “You’re one of the smartest kids in school. Rank #2 after all the shit we went through last year! If anyone can do it you can.” 

“... You think so?” she mumbles, looking up at him, her insecurities heartbreaking in the grey of her eyes.  

Everything about her is so honest, it hurts him a little bit because his first thought is to say no, to talk her out of it, because the revelation is too sudden, too jarring - he can’t bear  the thought of this town without her. But he nods, smiles encouragingly, because that’s just way too selfish.

Shaking his head out of these thoughts, he asks, “... what was the counselor’s recommendation, again? As a career path?” 

“Ah, Hirata-san said maybe I should just follow my love for baking,” she says, smiling. 

“... and? Why don’t you consider that? You wouldn’t have to give these blasted exams then.” 

He liked the idea of this, now more than before, momentarily regretting his role in convincing her to apply to university. Orihime working in the local bakery, coming around his house everyday to share the leftovers, staying back for dinner maybe… 

“... but Kurosaki-kun was the one who said I wouldn’t be very good at it!” She pouts, “You said I’d make too many things in weird flavours and nobody would want to buy them.” 

Crap. He truly felt like waltzing back in time and whacking the past version of him for saying something like that.  Because if it were anyone else shitting all over Orihime’s dream, he’d have sent the punk flying. Where were all these feelings coming from anyway?! 

“... Shit, I didn’t mean,” - 

“... it’s okay, you’re right. And besides I can work there part-time through University. I was thinking…” She took a deep breath. “Well, actually, it was Ishida-kun’s idea. Maybe I could study to become a doctor? My strength is in healing people anyway…” 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Well of course, he'd say that. He's going to study medicine too." And of course he would try to talk Orihime into it. The bastard had taken every opportunity to slither by her side - 

She laughs, a pretty sound, interrupting the profanity in his mind. "Yeah, he did say it would be nice to have some company… but I'm not sure." Sighing, she asks, "How did you decide on English Studies?" 

It wasn't too difficult for him honestly. It helped that he was fairly certain he didn't want to study math or science going forward. "... I like stories. And I want to be able to read and share stories in a global medium, so I decided to study English." 

He looks at her only to find her looking at him in fascination, "... Truth be told, I didn't spend too much time thinking about it. The career aptitude test returned similar results as well, so I just went with it." He shrugs, "I think I'll enjoy it. Let's see." 

"Ahh, you sound so optimistic about your studies, Kurosaki-kun. I wish I could be like that." 

They've reached her apartment building now and she turns to look at him, wistfully. He wishes he could do something for her, ease her anxieties in some way. 

"What about you?" He asks. 

She looks at him, puzzled.  

"... You've told me all about what everyone wants you to do. What do you want to do? I'm sure you must have some inkling." 

“... I,” she stops, opens her mouth again to say something, but nothing comes out. “... what I want… ah, you’ll probably think it’s silly.” She smiles wistfully to herself, because this wasn’t something that she’d ever admitted out loud.

He rolls his eyes, “... Try me.” Because she was many things, and yes, definitely silly sometimes in that unique way of hers, but he would never, could never, call her dreams silly. It’s a moment of realization for him, when he gets angry with the way she dismisses her own dreams that way, and he feels overwhelmed with the desire to pick them up, and keep them safe where no one can trample them, along with that spaced-out, wistful smile of hers. 

“Well,” she gulps, nervous, “I’ve never really thought too much about going to university. Sensei says I’m wasting my potential... but honestly, I think I’ll be happy working.” 

She looks at him unsurely, waiting for a reaction, an opinion, like everyone else. Everyone who’d been urging her to continue school and pursue all kinds of studies that she could possibly do, but… “I just - I want to build a simple life with someone I love. A family, maybe, someday.” 

It comes out so fast, she wishes she could grab the words and shove them back in her mouth. She chances a glance at him, her cheeks hot and furiously embarrassed. 

His expression is unreadable as he gazes down at her. She’s beautiful in the moonlight, he thinks, and it isn’t really a revelation to him, but the melancholy of her beauty is, the loneliness that he wishes he could extinguish as easily as he does hollows. “A simple life huh…” he murmurs. And he can almost picture it, Orihime, ten years from now, a child in her arms, a little boy maybe, with her wide brown eyes and - 

“Well, looks like you have planned it out better than any of us,” he manages hoarsely, unable to look her in the eye anymore. Not with all these… feelings simmering so close to the surface. And before he can help himself, “Do you already know who this mystery man is?” 

He’s come to realize how absolutely unequipped he is to hear the answer, but her unassuming statement has already taken residence inside him somehow, a burning sensation accompanying it. 

 His question jolts her into consciousness, and she notices they’re almost at her apartment. “Ah Kurosaki-kun is very curious today,” she laughs nervously, “only one confession per day! That’s the limit!” The fake cheer in her voice grates in her own ears but she hopes desperately it will steer him away because she’s this close to telling him sometimes, and this was one of those times. Especially in these rare moments when she feels an odd mixture of weakness and greed, where she wants to latch on to him and ask him to stay by her side, hoping selfishly that his kindness will make him say yes. But Orihime was practiced at hiding those feelings away. 

 “Is that right,” he smiles teasingly, albeit weakly, “... I didn’t know you were so mysterious, Inoue. Well goodnight, then.” 

And as he watches her climb up the stairs to her floor, and then lean over the railings to wave goodbye one more time, he can’t help but think of that image of her again, happy and in love and so beautifully fulfilled. And he thinks of the shadow of the man next to her, who will protect that dream and that smile, and his stomach clenches bitterly. 

“You deserve it,” he whispers to her retreating figure, “... You deserve all of it.”

- fin - 

A/N : The ending was cheesy, I KNOW UGH

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Soul of the Kingdom

First part

Summary: Roman and Janus journey back and reclaim the kingdom from Remus.

Word Count: 2,729

Roceit can be read as platonic or romantic

Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01​​ @spoopy-turtle​​ @lizluvscupcakes​ @far-too-many-fandoms-to-die

Roman stood, buckling his sword around his waist. “Janus, I know we should be getting to the castle today but is it really necessary to wear the full armor?”

Janus chuckled. “Why, it not fitting the way it used to?”

“No.” Roman pouted. “I just don’t see the point in alerting Remus to our arrival earlier than necessary.”

Janus moved around the rightful king, making sure everything fit right. “Half empty, half full doesn’t really matter. It’s a liquid, just drink it.” He muttered.

“What was that?”

“I said to count your blessings, kingling. Now, come on. We still have to get to the city by noon. If you are really that self-conscious about it, just put a cloak on.”

Roman did just that before they headed off. Just as Janus said, they arrived in the city by noon. Both had hoods up, Janus to hide his scales and Roman to hide his identity. As they walked through the streets, it was clear that the citizens were suffering. Clothing was threadbare, children were still and stared blankly instead of running amok in the streets. Beggars were on every street corner in a way Roman had never seen before. He had a hard time keeping his features schooled beneath the hood.

They approached a vendor and Roman went to pay the normal amount for the bread and cheese being provided. The woman almost cried. “It’s been a few years since I’ve seen that much money in one place, sir. You had best keep that purse well hidden or the street urchins might come after you.”

Roman smiled even as he pressed another coin into her hand. “Thank you for the sage advice. If I might trouble you for a bit more of your time, what happened here? A decade ago this was a flourishing kingdom. Now, it seems to barely be standing. Do you know of the events that lead to this?”

“You really don’t know what has happened?”

Roman shook his head, a sheepish smile crossing his face. “No, madam. I’m afraid I have been living under a literal rock for the past few years.”

She didn’t smile. “The firstborn son disappeared to fight a dragon. The ruling couple passed away upon hearing news of his death. Upon their death, the second son took the throne. King Remus has been ruling with an . . .” She leaned in conspiratorially. “An iron fist and then some. He squeezes the citizen dry of every coin they’ve got just to fund his lavish experiments. He keeps the population weak by forcing the men to serve a mandatory sentence in the fighting pits.” 

Roman nodded, sympathy beating in his heart for this woman. “I’m deeply sorry for what you have been put through. I will do everything in my power to make this right.”

Janus sighed from beside him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Roman shook his head. “I will keep this one or I will die trying.” His voice was as hard as his sword, the determination bolstering it and giving it volume.

Janus nodded. “I do believe you might as well give up the sneak attack then.” He eyed a pair of guards that were coming their way.

Roman turned to follow Janus’ line of sight, moving to stand between the guards and the woman. Making a shooing motion with his hand behind him, he let the woman know it would be best for her to escape now. She took the advice and scurried away. The guards approached, faces masks of stone.

“Lower your hoods!” One said upon arriving.

Roman smirked and moved it just enough to mess with them without actually revealing his face. He cast his voice a few octaves lower than it already was, not wanting his voice to give him away. “What are your views on the current political climate?”

Janus elbowed him. “Ignore my friend, he was the village idiot.”

“Sure in a village of two.” Roman shot back.

The other guard held up her hand. “We serve the throne.”

Roman nodded, throwing his hood all the way off, blocking out Janus’ protests and claims of Roman’s idiocy. “Good. What if you were told I am the rightful heir to the throne.”

The first guard seemed taken aback as they blinked. “Do you have any proof of this?”

Roman sighed, hands going to his hips. “My face is literally identical to the current king’s. Is that proof enough?”

“Sorcery!” The female guard spat the word like it was a shard of glass in her mouth. “Tell us something only royalty would know.”

Roman sighed, hanging his head briefly before giving Janus a look that said can you believe these two. “Are you royalty?” They both shook their heads. “How can I prove something if you don’t even know the answer to that. I can answer it and it’s that the chandelier in the stairwell is very tempting to swing off no matter how old I get.”

The guards exchanged looks. “I mean, no random civilian normally sees that part of the castle so it makes sense.”

Janus sighed, leaning to mutter into Roman’s ear. “These two are idiots. Let’s just keep moving.”

Roman simply patted his arm and stood there, smile still on his face. It was almost ridiculous how easy it was to slip back into the polite mask of stone he hadn’t had to use for almost a decade. After another few minutes of deliberation, the guards reentered the conversation. “So, we have decided to trust you. How can we help, my liege?” They both bowed.

Roman nodded. “The first course of action would be to get into the castle. After that, we can try to turn the rest of the guard to me. With them, we can overthrow the tyrant who calls himself my brother.”

The guards nodded and began leading the way. “Well, that was easier than I thought it would be.” Janus said in a voice low enough that only Roman could hear it.

Roman laughed. “Justice always has a way of prevailing!”

They made their way into the castle easily enough. Soon, Roman realized a key thing but it was too late. Almost as soon as he realized that the guards were not, in fact, leading them toward the guard room or training ground, they were already arriving at the throne room.

Remus’ voice allowed them entry and Janus and Roman were delivered practically into his lap, much to his delight. Roman glared at the guards. “I thought you trusted me! I trusted you!”

Janus pinched his side. “You are not helping your case. Shut up and act your age.” He hissed into his ear.

Roman turned, unsheathing his sword as he ripped off his gauntlet, throwing it to the floor. The whole room went still as the gauntlet skittered across the ground before it came to rest at Remus’ feet. He snarled and looked down at it. “What is the meaning of this?”

Roman bared his teeth. “You know exactly what it is, brother.” He spat the word like a curse. “I challenge you to a fight to the death.”

Remus laughed. “You can’t be serious? You disappear to fight a dragon, have news of your death be brought back by the poor squire, kill our parents, and now you want to be back and take the throne like nothing happened? Come, now, Roman,” his name sounded sour coming from him, as if it had been too long since it had been said. “You honestly can’t be that naive?” He tilted his head as if the answer should be obvious.

Roman shook his head. “You have defiled the kingdom with your greed and hatred. I have had to come to stop you from continuing the destruction.”

Remus’ hands move down to his hips, one hand resting on the handle of his morning star. “We used to be so close, brother. Whatever happened to our bond?”

“You’re stalling for time. Either accept the challenge or turn it down like the coward you are.”

Remus snarled, goaded into snatching up the gauntlet. “Fine. But I get to pick the time and place.” He deliberated with the counselors around him for a minute. “The training yard. High noon tomorrow.”

Roman nodded. “I assume you are willing to house me and my companion for the night, correct?”

“Of course, brother.” His voice was as sickly sweet as honey. “I assume you still remember the way to your room? You will only be requiring one room, yes?”

Roman just nodded as he led Janus away, glaring at Remus over his shoulder until the door shut behind them. He found his room easily enough, having walked the same path for decades of his life. Janus let his cloak drop to the floor as soon as the door was closed behind them. “You could not have been more of an idiot today, Roman.”

Roman moved forward, cupping Janus’ cheeks in his hands. “I’ve finally found something to keep the fire inside me alive. If that means going to my death on some so called pointless venture then so be it.” He released the dragon witch as he spun around, hands gesturing at the room that was kept in the same condition he had left it in. “The only time I felt alive was on the battlefield or training ground before I met you. So,” He turned to Janus, hand held out, “Will you be my dragon?”

Janus chuckled. “So long as you be my knight. You know I would follow you to the ends of the earth.” He placed his hand in Roman’s and let him spin them around the room for a bit before insisting they go to sleep.

As they slept, Roman dreamt. Within the dream, his imagination granted him the chance to control his world. Using it, he puzzled out every outcome of the fight he knew would take place. He knew how Remus fought but Remus also knew how Roman fought. Roman had no idea if Remus had picked up different techniques but knew he himself had. He’d quickly adapted a whole different fighting style out of necessity while sparring with Janus. He knew how to sweep his leg in ways Remus would not see coming, knew how to change his speed and angle faster than the human eye could see. 

Confident he had the fight down and knew how to win, his dreams settled into memories of the old times, when his mother still smiled when he brought her his works, even though they were filled with cliches. The times when Remus was still willing to play with him in any game they could come up with. The time their father was willing to climb the tallest elm tree in the courtyard with them just to make sure they didn’t fall. If a tear slipped out in his sleep, neither commented on it the next morning.

Roman strapped himself into his armor, grabbing his sword and shield. Janus stood in front of him, handing him a piece of paper. Roman moved to unfold it but was stopped before he could. “Don’t. There is an ancient prayer written on it. In the case of your success and continued life, you are to open it and read it aloud. If you are to fail and die, it is to be buried with you, never to be opened. The prayer will guide you to the afterlife.”

“Why must I read it aloud if I live?” He stuffed it into a safe crevice in his chest plate.

“It is to release the prayer and the magic it comes with back to the earth.” Roman nodded and shifted to move away but Janus kept a firm hold on him. “Promise me one thing, my knight?”

Roman let his hand cover Janus’. “Anything, my dragon.”

“Do not go quietly into the night, but rage against the dying of the light. Don’t give up easily, fight against your death should it arrive to take you.”

Roman nodded, both ignoring the tears streaming down their cheeks. “I will try to find a way back to you, no matter the cost. I am an unstoppable force, remember?”

“Yes, but your brother seems to be an immovable object. Just be careful out there.”

“Always.” Before he could stop himself, he was heading out the door to the training ground. He stretched as he did before every spar session with Janus but didn’t practice. He simply sat on a bench in the shade and waited for the inevitable thought to hit him. The thought that must not have crossed the minds of many others in history. The thought that he had three outcomes for this. He could be killed by his own brother, he could be forced to kill his own brother, or he could exile the same brother. 

He took a deep breath, slipping into a familiar meditation that Janus had taught him a few years back. Before he knew it, a fist was knocking against his knee and he was jolted out of his meditation to be face to face with Remus. “Hiya, brother dear.” Remus grinned.

Roman nodded, not letting his composure slip. “Is it time already, Remus?”

Remus nodded, “Yep. Just like old times, ain’t it?”

Roman stood, hefting his sword into his hand. “As I recall, we were not trying to kill each other the last time we sparred.”

Remus hesitated. “Maybe you weren’t.” He swung his morning star in a wide, sweeping arc. 

They fell into battle stance and, at the sound of a horn, they began. They circled for a bit, sizing each other up and seeing how the body language has changed in the past decade. Diving forward, Remus, ever the impatient one, was the first to strike.

Being used to Janus’ tail swipes, Roman jumped the blow with ease as he landed an answering one on the top of Remus’ helmet. He spun, going over his brother’s back until they were facing and circling once again. Roman attacked in quick succession. He used his shield to block Remus’ next strike as he aimed for the unprotected side.

It went high and to the left, striking near Remus’ heart. He dropped to the ground, weapon falling out of his hand. Tears gathered in Roman’s eyes, obscuring his vision. “Remus, do you yield?”

Remus could only groan, even as Roman asked again in a choked voice. “Remus, do you yield?!”

A third time, it was a plea and a prayer, not a question. “Remus, please yield!” His sword was pointed at his brother’s neck, poised ready to plunge forward and end his misery if he did not yield.

After the third time Roman spoke, Remus responded. It was forced, and sounded more painful than anything Roman had ever heard, but it was an answer “Yes.”

Roman dropped his sword, reaching to cradle his younger brother in his arms, screaming for a doctor, screaming for Janus. Soon, the dragon witch was on the scene, magic crackling at his fingertips as he slammed his palms into Remus, knitting the torn flesh together but leaving a scar that went the whole way through the torso. Once the healing was complete, Janus sat back on his heels, exhaustion plaguing his every movement.

Roman reached out a hand to Janus, the other still holding the now unconscious Remus. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”

Janus only nodded. “The prayer.”

“Right!” Digging out the sheet of paper, Roman opened it and read aloud, voice ringing across the courtyard. “May the peace of the tallest mountain and the peace of the smallest stone be your peace. May the stillness of the stars watch over you. May the everlasting music of the wave lull you to rest.”

Janus sighed in the way Roman had come to associate with a release of magic back into the environment. 

Remus did not wake that day, nor the next. When he did wake, Roman had no choice but to banish him from the kingdom, never to return to the land of his birth. Remus was gone within the week. Janus and Roman transferred the hoard of treasure to the castle, using it to rebuild the kingdom and get the people back to prosperity.

Under the reign of King Roman, the kingdom of Initiomagna prospered for many years to come.

[justlightlysedated]

One word prompt for any couple you feel inspired by: retrospect :)

Michael is just pulling the clean shirt over his head and resigning himself to the fact that he’s going to be listening to some old guy with a Russian accent read a boring book on the drive to Texas when there is a rapid knocking on his door.

He frowns, knowing that it’s not Max, since he said he was going to drop his jeep off at home and wait for Michael to pick him up, and wonders who the hell it could be.

Alex is the last person that he’s expecting on the other side of his door.

Especially after his parting words of, sometimes the world ends with a whimper, Guerin.

But it only takes him a second to realize that while the person standing in front of him, breathing like he’d run from the Wild Pony to his door, is undoubtedly Alex, it’s also not.

Michael doesn’t wait for him to catch his breath. He pushes him backwards with a thought, and Alex just looks exasperated than surprised.

“Who are you?” He asks, holding his hand out, just in case.

Alex rolls his eyes, and breathes in deeply before he starts to speak. 

“I don’t have the time to go into the full explanation, but I am Alex,” he says. “Your Alex, just from a couple of years into the future.”

Michael stares at him for a moment, and then his phone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans reminding him that he’s got plans that don’t involve whatever is going on right now.

“Prove it,” he says.

Alex just rolls his eyes again, like he was expecting it, and just pulls something out of his pocket and throws it at Michael.

It’s small, and Michael catches it against his chest before he can make out what it is.

He lets it fall into the palm of his hand and feels the shock sink through him as he feels the soft smooth surface, and then he looks down and sees the shimmering ball in his hand. A piece of the alien console that he knows would be impossible to get unless he had manipulated to keep its shape.

He looks up at Alex with wide eyes, and Alex just nods his head, like he’s answering the question that Michael hasn’t asked.

“How long?” Michael demands, wrapping his fingers tightly around the small shimmering orb.

“Current me has known for months,” he confirms what Michael had been dreading in the back of his mind, that Alex had pushed him away, again because he knew the truth.

“No,” Alex says, and Michael looks up to him confused. “Current me is suffering from PTSD and cannot actually have a conversation without planning it down to the last word. You’re not good at reading those signs yet. But you get there.”

Michael looks at him, swallowing hard. “So it’s not over?”

Alex exhales, and looks away from Michael briefly, before looking back at him.

“It’s not going to get any easier,” he says. “And it’s not going to hurt any less. It’s going to be painful and you’re going to hate me-”

Michael shakes his head and takes a step towards Alex, stepping out from the doorway and down into the ground. “That would never happen.”

Alex just gives him a look like he concedes the point, “Okay, fine, you make me think that you hate me. The point is that it’s going to get harder, and I’m going to keep pushing you away in my attempts to keep you safe, and you’re just going to think that it’s because I don’t love you-”

“You love me?” Michael asks unable to help himself.

Alex gives him a slightly exasperated look. “Of course I do, more than anything in the universe, but that doesn’t mean that I’m always going to be a rational, clear headed person. We both have traumas that we need to deal with. You especially, since you don’t actually deal with anything, at all, ever.”

Michael wants to protest, but before he can, Alex is raising a hand. “I’m not here to play therapist, or even relationship counselor. We plotted out the course of everything that happened, and this is one of the early turning points, and you’re the only person that I could think of who at this point in time would be in the position to actually do something about it.”

Michael blinks at him in confusion, and Alex just inhales deeply.

“Okay,” he says. “I know this is going to be really hard to believe, and I don’t actually have any proof with me, but you have to trust that I’m telling you the truth.”

Michael just keeps looking at him, and Alex swallows hard.

“Noah is an alien,” he says, and Michael freezes staring at him in disbelief. “The fourth alien, which Liz is going to figure out that there is a fourth alien. And I know you know that Isobel wasn’t the one who killed Rosa. You told me that you saw it in her eyes. So please, you have to believe me. He’s an alien and he’s going to try to keep his identity a secret for as long as he can, but he’s playing with you all, and he’s going to make a mistake and it’s going to kill him, but you can’t let that happen. He’s evil and we’re happy that he’s dead. But he has knowledge that you need before it’s too late.”

Michael just continues to blink at him in confusion, but before he can say anything else, his phone vibrates again in his pocket.

He shakes his head, and swallows hard. “I don’t have time for this right now-”

Alex nods his head sharply, “Fine, I’ll be back later.”

“I’m going out of town for the day, maybe the night,” Michael finds himself saying. “So later today, is not really an option.”

Alex tilts his head at him. “Where are you going?”

“Texas?” Michael says, more like a question than a statement.

Alex’s face clears like he finally understands something, and before Michael can ask him to share with the class, Alex is stepping forward and reaching for him, hands curling into the collar of his shirt as he drags him in close and presses their mouths together into a harsh kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. The type that leaves you feeling it for hours afterwards.

He pulls away, and presses his forehead to Michael’s and whispers, “Don’t-” almost like it’s torn out of him.

“Don’t what?” Michael asks in a soft voice.

Alex just shakes his head and pulls away from him, letting him go and taking a few steps backwards.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, swallowing hard, before he lifts his arm to his face, and Michael sees him looking at the surface of a strange, thick, square shaped watch, strapped to his wrist. “I’ll see you in a bit. It may take a bit longer for you.”

Before Michael can ask him what he means, Alex presses a button on his watch, and there is a sound like lightning crashing, and then he disappears, leaving behind smoke that dissipates just as quickly.

Michael feels like the whole thing was a hallucination, if it wasn’t for the fact that he could still feel Alex’s mouth on his.

Michael’s phone starts to vibrate again in his pocket and he sighs, closing his door behind himself and walking towards the truck.

He’ll deal with it later, especially the Noah thing.

Right now, there’s a faith healer to visit in Texas and a sister to save.

[daenerys-targaryen-moved]

What was that about Tyrion coaxing Dany into not being too cruel to her enemies in 6x09, and why it's BS? Especially if it hadn't happened in the books.

It’s bullshit because book!daenerys has never needed to be coaxed or swayed like that to not be harsh. And, if she were a man, it wouldn’t have happened. For her to be coaxed down like a rabid dog by a man to me is just insulting to her character. The scene in s4 when Barristan told Daenerys to have mercy on the slavers who crucified the children, that never happened in the books either.

And even though Tyrion and Dany haven’t met in the books, he is much more ruthless in the books than in the show:

The fact that there were any good wells at all within a day’s march of the city only went to prove that Daenerys Targaryen was still an innocent where siegecraft was concerned. She should have poisoned every well. Then all the Yunkishmen would be drinking from the river. See how long their siege lasts then. That was what his lord father would have done, Tyrion did not doubt. - Tyrion XI ADWD

They made her make irrational decisions, which she of course is capable of doing, she’s not perfect, but they had her male counselors around her calm her down and advise her against this and that when in the books! she is the one to tell them no to irrational plans and she’s the one to counsel them away from but whatever, men am I right? Dany doesn’t have “violent tendencies”, no more than any other characters. And the situation is quite the opposite: it’s Dany’s male advisors that keep telling her to be more violent and ruthless, and Dany is the one that controls them and holds them back. As an example, Jorah is a character that constantly tells Dany to be more dishonorable and ruthless, but Dany refuses:

“When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done.”

Blood and fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. “The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs.” - Daenerys II ASOS

Daario keeps telling her to be more violent:

“Then winkle them out of their pyramids on some pretext. A wedding might serve. Why not? Promise your hand to Hizdahr and all the Great Masters will come to see you married. When they gather in the Temple of the Graces, turn us loose upon them.”

Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still. “Do you take me for the Butcher King?” - Daenerys IV ADWD

“You are fighting shadows when you should be fighting the men who cast them,” Daario went on. “Kill them all and take their treasures, I say. Whisper the command, and your Daario will make you a pile of their heads taller than this pyramid.”

“If I knew who they were—”

“Zhak and Pahl and Merreq. Them, and all the rest. The Great Masters. Who else would it be?”

He is as bold as he is bloody. “We have no proof this is their work. Would you have me slaughter my own subjects?” - Daenerys IV ADWD

Another one of her male advisors, Skahaz, also tells her to be more violent:

“If he is not the Harpy, he knows him. I can find the truth of that easy enough. Give me your leave to put Hizdahr to the question, and I will bring you a confession.”

“No,” she said. “I do not trust these confessions. You’ve brought me too many of them, all of them worthless.”

“Your Radiance—”

“No, I said.” - Daenerys V ADWD

“Every man on that list has kin within the city. Sons and brothers, wives and daughters, mothers and fathers. Let my Brazen Beasts seize them. Their lives will win you back those ships.”

“If I send the Brazen Beasts into the pyramids, it will mean open war inside the city. I have to trust in Hizdahr. I have to hope for peace.” Dany held the parchment above a candle and watched the names go up in flame, while Skahaz glowered at her. - Daenerys V ADWD

Her sellswords want her to use her dragons, but Dany refuses:

Dany sighed. “I am sorry, Ben. I dare not loose the dragons.” - Daenerys V ADWD

She compensates her people for what they lost due to her dragons and treats them with kindness, even though her advisors suggest brutality:

“Three-and-twenty.” Dany sighed. “My dragons have developed a prodigious taste for mutton since we began to pay the shepherds for their kills. Have these claims been proven?”

“Some men have brought burnt bones.”

“Men make fires. Men cook mutton. Burnt bones prove nothing. Brown Ben says there are red wolves in the hills outside the city, and jackals and wild dogs. Must we pay good silver for every lamb that goes astray between Yunkai and the Skahazadhan?”

“No, Magnificence.” Reznak bowed. “Shall I send these rascals away, or will you want them scourged?”

Daenerys shifted on the bench. “No man should ever fear to come to me.” Some claims were false, she did not doubt, but more were genuine. […] “Pay them for the value of their animals,” she told Reznak, “but henceforth claimants must present themselves at the Temple of the Graces and swear a holy oath before the gods of Ghis.” - Daenerys I ADWD

The Shavepate had urged her to put the man to death. “At least rip out his tongue. This man’s lie could destroy us all, Magnificence.” Instead Dany chose to pay the blood price. No one could tell her the worth of a daughter, so she set it at one hundred times the worth of a lamb. “I would give Hazzea back to you if I could,” she told the father, “but some things are beyond the power of even a queen. Her bones shall be laid to rest in the Temple of the Graces, and a hundred candles shall burn day and night in her memory. Come back to me each year upon her nameday, and your other children shall not want … but this tale must never pass your lips again.” - Daenerys II ADWD

Daenerys has been and has every right to be just as ruthless as anyone else, but they made her the one with the hot head full of impulses and had her male counselors be the ones to persuade her away from her ruthless tenancies. So yeah. To me when they her male counselors be the ones to coax her away from being ruthless, I find it bullshit because that’s the exact opposite of what the book shows us.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Three

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Two

Word Count: 3.4K

Warning(s): Explicit language, Drug abuse, Domestic abuse, Minor sexual situations

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

I stare at Nikki, the breath knocked out of my body.

"Wh-What?" I ask, but there's no use in lying, he can read me like a book.

His hand, slightly shaking with anger, slides along the kitchen counter, picking up an envelope that's been torn open.

He picks the folded piece of paper out of it, and waves it at me before unfolding it.

"Viv, happy birthday. It's been damn near killing me to keep this from you. I hope you had a good day. Duff." He quotes the letter and then pulls out a second piece of paper, handing it to me.

It's proof of payment for that ticket I got.

He must have mailed it in.

"So not only did you lie to me about that fucking tail light, you also let another man pay for it!" Nikki's throwing at me and I keep myself calm.

"Nikki, why're you mad? That's just $350.00 you didn't have to pay—"

"Because you're my wife! You're my responsibility! You could have told me the truth and just let me handle it, but instead, you looked me in the eye and lied to my fuckin' face!"

Glass slashes at my skin when he throws his whiskey bottle against the wall, blood rolling down my leg to my foot as a hiss of pain cuts through my teeth.

"Yeah. I could have told the truth so you could have blown up on me then like you're doing now!" I fight back.

"I would've been irritated, Vivian, but I would have gotten over it! It's gonna take me a while get over this bullshit, though!" He points at me, letting a beat pass between us before he rubs his forehead. "I-I don't even wanna know who this dude is, right now, I just am too pissed off—"

"Nikki—"

"Don't, Viv!" He spits out, harshly. "I-I can't even be around you right now." His voice cracks a little, and I rub my lips together as he pushes past me to grab his keys and jacket.

"Just talk to me about this instead of running off and getting messed up, Nikki!" I follow him to the door.

"Fuck you!" He shoots, seething. "That's about all the fucking talking you're gonna get from me right now."

He slams the door, leaving me to myself, and I take several deep breaths to convince myself not to wreck our new house.

He didn't come back for a couple of days, and the only reason he did come back was because Robbin made him.

"All he's doing is moping around and shooting up and talking about how he misses you but refuses to call you when I tell him to, so here." Robbin says, trying to keep a nodding-off-Nikki up as he walks him to the couch and drops him on the cushions.

"Thank you." I say to him.

"Whatever you did, whoever that dude is, he had a right to know, Viv." Robbin tells me.

"It's completely innocent, Robbin. I swear. I didn't tell him because I knew he'd want to make a big deal about him and meet him so he could size him up." I roll my eyes and he raises his brows.

"If Nikki had a girl friend that he hid from you, you would claw his eyes out, and her's. I know you don't think he's overreacting. Just talk to him and own up to it." He advises and I nod a little. "I love you. Good luck." He pats my head.

"I love you, too." I reply as he steps to his car, and I shut the door and walk to the living room to wait for Nikki to sleep off his high.

The next several days are spent with him attempting to ignore me, but doing a shitty job of it when he sees me fresh out of the shower or changing clothes or coming back inside from the hot tub.

This time, I'm coming back inside from laying by the pool for a few minutes, and the sunscreen I slathered all over my body before going out, has created a light glisten over my skin and he's looking up from his bass, eyes rolling down my body and back up, lingering on my chest for a few seconds before pretending he wasn't just checking me out.

I just step to the kitchen and get some water before deciding to attempt a conversation.

"So, what do you wanna do for New Years?" I ask Nikki.

No response.

"I was thinking maybe we could call the guys and hang out with them since we haven't seen them in a few weeks and we can all go out or something." I suggest. "Or Tommy and Mick ateast...I don't think Vince feels like it."

Nothing.

"I could invite Duff so you can meet him." I offer and he stops writing, his jaw rolling.

It's ironic he was so pissed off at me when the first time I found out he and Vanity even knew each other it was because I walked in our house to see her on our couch, dressed for a night out with all of us, Tansy and Sparkie.

I never asked him then how they met because the chances I wouldn't like the answer were pretty high.

I leave him to be pissed, taking a shower and dressing in a t-shirt and panties before he comes in to get ready to go out.

"I won't be back tonight." He tells me blankly and I raise a brow.

"May I ask 'why'?" I ask.

"You can ask. Doesn't mean I owe you a fucking explanation." He snaps, and grabs his keys.

"I'm your wife so you kind of do when you tell me you won't be back tonight." I argue, losing my patience.

He ignores me, leaving the room and I follow him.

"I'm speaking to you, Nikki!" I hiss.

"Trust me, I know, I'm just hoping you'll shut the fuck up and hop the fuck off." He coldly cuts and my hand is grabbing at his arm, roughly, pulling him to a halt.

"Nikki, can we just talk about this?!"

He snaps around to face me, shaking my hand off of him like I've got a contagious disease.

"Talk about you lying to me or talk about you hiding an entirely different dude from me, because both make me want to set you pretty fuckin' straight, Vivian!" He bites and I shake my head.

"Of all the things you've lied to me about and hid from me?! For Christ's sake, Nikki, I had to find your used needle-farm before you admitted to shooting heroin for eight months!"

"I can't fuck heroin, Vivian!" He barks, balling his fists up, getting in my face.

"You think I'm sleeping with this guy?!" I scream, completely engulfed with outrage.

"Why the fuck else would you not tell me about him?!" He's got tears in his eyes, despite his loud, graveling tone.

Hurt roots itself in my chest, the fact that he thinks I would do that to him making me nearly see red.

"Careful, Nikki, your abandonment issues are showing!" I throw out, cruelly, regretting it the second it leaves my mouth, just before his fist is connecting with the wall inches away from my face, leaving a hole.

His hand is around my throat before I can say anything else.

"I want you out of my house by the time I get back. Or I'll kick you out myself." He puts it as calmly as he possibly can, anger seeping from every pore as he shakes, tense from probably keeping himself from strangling me.

I know, I know. "How do you come back from that?" The answer is simply, "the only way we knew how."

I stumble to the bathroom, cum and traces of blood running down my legs, my scalp sore from the tension of my hair being yanked around and my bottom lip is busted where Nikki bit in to it.

Some of Nikki's skin and blood is under my nails and when I look in the mirror, my face is tear stained and flushed from crying through indescribable ecstasy.

We would get into explosive fights, then screw the hell out of each other in the most aggressive and degrading ways.

Our eventual marriage counselor later explained to us it was because we felt we had no control over ourselves, the things around us, and each other, but one thing we did have control over, and the only time we felt we had control over each other, was sex.

If it was a decently mild fight—well, mild for us—Nikki would just storm out and stay gone for a while.

If it involved enough screaming, me hitting him, him calling me offensive names, me pouring out liquor, flushing his drugs, the both of us threatening divorce or packing our shit to leave the other person, it would come to a halt just for us to start ripping at clothes, scratching and biting at each other, him putting his prick wherever he could get it in the fastest, and me accepting every inch at the inevitable barbaric rhythm we fell in to that would always result in me having some internal bruising in some form or fashion.

By the time New Year's rolled around, it was like we never fought to begin with, which would have been great if we actually talked about the fight and genuinely resolved it instead of pretending it never happend.

Nikki grasps my hand as he helps me out of his car, whistling when I get out and I roll my eyes with a shy grin and nudge him with my elbow before he's pressing his lips to mine for a second. When we pull away we head to the Rainbow to meet Tommy and Duff.

When we're inside, I see Tommy at our usual booth, chatting away with Duff, who has newly bleached hair, as the two of them drink a beer, despite Duff being underage until next month.

I can already sense Nikki sizing him up before we even get to the table.

"There they are." Tommy tells him, motioning to us and I smile hesitantly while a smug, shit eating smirk adorns Nikki's face.

"Hey." Duff greets me, not even noticing Nikki yet, dopey smile on his face.

"Hey." I reply as Nikki clears his throat.

Duff takes notice and respectfully stands up and extends his hand.

"Nikki Sixx." Nikki introduces himself. "Vivian's husband." He emphasizes.

It doesn't phase Duff a bit.

"Oh, I know, dude. It's an honor." Duff replies. "Duff McKagan." He adds and I look between the two of them before we sit down in the booth, Nikki still studying Duff to decide how threatened he should be.

He eases up when he learns Duff is from Seattle, he plays bass, and has the same music taste as him.

Dear God did I have a type or what?

"Did you know," Duff starts, blowing cigarette smoke through his lips. "That your wife is a disgrace to punk?" Duff asks and I raise my brows.

"Man, I know, she doesn't like the Sex Pistols." Nikki tells him.

"I never said I didn't necessarily like them, I just think Sid killed Nancy." I argue and Duff and Nikki look at me with the same expression because this argument has been had plenty of times.

"He did not!" They simultaneously tell me.

"Why would he kill her? That would be like me killing you." Nikki states.

"I've told you he probably didn't intentionally do it." I reply. "They were both fucked up and he more than likely was hallucinating and did it on accident."

He just looks at me and shakes his head.

Sid was one of Nikki's heroes. So of course he didn't even entertain the idea of him killing the woman he was in love with...until Nikki tried to kill me two different times, both times when he was tripping after days of freebasing.

It's not fun waking up to your husband strangling you in a panic, or shooting at you.

"And she likes Bon Jovi." Nikki adds.

"Because they make good music." I say.

"They go with the grain." Duff tells me, shaking his head.

"Exactly!" Nikki enthusiastically agrees.

"Tommy, tell them Bon Jovi is good." I look to Tommy and he just opens his mouth to speak only to close it again.

"They're kinda..." Tommy starts after a moment and I look at him.

"...They suck." Nikki finishes his sentence.

"Oh, like Mötley Crüe can do any better." I smart off and Nikki and Tommy are looking at me with cut eyes.

"We are, actually." Tommy tells me. "Me and Nikki are currently working on a fucking masterpiece."

"You haven't talked to each other in weeks. How collaborative can you be when you haven't been talking? Communicate via carrier pigeon?" I ask them and a little tension settles around us.

I realize I've unintentionally brought up the accident and how it effected the band, and Duff's painting over my screw up in no time.

"What kind of masterpiece, if it's okay for me to ask." Duff seems interested and even excited to hear about it and Nikki and Tommy light up like Christmas trees as they explain a song called "Home Sweet Home" that is slowly coming to life off a random piano melody that's been in Tommy's mind for some time that he showed Nikki about a month ago and they've both been writing lyrics for it seperately.

By the time 10:58pm hits, we've migrated to a strip joint called the Seventh Veil, and Tommy and Duff are practically joined at the hip in terms of how well they get along.

I suppose it's because they're both easy going and just go with the flow of things and have really good senses of humor.

Nikki, however, is too busy trying to drunkenly get me in the mood.

I step out of the bathroom stall to wash my hands in the the sink, Nikki stays against the wall behind me until I'm done, then he's running his hand over my ass that's being contained by tight jeans.

"Baby, quit." I laugh out, trying to shrug him off before his hand is pulling at the top of my tank crop top, getting a grab at my boob. "Stop trying to feel me up." I scold him lightheartedly, even though I enjoy his unfiltered want for me.

"I wanna fill you up, though." He snickers against my neck, turning me around and putting me on the sink.

"I said 'feel' not 'fill'." I correct him, trying not to chuckle, my hands resting on his arms as he nestles himself between my legs.

"Well, I wanna do both." He says, nipping the skin of my neck between his teeth lightly, causing a breath to catch in my throat.

"When we get home." I assure him, using all of my will power not to take him up on his offer now.

"Fuck it, let's go home, then." He smiles, reaching in his pocket for his keys.

"We can't, baby, we're with Tommy and Duff remember? We can't just ditch them." I remind him.

"I like your him." He tells me out of nowhere and I furrow my brows a little.

"What?"

"Duff. He's cool."

"Really?"

"He doesn't wanna fuck you." He tells me. "Guys know when a dude wants to fuck their girl. Vince and Sparklette do. Robbin use to. But he doesn't wanna fuck you." He motions to the door as he refers to Duff.

He was right.

A few years ago Duff was asked what he meant about a comment he made about me being "in a whole other league" than most women he knew way back then, he answered: "I never looked at her and thought 'Oh my God, I've gotta sleep with her.' Sex was never the focus, even when our relationship became physical. I mean yeah she was beautiful but it was hard to think about her in the typical-rockstar debauched way because she wasn't a shallow groupie with a hot body and hungry for attention anyway she could get it. Like, she was just Viv and she's still Viv. That's what I meant. She's always been in a different league. We've been friends for, what, like, thirty-one years now, and I felt lucky to just know her, then, of course now I feel even more lucky because I've had the privilege of raising a son with her."

It explained a lot for how he treated me.

In a few hours, long after the New Year is rung in, I'm attempting to get a nearly passed out Nikki into the passenger seat of his corvette, with Duff's help, being that Nikki could barely walk after a few minutes in the bathroom which I know were spent shooting up.

I carefully shut the passenger side door, Nikki unconscious and Duff about to head to his car.

"Thanks for inviting me out, tonight. I had a lot of fun." He says, resting against the hood of the car and I do the same, rubbing my lips together.

"I'm sorry if Nikki was a little stand-offish to begin with." I tell him.

"No, no, don't worry about it. I get it." He assures me. "It was really cool to meet him and Tommy, though. Maybe some other time I can meet Mick and Vince."

"Absolutely. After Vince's trial and everything goes back to normal they'll be inseperable again and can get you into whatever trouble you want." I chuckle out and he laughs.

"I hope by then I'll have my own gang of trouble makers." He admits.

"Me too." I agree, exhaling.

A minute of silence passes by before I'm looking at him.

"You paid for that damn ticket anyway." I state, and he nods.

"I paid for that damn ticket anyway." He repeats smugly.

"I'll pay you back." I promise and he shakes his head.

"It was an early birthday present. You can't owe someone when they give you a present."

"You paid it in October and 'gave' it to me as a present last week." I point out. "That doesn't count."

"It does if your birthday is the only loophole I could come up with to avoid you insisting on paying it back." He argues and I just look at him, still feeling a little bad that he paid it. "Viv. I just met Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee and they might even consider me one of their buddies." He tells me. "That in itself is payment back."

"Thank you." I say in reference to my birthday present from him.

He nudges me with his elbow and smiles.

"Anytime."

It wasn't long after that, that I realized I had an angel bassist on one shoulder, and a fucking demon bassist on the other.

1985 tore around the corner and by the time May was in tow, Vince had been 30 days in rehab (the label gave him a Rolex if he agreed to stay sober for at least three months), Mötley Crüe were regularly in the studio recording "Entertainment or Death", and Duff had found his band, and Tansy...well...

Screams sound through the house, causing me to startle out of my nap.

I rush to the bedroom door and swing it open to see Tansy standing at our phone in the living room, tears streaming down her face, Nikki and Tommy looking at each other, worried.

"Wh-what did they say?!" Tansy asks, frantically, rubbing her forehead, and we all look at each other as anxiousness starts up within me.

A few moments pass as whoever she's on the phone with speaks.

"Oh, God, mama, I can't..." She sobs softly. "...I can't believe this."

I step to her, my brows furrowing.

"Alright, I gotta tell Viv and the guys before they think something's wrong." She laughs out through her tears and I let out a sigh of relief. "I love you, too. I'll call you later tonight. Bye."

She hangs up and immediately and starts crying again, gripping my hand.

"Tans, what's up?" Tommy asks, coming to us and she looks up at him and starts smiling, shock washing over her face.

"I got it." She tells us.

Everything she had worked her ass off for, took her clothes of for, got taken advantage of for, got abused for, got high for, hid her truth for, grinned and beared it for, entertained for, for years, had finally paid off.

Tansy Lyn was Playmate of The Year: Miss 1985.

[lancetuckershairgel]

Summmary: Chris uncovers some unsettling truths about Lucy's home life. Lucy becomes angry with Chris.

Word Count: 1,560

Warnings: language, mentions of abuse of a minor

Tag List: @southernbell91 @marvelgirl7 @anxiousamandapanda @book-dragon-13 @jobean12-blog @loricameback @spacemansam @randomfandompenguin @louisianaspell (If you wish to be added or removed in the tag list for this, let me know)

"Leave me alone!"  Lucy yelled as she jerked away from Miss Alexander's reach. "God, can you people not be prison wardens for like five minutes?! Fuck"

"Lucy!" 

The teenager ignored her superior and stir.ed to her class, taking her seat. The Language Arts teacher raised her eyebrows but continued with the lesson, choosing not to fight the battle today. It was Monday and everyone hated Monday's. Especially Chris who was now making his way toward the classroom. He entered, apologizing to the teacher for interrupting, and asked Lucy to join him in the hallway. Lucy ignored him, hoping he'd just leave and glared from underneath her hair covered face as he approached desk. 

"I'm not asking this time. Get up."

Again, the girl didn't reply. Chris sighed,  hating what was to come next. All part of the job, but the riskiest part. Chris stood behind her desk and reached his arms under hers, pulling her up from her desk. She didn't fight him, instead she became dead weight, forcing him to drag her out into the hallway. Waiting for them was the principal, the vice principal,  and the school counselor. 

"Lucy, you were asked repeatedly to remove your hood. You know the rules. No head coverings of any kind inside the school."

"Are you gonna make Inya take her headscarf off?" Lucy grumbled 

"That's different. She has religious exemption."

"Well I have exemption too under the fact that I don't want to."

"Lucy."

Chris was behind her and his voice made her aware of his presence, her stance instantly becoming defensive. 

"Take your hood off and drop the attitude."

"Or what Chris?" Lucy turned toward him, her tone aggressive "You gonna take me down? Cuff me and break my arm?" 

"That's not...have you been reading the news again?"

"No, but all you cops are the same."

Chris pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"Just one day, please, could you not be difficult? I was in the middle of a-" 

"Fine!" 

Lucy's sudden scream made the adults jump, taken aback, but not Chris. He remained calm, watching the girl as she reached up and yanked the hood away from her face and pushed her hair away. Soft gasps littered the air as the bruises on Lucy's face and neck were revealed. 

"Lucy, what happened? Are you alright?" Ms Broman, the counselor, asked 

"Oh, now you care?! Five minutes ago you didn't give a shit why I was wearing my hood, you just wanted me to comply to your stupid rules." 

She glared at the women before turning to glance up at Chris.

"Well?"

Chris didn't know what to say. He was shocked, which surprised him. He always had a feeling that something was going on at home, but seeing the proof shook his core. 

"We should go to my office." Ms Broman suggested 

"I just want to go back to class." 

"Lucy, we should talk about this." Chris managed to say

"Talk about what? I got my ass kicked this weekend, big deal. I just want to do my work."

"Who did this? Was it a student?"

"No."

"Your father?"

"Why can't you people leave me alone?!" Lucy cried, pushing past the staff and running up the hallway. 

They were dumbfounded, all standing there looking at each other as they wondered what to do next. 

"I'll talk to her, figure this out." Chris sighed 

"Good. She listens to you." Ms Broman nodded in agreement "We're really going to miss the Lucy Whisperer when you leave."

Chris chuckled before they dispersed. He knew where Lucy would be hiding and sure enough he found her in his office, curled in the saucer chair, her hood pulled tight over her head. 

"Luce?" Chris sat on the edge of his desk "You ok, kiddo?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Who hurt you?" 

No response. 

"Lucy? Did your dad do this?" 

Nothing. 

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"Ha!" Lucy's laugh dripped with sarcasm "Help? How can you help? Call the child services people?"

"I'm required by law to call them if there's a child that needs-" 

"Needs what? An even worse ass beating? You think this is the first time something like this has happened? Every time some grownup tells me they're going to help, then they call the cops. Cops come, old man gets out of trouble, and I get it ten times worse. So why don't you help by minding your business." 

Chris spent the rest of the day trying to convince Lucy to let him make the call but she begged and pleaded until he relented and raises his hands. 

"Fine. I could lose my job, you know."

"Just say you took care of it."

Chris couldn't sleep that night. Every time he  closed his eyes all he could see was Lucy and the bruises. Guilt laid heavy in him and he knew he should make the call but he also knew how much damage it could do. The judicial system was so backwards, and the department of family and children services didn't like to take kids out of their homes,  even with solid proof. The next morning Chris went into the school feeling like a zombie and he was sure that his unkempt hair and baggy eyes showed that he had a rough night. Instead of going to his office he went to the hallways, looking for Lucy. He found her trying to threaten another kid into giving her his breakfast but she stopped when she saw Chris. 

"Hey, kiddo. You okay?" 

She jerked away from him, ignoring his question and storming off to her class. The entire day went by without a word from Lucy's teachers, and he didn't know if he should be worried or relieved. As he finished up a last minute document for the ROTC speech he was giving the next day,  a knock on his door caused him to stop. 

"Come in."

Ms Broman walked in with concern written across her usually cheerful expression. 

"Have a seat. Is everything okay?"

"No, not really. Lucy's current situation is alarming."

"Certainly."

"I asked around for a bit of Intel on her and I'm not liking what I'm hearing. She refused to write an assignment last week, which you know isn't like her, about her family. Did you know that throughout the entire school year she's not once eaten a meal here?"

"I didn't know that." 

"I asked the lunch staff and it turns out there's not a dime in her account. Hasn't been all year. Students say that she threatens them for food."

"Explains this morning." Chris thought to himself as he processed the information "What do we know about her parents? Anything?"

"I pulled her file, she moved her over summer, her mother died four years ago. No one has ever seen or talked to the father." 

"Past records from the previous schools?"

"That only shows her grades and any incidents. There weren't any alarming ones, but she did get suspended in middle school for selling slime on campus." 

"Slime? That doesn't seem like something she'd do." 

Chris made a few notes and finished his conversation with the counselor. He went home for the day, still unable to focus on anything other than Lucy. 

The next morning he was surprised to see Lucy waiting for him in front of his office door, arms crossed. 

"Good morning." He greeted her with a soft smile as he unlocked the door and gestured for her to come in "How are you today?"

"Cut the shit, Chris." She spat, glaring at him "You're the fakest person I've ever met, you know that?" 

"What do you mean?" Chris took a sip of his coffee as he looked at her 

Lucy uncrossed her arms and waved the flier she had been holding in his face 

"Goodbye Rally? You want to explain?"

"The school wants to hold a goodby for me on Friday.  Not my kinda thing, but not my choice." 

"So you're leaving?"

"I am. I had to get a new job that works better for my schedule." 

"Were you planning on telling me?" 

"Oh, you care?" 

"Fuck you." 

Tears filled Lucy's eyes, her face red with frustration. 

"Lucy…"

"It's because of me isn't it?"

"What? No, Luce, that's not it at all"

"Then why?! Why leave somewhere you're needed? These kids, the ones you mentor, the ROTC kids you work with. They need you."

Chris frowned, his gut feeling as if it had been punched. He didn't want to leave his job at the high school, but if he ever wanted to finish his night classes and get his counseling degree, he had to.

"They're bringing in a new resource officer. I know her and she'll do a gild job with everyone."

"You can't leave." Tears streamed down Lucy's face "Please. I promise I won't cause any more trouble, I won't talk back or cuss ever again."

"Lucy, this has nothing to do with you." 

"You don't care, do you? This is just a paycheck for you, you don't care what happens to us. Fucking liar."

Chris started to reply but was cut off by Lucy balling up the flier and throwing it in his face. She stormed out, slamming the door closed behind her. Chris sat down in his chair and buried his face in his hands, groaning. 

[ofmurphys]

✰ –– hero coffee roasters. 2pm, on a tuesday.

this bitch wants a frappu-fuckin’-ccino. murphy blinks and pastes on a smile. jesus. fake-owning this shithole’s getting real old these days. “ oh, hun, of course i can improvise that sugar rush for you. don’t even fret it. we totally keep vats of that fake java just lying around. ”  honestly, murph can’t tell what’s worse –– the fact that this cardboard cutout vsco girl even asked, or the fact that she actually believes her.

hero coffee roasters loses a customer that day. as the doorbell jingles shut with the force of the girl’s slam, murphy pops a redhot into her mouth and chews. does nothing to hide her growing smirk. yeah, yeah. 

good riddance.

or alternatively :  hey demons, it’s me, ya gurl !  back at it again with my very snakey shadow gorl. click that read more to learn about this gorgeous amoral piece of ass. i’m trying out a new intro format, so... bear with me !  i hope y’all enjoy, and pls hmu on discord for plots !  

murph is... straight up trouble. so if you want drama ?  you want bullshit & compulsive lies ?  you want ill-founded rage with no apologies later ?  you’ve come to the right place .

this is the story of a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world . . .   just kidding. murphy berman doesn’t shed tears for shit.

— && guests may mistake me as ( zoe kravitz ), but really i am ( murphy berman + cisfemale + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 11/7/1994 ). i am a ( “ coffee shop owner ” ) and would like to stay in suite ( 306 ). i won’t be much of a bother because i am ( + cunning & fierce ), but i can also be ( - acetous & cutthroat ) at times. personally, i like to ( code, flick gum wrappers at pigeons, bring my pet turtle to the movies, sit back and watch shit burn ) when i have the time to relax, and my favorite snack is ( those purple doritos, y'know. chili or whatever the fuck  ) to have in my suite. thank you for checking in !

i n s p o .

coffee shop –– hero coffee roasters.

pinterest.

soundcloud –– soul sounds.

soul anthem.

b a c k d r o p .  ( tw: drug mentions, alcoholic tendencies, alcohol, crime, allusions to domestic violence, violence, murder. )

2am, bar’s closed. but braids still sits, forearms draped atop the counter, shades askew. as you restock new handles, she raises a finger, like she might say something, then pours herself another bourbon. cutting her off is the least of your worries –– it doesn’t take a genius to tell this cookie can handle her own. and the shit she’s spewing ?  something tells you this has never been aired before.

“ so picture the fuck outta this, bub. ”  a swig.  “ you’re born and before you even got the wherewithal to speak, you’re shipped off to some graham cracker family in the  ‘ burbs. you start leapfrogging –– my term, tee-em –– ”  a tattooed finger traces the symbol into the air accordingly. “ and after a while, it’s a game. hop a house, stay a while, see how much of their shit you can pocket. ”  nostalgic sighs accompany a litany of stolen goods :  cash. jewelry. first edition tetris game, hand-fuckin’-held. the hoopers’ prized gold kazoo.

don’t believe her ?  onto black marble slides proof. 

“ then you land. hard. the fuckin’ landry’s. ”  a scornful chuckle. “ miss me with that white picket fence ass shit. but they get you your first comp, so... when they ask to adopt you, you’re like. i dunno, man. sure, i guess ?  and guess wrong. ”  turns out the landry’s aren’t as warm or welcoming as they claim. their youngest kid dies, freak accident. monkey bars. “ family falls apart worse than that time you tried to make a ball from fresh cigarette ash. you were eleven. ”  tattooed over the scar.

braids tells you ‘bout the party being over. the bruising. but she laughs through it, rolls her eyes like she’s talking ‘bout silly old friends instead of terrible old people.

her birth mother finds her. they meet up a few times in a local park, whisks her away when she’s twelve. is it kidnapping ?  technically, who gives a fuck. they lived low. under the radar. in apartments above dive bars. spent a summer breaking into parked cars. finally landed with j.j., who turned out to just be a glorified drug mule.

“ new york was fine to me. y’know, fucked off in school. kid shit. ”  she shrugs. you won’t know it, but she’ll astutely sidestep the fact that she hacked her first global system at 14. she won’t mention she started accepting paypal offers from obscure reddit threads two weeks later. by 17, she was contracting independently –– a business venture, she’d tell her high school counselor, assigned to keep her from winding up on the streets. 

matty, her best friend since the move to new york, decided to kiss her silly after trying shrooms. she liked it. told him maybe he could do that more often.

“ he cleaned up, ”  braids purses her lips. “ after high school. stopped messing with his crowd. our crowd. ”  she grabs two stirrers from a container dangerously close to your hand. taps ‘em on the counter like she’s stomping out mini fires. “ let him put a ring on me. y’know make bey proud. ”

she won’t mention that while matty gets a job as a cook at a bougie french restaurant, she continued to deal with devils. woman in her high castle. under the guise of cpu-based tetris and a whole lot of freelance web design.

but then roosevelt savings bank gets robbed. and they somehow trace the ip back to her.

it’s an easy mishap to shake. showed ‘em the websites. the code. the computer usage logs. the blues believe her, but matty...

“ trust issues. sad, huh ?  thought i was fucking around behind his back. ”  with criminals.

“ and then shit gets good, homie. we’re tasting stupid fucking cake. red velvet... ”  cue a laugh. bitter. the stirrers stop tapping. “ then i meet aamina and everything goes to shit. i brought it up, you know. like. hey, your fiancée might be a little bit into pussy. ”

for the first time all night, her eyes meet yours. and it’s only then you realize... there’s some heavy fuckin’ sadness swimming in those baby browns. worlds pass through them. alternative stories –– where matty wasn’t high. where he didn’t reach for the knife.

“ he lost it. ”  silence. she looks away. “ anyway. ”  she launches into why chicago –– why she studied pre-law for two years before tossing in the towel. because “ fuck a judge, man. ” and she’s into the finer things in life.  ( she struck you as an arts type. what with the glasses. the vintage band tee worn like a dress. maybe you get a glimmer of pride knowing you were right. she won’t mention that the whole thing’s a farce. )

she launches into why a coffee shop. she’ll tell you the beautiful thing about coffee is it takes no shit. she’ll tell you owning a place gets fuckin’ wild, but she’s in it for the free java and coffee-themed booze. a perk all hourly baristas like her enjoy.  “ and we made that top list or whatever. of fly places here.  an honor. i’d like to thank god, and also jesus. which i hope you know are my boys bazzi and frank ocean. ”  

you’ll google hero coffee roasters later. and find its registered owner goes by brian tubolino. but hey, maybe she’s married.

when braids finally decides it’s time to go, sunlight’s nipping at chicago’s heels.

“ you chill if i ... ? ”  before you can answer, she’s takin’ a swig straight from the half-finished bottle of bourbon. picks it up and cradles it under one arm, precious cargo. 

“ souvenir, man. in remembrance of you. ” 

[startofamoment]

please come in and just sit here for a while ♥

Jake’s laughing so hard, Amy’s sure he’s going to wheeze himself into a poorly-timed asthma attack. The last thing they need right now is to have to call for backup while he fumbles with his inhaler.

“Alright, alright,” she grumbles, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. “So a double date with a young Al Gore at the Louvre isn’t the most plausible. But you asked for my dream date– you didn’t specify it had to be realistic!”

He snorts, but she shoves him in the shoulder before he can devolve into another laughing fit.

“Aw, you gotta give yourself some credit, Santiago. A date like that could totally happen.” He pauses, amusement clear on his face. “Just remind me to tell your future boyfriend to invest in a time machine.”

He ducks before she can shove him again, and just like that he’s doubled over and full-on giggling once more.

“Like your dream date is any less ridiculous,” she huffs.

He swipes at his eyes and coughs, taking a moment to settle his breathing. “Oh, I’ll have you know my ideal date is plenty realistic but dare-I-say still very romantic? The Jake Peralta boyfriend experience is quite intoxicating, thank you very much.”

She raises an eyebrow but nods for him to go on. For sheer curiosity’s sake, if nothing else.

“I’m a simple guy. I don’t have to go to a fancy museum or whatnot to have a good time. All I need is a few fluffy blankets, chairs and stuff for structure, way too many pillows, maybe some of those fairy lights to set the mood… You following me here, Santiago? I’m talking me, my boo, and the most epic pillow fort you’ve ever seen. We’ll sneak a laptop computer into the fort and put Die Hard on, duh, and then it’ll be candy and cuddles from there on out.”

She hums, vaguely impressed but not at all ready to admit that that does sound like a respectable stay-at-home date idea. (She’s even further away from acknowledging that she maybe also thinks all of that with Jake specifically sounds more than ideal.) “Movie night in a pillow fort, huh? Never took you for someone into textbook rom com dates, Peralta.”

“Hey, I like cuddles and warm blankets! They make me feel safe,” he shrugs, then shifts to smirking and waggling his eyebrows at her. “Besides, a pillow fort is the perfect place for a good ol’ make out sesh. Seriously, by the end credits, my date and I would totally be–”

“Okay, I’m going to go ahead and stop you there before this gets wildly inappropriate. Still technically work hours, Romeo.”

He sends her another cheeky grin before raising his binoculars and redirecting his attention to the warehouse they’ve been monitoring. She refocuses as well, filing this new fact about her partner somewhere in the back of her head – to be compartmentalized and hopefully forgotten, along with her mental catalogues of Weirdly Cute Things Jake Has Done and Shirts Jake Has Worn That Make His Arms Look Good.

“Are your eyes covered?” She asks, glancing behind her to triple check before unlocking her apartment door. “No peeking until I say so, okay?”

Jake scoffs but keeps his hands over his eyes. “Ames, if this is your way of easing me into blindfolds and bondage, let me tell you–”

“Oh, hush. I told you, I just need to make sure everything’s ready.”

They step into her entryway, with Jake following closely behind her then staying put when she tells him to.

Amy makes quick work of depositing her bag and shoes in their designated places, hanging up her coat, and running to get the string of lights plugged in. (She’d made sure the whole setup was prepped even before going to bed the night before, but she’d intentionally left the fairy lights off lest she be schooled by fire marshal Boone of all people.)

She surveys her living room – or what used to be her living room and what now is an organized mess of sheets strewn over dining chairs and pillows lain on every available surface – one last time before taking a steadying breath and turning back to her boyfriend. “Okay, Jake, you can look now.”

He drops his hands to his sides, and Amy watches as his expression morphs from confusion to wonder.

“Oh my god. Is this– It’s– Holy shit, it’s a pillow fort!”

He sheds his jacket and toes his shoes off as fast as possible, tripping over his socked feet to scramble into the makeshift entrance, half-squealing and half-rambling like an excited child the whole way. Amy laughs, already starting to feel pleased with herself as she crawls in after him.

“Amy, this is amazing! Did you put all of this together on your own?” He’s beaming, eyes shining with unbridled joy. In the few seconds it’s taken her to settle in against a strategically-arranged pile of pillows, he’s managed to wrap himself up in one of the three fleece blankets she’d prepared for them to use. (She’s going to have to do so much laundry this weekend.)

“Mhm,” she nods, hoping she’s coming off cool when actually she’s buzzing with giddiness from the inside out. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it!” He falls back onto the thick floral comforter lining the floor beneath them, closing his eyes and making a satisfied hum before looking at her again. “Not to be weird, but you are making teenage Jake so happy right now. Like, I for realz would spend hours trying to imagine how my fort would look like and this– yeah, this is pretty darn close. The only thing it needs is–”

“Snacks? Check under that couch cushion.” She smiles, pointing to the spot beside his arm.

He sits back up then lifts the pillow in question, gasping loudly. “Gummy bears? Fruit Roll-Ups? One, two, three… seven types of chocolate, and even the Mexican candy from the bodega near the precinct? Amy, I–” His face shifts to something between bewilderment and awe, sending another surge of nerves through her. “I don’t know what to say… This is literally my dream date. How did you know?”

“Well, it’s... kind of a weird story. You’re going to laugh.” She stops, looking down and tucking her hair behind her ears while she searches for the right words to say. She’d known, logically, that it was much more likely he’d forgotten about their random conversation way back when, but a part of her had just hoped he’d remember so she wouldn’t have to explain herself like this.

“Come on, Ames. I promise I won’t laugh,” he says gently, nudging her leg with his foot. “I swear I really only want to know how you somehow read my mind. I mean, I know my school counselor said I should’ve kept daily diaries back then but I absolutely did not, so there’s no way you broke into one of those. Did I drunkenly blurt out my mushy teenage fantasies at Shaw’s the other week?”

She shakes her head, fiddling with the hem on the nearest pillowcase. “Not last week or at Shaw’s. I don’t expect you to remember this because it was at a stakeout a few years ago, but we’d talked about our ideal dates and you’d mentioned movie night in a pillow fort, so…” Her voice trails off as she digs underneath yet another blanket for her laptop and DVD copy of Die Hard.

She almost cringes when he doesn’t respond immediately, and it takes all her courage to get herself to look up from the loading screen.

He’s got that boyish grin on his face, of course. (It’s not fair that she still finds him ridiculously attractive, even when he’s obviously over the moon at her expense.)  

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” she says, pouting.

“I’m not! I’m just–” His grin widens into a smirk. “ So, so glad I finally have proof you’ve liked me for ages. Wow, Ames. You’ve been holding onto this piece of info for years, just waiting until you could finally put it to use, huh? That had to have been at least three years ago by now, right? Gosh, Amy, I had no idea–”

“Shut up and eat your candy,” she grumbles, throwing a packet of fruit leather his way.

He snickers but doesn’t say anything more as he tears into the plastic and bites into the chewy candy. The tips of her ears burn just the same, with her lack of an outright denial loud and clear in the air between them.

“It’s okay, babe,” he says brightly, laying a sticky kiss on her flushed cheek. (The brand new pet name isn’t lost on her at all, but she’ll unpack her feelings about that another time.) “I’ve most definitely liked you for way too long, so at least we’re even.”