#DESPERATELY TRYING TO PREVENT HIM FROM BEING FORCED INTO THE CYCLE OF VIOLENCE BROUGHT ON BY HIS ENVIRONMENT

[elmidol]

Joy is Laughter in the Darkness

Three Blind Tooke Part Three Death is an Art

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Three Blind Tooke 

 Part Three: Death is an Art

 Chapter Fifty-Nine: Joy is Laughter in the Darkness

 Of stars that dim away,

Of paper and of clay,

You are much more

Than what others

Might use you for.

 The Order of Ren devoted its resources into acquiring more ships and dismantling whatever First Order outposts it came in contact with. The Knights were tasked with searching for artifacts imbued with the Force, although there were two that had opted to research countermeasures for the ysalamir; though the First Order had less in number since Phasma’s defeat and the destruction of two specific bases, it would be foolish to think Armitage Hux did not have his own personal stockpile. You were benched in a way. Surprisingly, you did not feel any resentment towards Kylo for sidelining you. There had been flickers in the connection you had with Rey. They struck at random and had brought you to a sudden standstill or else drove you to your knees. They were sharp, perhaps because of the strain on your relationship. You missed her yet struggled to forgive her for the abandonment. Worried what she would think of you upon learning what you had done, the bond you now had with Kylo.

 In place of going on missions, you had been given access to the children that the Order of Ren had brought; not only those they had taken from under your care, others as well. Many of the older children, the teenagers most of all, spoke of the First Order raids that destroyed their villages and towns. There were those that had reached out to the Order of Ren the same way that they had with the Resistance. Aris did not leave your side often, the young pantoran interested in listening to the stories despite having heard them before. 

 The younglings wore clothing with the colors of the Order of Ren, however the fact that they were not strictly in uniform permitted you a chance to pretend that the war had ended. Mentally exploring the possibilities that lay before you once the fighting was done offered you more motivation to ensure the success of the Order of Ren. You considered the routes wherein the Resistance did join Kylo alongside the ever present possibilities that it did not. Naboo was gone; there was no planet to tether you down. Training for the Resistance in the splinter cell, you had not focused on piloting. That had changed over time, and you discovered that being amongst the stars was one of your favorite experiences.

 You listened to the stories from the younglings who wanted nothing more than to pilot starships as well as those that had been allowed to go on missions with the Order of Ren. Due to their Force sensitivity, it had been deemed acceptable for the children to seek out kyber crystals with which they would later construct their own lightsabers. The First Order, too, had been seeking kyber crystals, although these would power weapons of mass destruction not unlike the Death Star or Starkiller Base. Or the weapon that had obliterated Naboo, you thought sourly.

 Aris was one of the handful of the children that had successfully obtained a crystal. Kylo Ren was in possessions of hers and those of the others. Aris was none the bit pleased by this, the young female impatient. This was an area of darker gray that existed in wartime. The children were learning of the duty to protect oneself, their beliefs, their family, all that they held dear. They were not preparing for a time of peace, they were working to join the cause. It brought to mind for you the differences in how your parents had raised you. Your father preparing you for the possibility of another war. Your mother pushing for you to join her in politics that focused on disarmament. Naboo had a long history of rejecting violence.

 Next you considered Rey and the bond that you had with her, the one that had allowed you to feel her emotions on top of your own. For the first time in weeks, you craved it desperately. She had been the first person to accept you aside from Kylo Ren after you had been broken. Rey had chosen to stay behind subsequent to Snoke’s death, and it had been for you. Her statement that the good she had sensed from Kylo--Ben, she had thought--had stemmed from you; an acknowledgment that you and Kylo complemented one another even when you had wanted to flee. She had represented hope for you when you had been terrified the First Order, Snoke specifically, would win. You, meanwhile, had been her hope that Kylo Ren was not beyond redemption or at least finding a gray area.

 Hope could be a noose with which one hung themselves. Choking, you dismissed yourself from the children and return to the quarters that you shared with your husband, who was currently away on a mission with the Knights. The sheets of the bed were disheveled as you had left them at the start of the cycle following a nightmare that had resulted in sleep paralysis. A warmth had spread through you, rousing you and tugging you away from the monsters that had locked you in place. That had been the first time in so long that you had not felt any pain at the sensations through the bond. Normally Kylo was the one to comfort you, your bond with him stronger than what you had with Rey.

 I miss you, you thought, sinking onto the bed then rolling onto your side and closing your eyes. You were not strong in the Force, were not Force sensitive, however observing the children had allowed you to better understand it. They were newer to their abilities. Their struggles gave you the opportunity to observe their mistakes and successes. You mimicked them now by forcing away all obstacles that existed, each thing that took your concentration off of Rey and the bond that you shared.

 Scenery crawled into view, and you were unsure if you were awake or dreaming. To prevent yourself from waking if you had in fact lost consciousness, you relaxed further into the moment. The grass rose from the ground, sprouting up around the forming flowers in the field. A silhouetted stood feet away from you. It wavered between an indistinguishable shape and humanoid. The darkness of the figure dissipated. Rey stood there staring at you. Her eyes wandered along your body as neither of you took a step towards the other. You had started to hold your breath then recalled that this action might be what drew you into wakefulness.

 “Why did you go away?” you asked, the question having been one you had previously supplied your own answer to after Ap’lek had returned. It had been without warning for you. A sort of betrayal that had cut you, transforming the hope that you had held into a dagger that had carved its mark into your soul.

 Rey slipped one foot forward then another. “I was ready to come running back to you, to him, to not think of anyone else.” The hot trail of tears that began to descend from your eyes fell upon the red and orange flowers at your feet. “Skywalker was dying. He told me, after we were back with the Resistance, he said that you and I, that we helped him to realize that Kylo could change. He stopped calling him Ben, which hurt Leia.” A rejection of the past. “Finn missed you, the way the two of you would joke. It made me think of when we had been on Kylo’s ship--when he took your blood.”

 That was when you had learned that he had survived the incident with Phasma. Or, rather, had been revived after she had killed him. Finn had been able to relax despite the fact that the three of you had been captives of the Order of Ren. It was not the first time that Kylo had allowed Rey to leave unharmed. It had not been the last time he had done so for you either. You mirrored Rey’s actions by starting to walk towards her.

 “Finn told me what he saw when Leia and Kylo met. He told me what Kylo said to her.” There was a brokenness to her voice that revealed her true feelings. She pitied Kylo Ren for having been discarded as well as for, unknowingly, being made his replacement. “That’s not what I wanted.”

 “I know,” you whispered. “He does too.” She nodded at your words in acceptance. This was her area of dark gray in the war. It was one that you had faced, to be torn between allegiances. As Kylo was your other half, he also completed Rey just as she completed you. The shared experiences, the similarities, the differences; all of it created the balance within yourselves. “Part of me feels like I betrayed them all, but I also… I feel like myself for the first time in so long. I want them safe, but I also know that they won’t hesitate to try to kill me.”

 She dipped her chin then raised it once more. “You’ve seen a different side of them.” It was true; you had seen them from the perspective of their enemy. When Kylo Ren had taken you as prisoner so long ago, you had stated that the Resistance was different than the First Order. In their ideals this remained true, however in their actions, those lines had blurred. “When I first went to Skywalker, he didn’t want to train me. He feared my power and that worsened if I touched the dark at all. I was terrified of myself.” She did not have to say anything more for you to understand that she had cut you off in part because that fear had been rekindled with her desire to join you and Kylo in the Order of Ren.

 The explanation offered you a sense of peace that you had not known you had needed. This closure was in regards to your feelings of abandonment, of being unlovable, undeserving of love. You had worried that you had become toxic to the point that everything you touched would crumble or wither away. Instead, unbeknownst to you, it had allowed Rey to thrive even when she had been deprived of light. The influence that she had feared was not manipulation; she had known that she would crumble if she had kept contact with you because it was nothing more than being handed a mirror. To look at herself, to love herself, to join what she believed in rather than allow those she cared for push her in the direction they wanted. It was what you had faced when you had left Naboo and your parents. The differences in your life experiences struck anew.

 “My father used to tell me a story,” you said hesitantly, waiting for her to flinch away due to how she had been repeatedly abandoned by those charged to care for her. Rey lowered herself down into a sitting position amongst the flowers. You again mimicked her, the pair of you facing one another as you started to speak. “He didn’t want to talk more about the monster slayers even though those were my favorite. So he spoke of the stars--it’s one of the reasons I liked Poe calling me Supernova. My father told me that the stars could feel us watch them, he made them anthropomorphic. Every person in existence has a star that is their own. Some days they are brighter than others, other times they fade. You can’t see them in the sky.

 “When they fall down to the planets, it’s the galaxy crying as our heroes fall in their battles. The stars that go supernova, they’re martyrs. They were never afraid to face the possibility of oblivion. Instead they let their temporary light strengthen everyone else. Other stars that went supernova, they were the beings that wanted chaos, wished for the aftermath and sacrificed themselves in the hopes that a black hole would swallow all the other stars.”

 Rey was watching you with widened eyes. Her lips had parted and she paused between breaths. She searched your face while you told the tale that you had learned in childhood from your father. This was something that no one could take away from you nor the others who had heard it. It was precisely how Naboo would live on, how your father lived on.

 “I had been so used to hearing tales of monsters and heroes where things were black and white. Not where something could be either, that it could be evil or good, that the actions were the same even with differing intentions. I shoved that story aside as a fairy tale because I used to hate the gray area it created.” You pressed your hands together in front of yourself. Releasing a laugh, you shook your head. “That is what remains. That it’s all a matter of perspective. If you go supernova, if I do, if anyone does… It’s those who remain that get to spin the narrative of what our actions meant. Skywalker is revered as a hero by so many, yet to others he was the villain that brought the Empire down and thrust the galaxy into disorder.

 “You and Kylo, you both shine so brightly, twin stars that can go nova any second. For the Resistance, if Kylo does then it’s in order to destroy everything while if you do then it’s to help their cause. On the opposite hand, it’s the reverse for the Order of Ren. To the First Order, you’re both villains. You both want chaos and disorder. If you let the fear of what your narrative will become based on the survivors, you’ll just go dim. You’ll flicker out quietly, and those who remain will choose some other star to go nova for them. You have to do what’s right for you.”

 You reached for one of her hands. Rey kept them in place for you to grasp. The flicker of a sensation of touching, of making contact, jerked you apart. You opened your eyes to find yourself staring at the ceiling of the quarters. Though she had disappeared, the warmth from Rey remained with you. She did not close off the bond, which allowed you to feel it: her resolve. The love that she had for herself and for you. You knew what she would choose to do.

 A full cycle passed during which time you observed the younglings again and also utilized the training grounds, enduring the provided supervision without any semblance of bitterness entering your mood. The story that you had told Rey repeated in your mind randomly the entire time. Its truth was applicable to you and better allowed you to understand the decisions that you had made, that you had come to accept. The final traces of worry that you had betrayed what you stood for drifted away. 

 Within that timeframe there had been news of Kylo’s return along with his Knights of Ren. You imagined that they were resting or discussing the results of their mission. The first eight hours elapsed without any of them making an appearance. The tenth hour crawled on, dread creeping into you. You headed for the only area that you could think of besides your quarters or the training grounds; the medbay was buzzing with activity and multiple droids and human physicians alike tried to catch and stop you. You dodged around stormtroopers just as easily. Shoved through until you reached the two beds on which bodies were sprawled. In sight was the bacta tank as well, and it was occupied.

 Your breath hitched at the sight of Ap’lek in the tank. A sharp burn assaulted your lungs, the scream of frustration, rage, despair lodged in your throat. The largest gash was across his chest. The deepest was closer to his abdomen. Bruises marked where something or someone had attempted to crush his windpipe. You trembled in rage, gnashing your teeth together and surging forward. Why had no one come to inform you of this? Ap’lek, who had once been Navrin, was someone you felt close to. They had to know this.

 Turning, you considered the other injured Knight of Ren who was lying on the bed. Kuruk peered down his nose at you, albeit not in disgust. He could lift his head only so much without wincing. The minor injuries he had sustained were covered in bacta and bandages. Blood soaked through the wrappings on his leg. The stain did not spread, which led you to realize that it was old blood. You considered Kylo next. He was seated on the medbay bed across from Kuruk with the remaining four Knights hovering nearby. They each had scratches and bruises that were being patched up by droids.

 “Why didn’t you have someone come get me?” you asked, your tone as harsh as you felt appropriate. Kylo’s lips twitched with amusement. He has something here he doesn’t want me to see. Circumspection revealed what this was. Partially hidden by the Knights’s legs was a container that you recognized by the emblem on its side. It was something from the Empire of old. Curiosity sparked, urging you closer. “Is this one of the projects?”

 Breath audibly escaped through Kylo’s lips. You looked over your shoulder at him, meeting those brown eyes. “Palpatine had a collection of the kyber crystals obtained from fallen Jedi. Some were corrupted, others have retained their original attributes.” There had to be more if he had made a point to keep you away. Your frown deepened, causing him to relent. “These were all within the weapon that Hux used to destroy Naboo.” You recoiled, disgust rolling through your entire body. You shuddered, shook your hands then clenched then, and ground your teeth to keep from gagging.

 “How did Ap’lek get injured?” you asked through gritted teeth. The answer would likely cover the source of his own wounds, which is why you did not feel guilty for failing to explicitly question that. You knew, too, that he would prefer attention not be given to his minor cuts and bruises.

 Kylo addressed the four Knights of Ren who were standing instead of answering your question. He instructed them to take the collection of kyber crystals to their appropriate place--what that meant, you were unsure and did not care much to know at the time. They were then to work with the children who had been learning healing abilities with the Force. You thought back to when Kylo himself had taken away your pain with his hands. The injuries on each of the Knights would have a minor toll on the energy in the children. This was nothing to jeopardize their health; it would benefit them in their training simultaneous to removing the inconvenience of those scrapes from the warriors. Cardo picked up the container then took the lead in exiting medbay along with the others.

 When they were gone, you walked to the edge of the bed and climbed onto it with him. He grunted but did not wince. Only minor injuries, you noted again. Ap’lek, on the other hand, had wounds that brought to question how his internal organs fared. Fear stilled your tongue, not allowing you to ask more about them.

 “The Resistance and First Order arrived during our retreat.” On a previous mission, the Order of Ren had been last to arrive; the Resistance had acquired a portion of the supplies they had wanted from the First Order, which had been successful in keeping the rest. “The stormtroopers have been ordered to execute suicide runs. One blew himself up in an attempt to kill two of my Knights and three Resistance fighters. Ap’lek and one of the Resistance were closest to the blast.” A pause. “Rey used her power to stall the debris as best she could.” He furrowed his brow, his gaze landing on your face. There was no need to tell him; Kylo knew that the bond had been reopened.

 You looked over at Ap’lek, your eyes scanning each of his visible injuries, which covered much of his body. Now you noticed that some of the markings you had mistaken for bruises were in fact charred flesh. Next you inspected Kuruk’s leg and its bloodied bandage. He drummed his fingers on his stomach and endured your scrutiny. Even with bacta, if the damage had gone deep enough into his muscles, it would take time for him to recover.

 Again you faced your husband, eyes tracing the scars on his face and now the ones visible on his exposed chest. You remembered when he had reopened some of those wounds to bring you items to comfort you. You had been mourning your mother, who you had believed had perished in the destruction of the Hosnian system, and had been losing the will to continue to live. Unable to reveal the truth at that time, he had instead returned to you the tooke hairclip. Had been bitter and angry, Kylo having just killed his own father. He had resented you from speaking about your own father. Despite that anger, he relented each time.

 You touched the pads of your fingers to the scar that had been created by a bowcaster shot. Kylo’s eyes were roaming your face; a new memory struck you, wherein he had told you that your face had been the last thing he had seen before he had gone blind and died. Which meant, you noted, that the injury from Phasma had not stolen his sight from him immediately as you had once believed.

 “My mother didn’t tell me as many stories as my father did,” you murmured before falling quiet. You had remembered just how recently his reunion with Leia had been. His head tilted a fraction to the side, a silent form of encouragement. Licking your lips, you continued. “There were people made of paper and people made of clay. The paper could be cut and shaped through force. Or folded without being torn or damaged. The clay could have pieces chipped away. It could be molded so thin that it broke. Or it was shaped into something stronger.” Your fingers shifted up from the bowcaster scar to the scar on his shoulder where Rey had pierced him with the lightsaber on Starkiller Base. “Both can weaken if they get wet, although clay is more resilient.”

 A grunt of thought from him. You waited a breath to see if he wished to interrupt the narrative with a question or comment, however Kylo stayed silent as did Kuruk.

 “No matter what the people were made from, they could not last forever. Something would wear them down. Break them. If a strong clay bowl is dropped from a great enough height or if enough pressure thrust upon it, it’ll shatter. You can glue or tape the pieces together, but it’s never quite the same. The point was that we, no matter what we’re made of, we’re ephemeral. We take for granted what it cost to get us where we are. We sometimes ignore if the hands that shape us are taking things away or if they are using all of us.

 “Even when we shape ourselves, we’re limited to those same methods. I kept working to cut away pieces to fit what everyone else wanted. I stopped doing what I had in childhood: using every part in a unique way to fit who I wished to become. I let their narrative dictate what I wanted, what my actions meant. Being with you and Rey, that let me see what I was doing. I realized again that I had to know and accept myself. I was so afraid to leave the Resistance and join you because I let everyone tell me what that would mean. That it would be me turning away from what I believed in. What I believe in is an end to this war, a way of life beyond the shadow of the Empire and the First Order.

 “At first when you said that you were both the Dark and the Light, I thought you were taking Rey out of the picture of the future you kept painting for me when we spoke. But it wasn’t that, was it?”

 “No.” Soft, quiet. His eyes meeting yours, his chin trembling and lips quivering. “She is the Dark and the Light as well.”

 You leaned forward so that your forehead rested on his collarbone. “It’s accepting the gray. Letting both exist without fearing them. Where the Sith and even Snoke rejected the Light. Where Skywalker feared the Dark. You said that you wanted to regain your vision after you heard me with Finn. Knowing you had to sacrifice part of yourself to be able to see again...what if it had been the part of you that loved me?”

 “I would have to be destroyed entirely.” The warmth you had felt with the renewed connection you shared with Rey was nothing in comparison to this heat at his words. That he felt for you with his entire being, words you knew to be the truth due to the bond you had with him. The war had ceased being solely a quest for power over the galaxy. He had decided to fight for you, to be with you, to see what you saw. To discover what made you laugh when this war had stolen almost everything from you, losses he, too, had experienced. You each had raged in your own ways. Yet your laughter in that moment had been light and genuine. “I can sense that she will join. He may as well.”

 You nodded, thinking of what it might mean for more of the Resistance if Finn and Rey both made the decision to join the Order of Ren. Rey, who had been unfairly positioned into being a face for the cause. A puppet. A replacement for the long-dead Ben Solo. What she symbolized did not fully align with her own personal beliefs.  These she had been afraid to admit even to herself, causing her to shut you out. You almost snorted at that, knowing you were guilty of the same crime.

 “You were told a lot of stories as a child, weren’t you?” Kuruk asked. You twisted around and grinned at him. “Write them down.” It was something that you had only passingly thought. Preserving them beyond just your memory in case death took you before the chance to tell the stories to others came. Naboo had to live on in every way that it could. It was more than a casualty in this war. A sense of calm, of peace, enveloped you like a warm embrace.

 Scooting onto the bed beside Kylo, you laid down with him and listened to the sounds from the bacta tank. You had to hold onto the belief that Ap’lek would heal. While he did so and while you were not on missions, you would compose the tales that your parents had told you. Include many of the stories from teachers and others that had not, to your knowledge, been written. There were places on the holonet to send them where they could be shared on a greater level. You would have to be careful, though, so as to not lead the First Order to you.

 When the war was done, you wanted to continue to give life into the galaxy. They were the lives of times and people gone by. Words that could shape generations. It extended beyond resisting some opposing force.

 You moved so that your ear was pressed to Kylo’s chest. You listened to and counted his heartbeats, grateful that he was alive and there with you in that moment.

[fountainpenguin]

Foils: Antagonists In FOP

I hope you all enjoyed “This Is a Box” last Tuesday. I know I said I was going to do a worldbuilding post this week, but since “This Is a Box” is so long, I decided to do a post that wasn’t going to make you take in too much new information. Thus, this week we’re discussing character personalities and fanfic writing tips. 

Specifically, our topic today is foils, and how I write seven FOP antagonists as distinct characters despite their shared interest in villainy.

WHAT IS A FOIL?

Foil: In literature, a foil is "a character who contrasts with another character to highlight particular qualities of the other character.”

Anti-Fairies are intended, literally, to be foils to their counterparts. Foop is nitpicky and proud, whereas Poof is laid-back and modest. Cosmo is clueless and doesn’t like taking responsibility, whereas Anti-Cosmo is intelligent and wants his name smeared across everything he does. Wanda takes charge with organized efficiency, whereas Anti-Wanda is reckless and deferent. And so on.

But foils don’t have to be Fairy and Anti-Fairy counterparts. Any two characters can be foils if you develop them that way. Cosmo and Wanda are foils for each other, with Wanda being the responsible motherly type and Cosmo being the childish playful type. Dinkleberg is a foil for Timmy’s Dad, as Dinkleberg is ridiculously considerate and generous, while Timmy’s Dad tends to be jealous, selfish, and judgmental.

WHY SHOULD I CARE ABOUT FOILS AS A WRITER?

Designing characters to be foils is a simple way to flesh them out and draw a reader into the story. Foils can complicate relationships in interesting ways between friends who hold some opposing views, or even between a hero and villain who hold some similar views.

Foils are typically used to balance a protagonist with their main antagonist. But how do we balance antagonists with other antagonists?

VICKY

The key to writing Vicky is remembering her motivation. This is where “Certifiable Super Sitter” fell short. Vicky’s motivation throughout the series has always been greed. She craves money. She’s in the babysitting gig to get paid, meaning that she would never want parents to stop hiring her. “Certifiable Super Sitter” was inconsistent with this motivation, because Vicky acted openly evil in front of Timmy’s Dad and had no concern that he would stop hiring her or tell her to go home.

In addition to earning money, Vicky also enjoys bossing the kids she babysits around. This too has a purpose. She forces them to do chores she brought from her own house, or other tasks that their parents had left her to do that night. Obviously, this too has a purpose. Vicky avoids doing dishes or cleaning toilets by blackmailing or threatening to hurt the children she babysits. The chore gets done with little to no effort on her part, and she still gets paid. Although blackmail can be effective, Vicky gets a thrill out of scaring children, and tends to rely on physical, cartoon-y violence whenever possible.

However, Vicky’s work isn’t done. She must also convince the parents that she is worth hiring again, and prevent the children from convincing their parents that she’s horrible. Blackmail is sometimes used, but often, Vicky will break or damage something and blame it on the kid she babysits. She plays the victim who tried and failed to stop this child, and who, weeping, blames herself in front of the parents. The parents trust her more, and their children less.

So, Vicky’s greatest weakness as a villain is that she is constantly maintaining a “secret identity” from parents in Dimmsdale. She must play the part of a sweet and caring babysitter in front of them, and also make them believe she’s sweet and caring even after she’s left and parents speak with their children. Vicky is different from most other antagonists in FOP because she can’t be openly cruel in front of most of the town.

Vicky has another piece to her character that the other antagonists don’t: Her hate/love relationship with the alien Mark. The two break-up and make-up throughout the series, with Vicky loving his human form but struggling to accept his alien one. Even after seeing his alien form in “King Chang”, she sent him chocolates for Valentine’s Day as seen in “Invasion of the Dads”, and took him back sometime before “Fairly Odd Pet”, before breaking up with him again that episode after “having a fight with him”.

So another trait of Vicky’s that sets her apart from the other antagonists is her age. Vicky is a teenage girl dealing with teenage girl problems when she isn’t busy babysitting. She struggles with her sometimes-boyfriend, she busily attends high school, and she occasionally tries to find other jobs (Such as interning at the hospital, or working at the Cake ‘N’ Bacon diner). 

Additionally, Vicky has a little sister, Tootie, who is an excellent foil for Vicky- while Vicky hates Timmy, Tootie is in love with him. Whenever those two and Timmy are together, they instantly clash.

CROCKER

Vicky is a teenager constantly working to keep her “true identity” from adults in Dimmsdale. Denzel Crocker has no such concerns. From early on in the series, other characters label him crazy- including his ex-girlfriend and current boss, Geraldine Waxelplax.

This is a problem for Crocker! People don’t take him seriously, and laugh at him both behind his back and to his face. He despises the “crazy” label, but instead of trying to convince the town that he’s “gone straight” and no longer believes in fairies, Crocker throws his all into proving that fairies exist. Crocker is both full of wrath at the thought of being considered crazy, and full of greed in his desire to gain control of fairy magic. Of course, what he most wants to do with fairy magic isn’t to live a life of luxury, but to seek revenge on all those who ever wronged him in the slightest. Crocker finds it impossible to befriend anyone who openly believes he’s crazy.

In contrast with Vicky, Crocker delivers far more emotional pain to Timmy than physical pain. As Timmy’s fifth grade teacher, Crocker controls a huge chunk of power over Timmy, from his grades to his social life. Crocker’s end goal, of course, is to prove to the world that Timmy has fairies. He does so by publicly humiliating Timmy whenever he can, trying to coax him to use magic to defend himself or poof away, after which Crocker intends to capture Timmy’s fairies and prove to everyone that fairies are real.

Crocker is the complete opposite of Vicky in that regard. While Vicky wants to keep part of her life secret and always wants to get Timmy alone so she can torment him, Crocker always wants to keep Timmy in public so that if Timmy does call on his fairies for aid, he’ll risk exposing them to the world.

Besides being thought of as crazy, another aspect of Crocker’s character sets him apart from the other antagonists. Despite his old age, he is unmarried and still lives with his mother. The two constantly clash because his mother is desperate for him to marry and move out, and Crocker dislikes being babied and bossed around. However, Crocker’s dating pool is limited, as the town believes he’s crazy. Even if his craziness doesn’t stand in the way, his age and looks make dating a struggle.

Some of the other villains in FOP don’t intend to target Timmy specifically. However, Crocker has a perfectly legitimate reason for doing so: Timmy Turner is in his class. Timmy does harass Crocker on occasion too, by publicly embarrassing him (Such as by switching the video Cosmo took of Cosmo and Wanda and tried to upload online with a video of Crocker wearing a dress in “Information Stupor Highway”). Crocker, despising it when people think he’s crazy, suspects Timmy’s hand in many of the bad things that happen to him, and the cycle continues.

Crocker is different from some of the other antagonists in the show because, mostly, he doesn’t really want Timmy dead. Occasionally his wrath will get the better of him and he’ll want to strike out at everyone who’s ever laughed at him, but both Crocker and Timmy would prefer to publicly humiliate each other instead of physically hurting each other whenever possible.

NORM

Norm is one of those characters who isn’t here to make friends. With anyone. Ever. In basically his whole life. The only time he’s interested in winning someone over is if he approaches them to flirt. If you don’t match the qualification of “pretty genie lady”, the odds for winning Norm’s cooperation without a side order of sarcastic remarks are not in your favor.

Norm is an extremely forthcoming person. That alone sets him apart from all the other antagonists on this list besides Crocker and Anti-Cosmo. Perhaps being bottled up for the majority of his life has left the genie with a craving for conversation. Norm has a tendency to blurt things out even when his conversation partner doesn’t have the context about why he’s so angry about a certain person or event. He’ll happily explain himself to anyone who takes the time to talk with him, frequently revealing his plans in the process. I suppose when you’re a genie with oodles of cosmic power at your fingertips, you can get away with saying whatever you want. 

And it’s a good thing that Norm does have power at his back, because his big mouth would get him into a lot of trouble otherwise. Norm’s cockiness is always his downfall. Being a powerful genie, Norm typically expects things to work out for him. If he thinks the two of you are on the same side working towards the same goal, such as seeking revenge on Timmy Turner, then he’ll contribute everything to the table that he possibly can: Including revealing that a genie’s master actually can wish for more than three wishes.

While Norm may be proud and snarky, he actually does have some inkling of respect for authority. Not only did he jump through all the hoops to participate in Fairy Idol for the chance to become a fairy godparent, but he even put up with Jorgen stapling wings to his back and didn’t try to seek revenge on him for doing so. Norm likes to needle people out of curiosity to see if he can make them snap, but he doesn’t like direct confrontation.

Another sign of Norm’s cockiness is how touchy-taunty he tends to get. Put him in a room with another person, and he’ll inevitably poke them in the nose, rub his hand in their hair, or otherwise push and pull them around. However, he doesn’t appreciate being touched (or hugged) much in return. His displeasure is clear by the irritated faces he makes, but he doesn’t shove people off or snap at them. He’ll taunt and tease, yes, but again, direct confrontation isn’t his thing. This reluctant acceptance to let himself be touched and pushed around against his will is a surprising trait for a villain, and a very interesting one to explore.

Norm’s main goal in life, obviously, is to gain freedom from his lamp- a goal which he can’t achieve unless he is wished from his lamp by his master, or manages to exploit one of a few loopholes like the kind we saw in the show. Norm has no interest in taking over the world, blowing up the planet, or even in getting rich. The thing is, Norm isn’t outside his lamp nearly as often as he’d like to be. Once he gained freedom in “Fairy Idol”, he was delighted to explore the world, attend baseball games, and be waited on hand and foot. Things that involve other people, but with little effort and conversation on his end (Besides, of course, having dinner with someone who caught his eye).

Despite his utter lack of subtlety and his tendency to reveal what he’s thinking to everyone around, Norm is a very practical person overall. He’s used to time ticking out on him. He likes things to get done. He’ll go along with anything you want as long as he thinks it’s going somewhere, but he hates feeling used or ignored. One other thing that sets Norm apart from many of the other FOP villains is his reluctance to talk about his feelings. He’ll blab his evil plans, perhaps, and call you snappy nicknames every second of the day, but when it comes to actual emotions, he tends to keep his mouth shut or explain things through the use of logic instead.

REMY

Remy is an excellent foil for Timmy from the get-go. While both crave the attention of their parents, Timmy interacts with his much more frequently. Remy is barely allowed two minutes to speak directly with his parents. The original script for “Fairy Fairy Quite Contrary” even shows a deleted scene where he pleaded for them to stay and talk with him longer, and his mom softened and decided that they could deduct the extra time from tomorrow’s daily two minutes. Naturally, Remy envies Timmy for having two parents AND two godparents who all care about him.

Unlike Timmy, however, Remy is shown to be a very obedient child. Timmy often finds his parents dumb, or their rules strict, and uses Cosmo and Wanda to leave the house or gain access to anything his parents don’t want him to have. Timmy always tries to protest when he thinks his parents are being unfair, especially where Vicky and Crocker are concerned.

But Remy isn’t brave enough to stand up to his parents. In his desperation to win their affection, he is wholly compliant. He’ll do anything they say - stay out of their way, stay quiet, attend military school - and is even delighted to be called by the wrong name (Liam) due to the fact that he received a pat on the head from his father in the process. I think the fact that the scene of him whining to his parents was cut from the final episode emphasizes this aspect of his character completely. 

One thing is for sure: Remy would never use magic to hurt or even slightly inconvenience his parents. He just can’t bring himself to do it, or perhaps feels that he can’t change their minds no matter how hard he tries with magic, and that the only way to win their love is to do exactly what they say and hope it will all pay off in the future. The thing about Remy is, he tends to rely on others to rescue him rather than fighting to help himself. Instead of trying to pull himself from his downward spiral and fight for his needs, Remy would rather lash out at those who have what he doesn’t.

I haven’t written Remy much yet, but whenever I do, I try to emphasize the passive qualities of his character. Another example from the original script of “Fairy Fairy Quite Contrary” that was cut from the final version is the scene during the magical duel where Remy pulls out his phone to call for advice on which amazing creature he should turn into. In the script, his phone couldn’t get signal in Fairy World. Instead of trying to come up with something on his own, Remy stood there helplessly, panicking, placing all his faith in Juandissimo’s ability to save the day (Juandissimo, of course, turned Remy into a tortoise). 

Overall, Remy is a lonely, quiet child who tends to let things happen to him. He uses Juandissimo’s magic to escape reality and venture into comic books, and generally stays out of his parents’ ways. Unlike Timmy, Remy tends to think through the consequences of his actions, and tries to find more reasonable, easier, less risky ways to get what he wants (For example, he first tried to pay Timmy to wish Cosmo and Wanda away, instead of immediately calling magical duel in “Fairy Fairy Quite Contrary”.) 

Remy has control over very few things in his life- Juandissimo and money being the most obvious two. When Timmy and Remy first met, Remy was determined to rent the entire movie theater out for himself- no matter how much pressure the other kids put him under. Remy may not be able to stand up to his parents, but when backed with Juandissimo and money, he is determined to get what he wants from people he doesn’t believe have the power to stop him.

ANTI-COSMO

Anti-Cosmo’s biggest foils are, of course, Jorgen and H.P., as they all hold prominent positions as leaders in the magical world, and even Jorgen has aggressive, threatening, not-wholly-good traits. Anti-Wanda acts as a foil for Anti-Cosmo too, since her reckless carelessness tends to interfere with many of his plans.

H.P. and Anti-Cosmo, though, are both villains who lead their respective races. Since I am currently writing a backstory ‘fic for each of them (Origin of the Pixies and Frayed Knots), and the two frequently overlap, it’s very important to me to make them distinct from one another. To do this, I always strive to emphasize certain opposing key aspects in their personalities- Logic vs. Creativity being the most obvious.

H.P. is a highly-controlling neat-freak. When I write him, I try to emphasize his OCD tendencies, such as his need to rewrite notes on a new paper instead of crossing things out, or rearranging flowers by color in the grocery store.

So to contrast H.P., I went against the idea of Anti-Cosmo that I usually see portrayed in fanfiction- Instead of making Anti-Cosmo neat and tidy, I made his work areas messy. To top it off, I gave him scruffy hair that he can’t seem to style no matter how much he tries. He constantly flits from one idea to another, coming up with ideas and throwing them into action with the blind confidence that they’ll work, instead of taking the time to carefully plot things out. He prefers to improvise, rather than proceeding in an orderly fashion like H.P.

This also works, because messiness is a trait my Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda share, so her habit of being cluttered doesn’t frustrate him as much as it could. Instead of being a point that drives them apart, it’s an area where they understand each other.

Another way I try to emphasize Anti-Cosmo’s creativity is by making him a lover of the arts. When I walk him past statues, paintings, or through gardens in my writing, I let him pause and admire whatever it is he’s looking at. I also gave him the ability to draw, which happens to contrast with Cosmo’s ability to build. In my short story “Yellow Flower Number 9”, Anti-Cosmo happily supported anti-fairy children at the craft fair, even though the quality of what they were selling was subpar. Most antagonists, especially H.P., would never do that.

Of course, Anti-Cosmo is also based on the British aristocrat stereotype. He’s polite, proper, loves his tea, and probably loves to read. When he speaks, his sentences are very long and boastful- not to mention, full of pompous vocabulary. Anti-Cosmo tends to act smugly and expects to be respected, even if he’s dangling from the Big Wand in Fairy World by his underwear. However, despite his expectation of being respected, Anti-Cosmo tends to make terrible decisions- such as trying to steal brownies from the von Strangle bakery in plain sight, rather than sneaking in to steal them later. Or buying them.

HEAD PIXIE

The other major trait pair between H.P. and Anti-Cosmo that I try to emphasize in my works is Justice vs. Mercy. H.P. makes his rules clear to his pixies and punishes anyone who breaks them. He believes that hard work should be rewarded, and will promote or demote the workers of Pixies Inc. regardless of whether doing so will cause their coworkers to resent them. Anti-Cosmo, however, is willing to forgive, teach, and nudge in the right direction without delivering much more than a scolding or light slap on the wrist. Anti-Cosmo is far more willing to trust those he doesn’t like and forgive those who have wronged him in the past than grudge-holding H.P. is.

H.P. is a curious character whose personality in-show seems to contradict everything you would expect of him. Despite his age, wealth, and business attire, the Head Pixie is a very casual man who tosses phrases like “Later, dude”, “Blah blah blah”, and “Go me, go me, it’s my birthday” into conversation. One deleted scene from “Oddlympics” even shows him fist-bumping. His sentences are short, a bit choppy, and frequently begin with conjunctions. Obviously, his speech pattern alone sets him apart from Anti-Cosmo.

The key to writing H.P. is confidence. And lots of it. Every time H.P. is on screen, you’ll know it. He always wants everyone’s attention on him, and tries to take charge in all situations. When he is expected to defer to someone, such as Anti-Cosmo while in Anti-Cosmo’s own home, he can’t seem to resist the urge to undermine whoever holds power over him- even if that person is his own ally. For example, when Anti-Cosmo wanted to name the baby they’d kidnapped Fauntleroy, H.P. made a point of arguing with him in front of Timmy and the gang, whereas a more tactful character (such as Anti-Cosmo) might have waited until they were away from witnesses before expressing distaste.

H.P. is a proud soul with very little shame. He acts as though he can get away with doing whatever he wants and make people look bad if he feels like it, and expects to not face serious consequences for doing so. Cocky H.P. believes he deserves respect and that he should always be in charge. Nothing drives him crazier than losing control of a situation. If he isn’t in control, he’ll gain it in whatever way he can- typically by sassing whomever holds power over him.

Another interesting aspect to H.P.’s character is, of course, that he is a businessman. And not only is he a businessman, but the pixies represent the neutral gray between the Fairy and Anti-Fairy races. H.P. is a character who holds no qualms about playing on both sides of the street. If it benefits him most to do things the legal, lawful way, then he will jump through all the hoops and fill out all the paperwork to do so. But if it benefits him to play the role of a villain and simply take what he wants (such as a fairy baby), then he’ll go about things in a more underhanded way.

H.P. has a very logical way of looking at the world, and isn’t usually conflicted when faced with multiple options. Vicky won’t torment a child in front of a parent. Crocker may hesitate to act if he feels he’ll be publicly humiliated. Remy is reluctant to stand up to adults he can’t win over with money. Anti-Cosmo’s temper flares when he feels he’s been insulted. Foop, when trying to be underhanded, might let something slip but will stammer and correct himself to hide his true goals. H.P., however, tends to be straightforward, blunt, and doesn’t try to disguise what he wants. You generally know what H.P. wants from you, and if you don’t yet, he’ll let you know very soon.

FOOP

Foop seems to take much more after Anti-Cosmo than he takes after Anti-Wanda, so when my writing gives me the chance to bring both Anti-Cosmo and Foop into the same scene, I try to emphasize the differences between them. Again, I try to play off Anti-Cosmo’s creativity and charity by playing up Foop’s logical outlook on life, along with his childish perceptions and his selfishness. If bringing Anti-Cosmo into a scene isn’t an option, then Foop ranting about ways his father annoys him can also do the trick.

The show doesn’t make the differences between Foop and Anti-Cosmo very obvious, but if you study them closely, you can get a feel for the ways they differ. “Fairly Odd Baby” makes it clear that Anti-Cosmo is much more interested in flaunting how smart he is than he’s interested in actually getting away with what he was trying to do.

For example, in “Fairly Odd Baby” alone, Anti-Cosmo took the time to reveal that he and H.P. were actually the ones disguised as Jorgen, taunted those who came to rescue Poof while they were caged, and explained his evil plan to H.P.- all instead of just going ahead with his plan. Foop is way more goal-oriented. Rather than monologue and threaten, he’d rather blast you and be done with it. If he’s in disguise, don’t expect him to reveal himself.

I do believe Foop’s strengths lie in being a planner. In “Playdate of Doom”, he went to great lengths to urge Jorgen to bring a block of ice to his jail cell. Foop used this ice to both cover his escape hole and make it look like he was still in his cell, despite the fact that he could have escaped earlier at any time. You can bet that Anti-Cosmo wouldn’t bother to hide his escape hole, and would instead leave it there to make his disappearance obvious as soon as possible. In his debut episode, “Anti-Poof”, Foop even appears distressed when Poof flew away without playing in the Sandbox of Sorrow he’d designed. It had a Shovel of Sadness and a Pail of Pain and everything!

It’s reasonable to conclude, then, that Foop values success more than brains. This is in line with the annoyance he seems to feel towards his father, as he doesn’t believe Anti-Cosmo could truly be smart if he doesn’t accomplish the things he sets out to do. Oddly, Anti-Cosmo and Foop are the only antagonists for whom jail time seems to be a serious consequence for their actions. In writing Foop, I try to emphasize this. His biggest concern isn’t that people will think he’s crazy. His biggest concern is being caught and punished.

One of Foop’s characteristics that affects what he does is, again, his age. Foop may be an evil genius in his own right, but he’s still a small child. He likes stuffed animals and wants to make friends at school. He’s scared of Vicky and sees Crocker as a weird old man who happens to share a few interests with him. Foop may see himself as a lone wolf who can take care of himself, but you can always expect him to get distracted with sweets or have his feelings hurt if someone criticizes something he’s worked hard on.

I’ve written Foop not only as a child in my works, but occasionally as a very young teenager. I see Foop growing up with an interest in science, to contrast Poof’s interest in sports. Even as he grows, I try to portray him as a smart but rebellious boy who is constantly torn between trying to impress his father, and trying to annoy him. He craves approval and awards, but constantly struggles against his desire to lash out when someone sets him off. Even as an adult, I think, Foop will always have a stubborn streak of childishness in his heart.

TO THE TEST

Here are seven snippets I wrote just now, with each of the characters above facing off with Timmy. Using what you know about the different characters, their motivations, and how they differ, can you tell who said each one?

“What? Still got a wad of industrial-strength floss stuffed in your ear or something? It’s a perfectly dreary day, and you’re sitting around in here? Come on, get out, smell the thunderstorm, huh?”

“Are you still here? Oh, please. What do you want? You have your reward. Our agreement has terminated. Yes, so you distracted the ruffians long enough to prevent them from getting away- So what? I’m the one who called the police to come and arrest them! And look which one of us isn’t sporting bruises in every color of the rainbow. Yes, very well done, you!”

“I hope you’re kidding. You know, I really don’t see how I could have made myself any clearer. Then again, I never bothered learning how to speak Simpleton. This plan was foolproof. I even wrote it out for you. You were supposed to unleash the giant spiders when I said ‘Two’. Two! Which I swear must also be the level of your intelligence on a scale from 1 to 10!”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try and take it, punk. And if one word gets out, I’ll grind you into mulch so foul, not even the worms will dig you up again.”

“What will it be, Turner? Escape now and reveal your secret to the world, or stand there and watch the girl of your dreams email that humiliating photo to everyone you’ve ever known?”

“Ah-buh-buh! I wouldn’t lay a single fingernail on that button if I were you. After all, you wouldn’t like it if I happened to accidentally tip that platform you’re standing on straight into the lava below, now would you? No, I didn’t really expect you would.”

“It really is that easy. Take back your bug, walk out that door, and we won’t have a problem. Or don’t. Then we might. That’s your choice.”

[hyrulehb]

You Stole My Breath (Give it Back)

Okay, so here is the first part in the ‘How do you walk forward?’ series I have going. This will be a two or three part fic, the next pieces coming out hopefully soon. 

Tags: KouKei, mentions of suicide (Kou’s practicing), graphic descriptions of violence, but also fluff... It’s all there. 

Edited by Origami10, written for @kelpie-hearts since this accidental confession scenario was one of the first things we talked about (kind of an early birthday present!)

Nagai Kei had a problem, and no, it wasn’t the fact that he was an immortal being, being hunted down by the government, hated by his younger sister, or even that he was in the process of having an all-out war with a terrorist group of fellow immortals run by a psychopath obsessed with games. 

No, his problem was more dire he realized.

It was the case that scumbag Nagai, heart as cold as a glacier in Hokkaido in the dead of winter, Kei was in love… with a complete and utter dumbass.  

It was infuriating, he had had no interest in dating before discovering he was an ajin. Hell, he hadn’t cared about any of his friendships on more than a superficial level, after parting ways with Kai when he was a child all those years ago. He could still remember, on his old phone, the list of contacts labeled simply as friend 1, friend 2, and so on.

Betrayal after betrayal also followed Kei like the plague after his first death. First, he had abandoned Kai, while he had justified it to himself countless times by now. He admitted it to himself with grim acceptance that it was a shitty move. It was done to protect Kai, to prevent him from getting put into harm’s way, and it was to protect Kei himself. Less attachments, less trouble. It was the most basic formula that he had intended to follow through with.

Tosaki, the ass, had revealed that Kai was in prison because of his connection with Kei’s escape. Still he was safer in there, after all, juveniles’ information, under Japanese law, was not released to the public. If Sato wanted to use the other against him, there would be no stopping him. But if the location where his childhood friend was being kept was harder to find out. Then it was worth it. Still it wasn’t like he could afford to care that much. Kai was only a human after all.

A bad taste flooded his mouth, worse than the one he got when he received that awful second-hand smoke while he was speaking with Ogura.

A conversation with the older researcher resurfaced in Kei’s mind, the ajin had claimed that people couldn’t change. However, now he was starting to doubt his own words. For a long time, hadn’t he been cold and distrustful towards all people? Only holding fondness for his family, but even that was a falsehood, right? Wasn’t it just, to obtain a peaceful, stable life, that he needed to maintain those basic relationships?

He ran a hand through his short hair, trimmed far more than he was used to from when he was taken captive by the government. God, this was annoying.

If people couldn’t change then why the hell did his heart beat faster when that idiot looked at him with such admiration. When they touched, it was like the warmth that radiated from the light haired ajin’s personality was sinking into his own skin like the sun’s rays. The fluttering in his chest, at first it had concerned him as to being linked to something of medical concern with his body. He had even asked for a medical check up to be performed on him.

Of course, the results came back normal. Or as normal as they could be for a demi-human. From that point Kei had fallen to conducting research online on what it could possibly be. He hadn’t wanted to appear weak to the rest of the group so he didn’t go to them. Still he knew all too well that he was obviously the weakest physically out of the entire group.  

Typing in the symptoms was easy, he tried to give as much detail as possible so he could easily whittle down responses that didn’t fit. Face heating up, muscles in his shoulders and chest tightening, mind losing focus, sweating lightly, and a few other details. The answers he got were… disturbing. So many of the suggested links included quotes of his search query word-for-word, but they were from cliché love stories or movie plots.

The moment that he finally was forced to face the truth was the day that Kou asked him if he knew a good way to die. The question had brought out a strange mixture of emotions from the dark haired former school boy.

On one hand, it was a relief that Kou seemed to finally understand the severity of their situation and the desperate need they had for an ajin’s unique weapon, an IBM. Maybe there was hope for that braindead jock after all. However, on the other hand, Kei felt his stomach drop and chest seize without his permission as the image of Kou, slaughtered and unmoving flashed through his mind. Being put through what he had, government experiments, being smeared across the road by a truck, and shooting, stabbing, and mutilating both himself and others, his brain had plenty of material to make colorful, nausea-inducing imagery.  

It had to be a fluke, nothing more, Kei had assured himself as he led Kou out of the building and into the surrounding forest. Research had provided him with many answers for the lighter haired ajin’s wish for a quick death. The noose that Kei fashioned was the perfect fit, excuse the language.

Then Kou had to go and call him ‘amazing’.

Kei knew that he had flushed that the praise, eternally grateful for the fact that Kou had been turned away from him during that little declaration. Kei hadn’t thought that he was amazing, or that he had been doing anything that was particularly inspiring. Most of his actions should have brought scorn to most of the populace. He was doing everything to survive, he was being selfish. Kou acted like he could see some secret side of Kei that he was certain didn’t exist in himself… So, he had told the other to ‘hurry up and die’.

That was the start of their new routine. They would do their typical training; working with different guns and improving their physical condition, having a meeting to discuss Sato’s most recent moves and what strategies might work against him, having a second meeting with Kei explaining the prior meeting to Kou again, going out to the woods where Kou would hang himself while Kei would go back to the headquarters to plan with Tosaki. Then in a few hours Kei would come back to cut Kou down and end his cycle of constant death and revival.

More than once Kou admitted that he was afraid that Kei might ‘forget’ to come back for him. A threat to actually do so was always made by the darker haired ajin in response. But of course, he never followed through with it. One reason was, he discovered to his horror, that he really did care about the loudmouthed ajin, and very deeply, sickeningly, at that. And two, he didn’t want to hear Kou bitching. If Kei made Kou miss dinner, he would never hear the end of his complaints about it. Kou was practically a black hole for food. However, the athletic teenager never put on weight, much to the annoyance of Kei who had been forced on a diet by Tosaki when they first arrived to help him get physically fit.

Currently Kei was walking through the woods to free Kou from his noose, the path having grown familiar to his feet so he didn’t have to pay attention to where he stepped. This freed his mind to ponder his situation.

Maybe it was something in biology that held the answer he was looking for. Ajin weren’t humans despite what some claimed. Kei had made peace with the fact that he didn’t see himself as human long ago. Maybe the immortal creatures ran on a baser set of instincts that weren’t strikingly apparent on the surface. The need for a ‘mate’ or something of the like might be what was prompting him to be attracted to Kou. The brunet was physically more able than him and in a way, could protect and shelter Kei.

There was something that didn’t sit right with that theory though, if he was just bent over for a strong, healthy, and capable ajin, why hadn’t he felt this way about Sato or even Tanaka? Both were much more able than Kou obviously was. Also, there was the fact that all four of them were male, mating wouldn’t result in an offspring. Then again there was still so little that Kei knew about his own apparent species.

No, things just couldn’t be so simple unfortunately.

So why the hell was Kei in love with that infuriating, insufferable… Handsome, charming idiot known as Nakano Kou? He had all the humanity and faith in others that Kei lacked and was an open book to the world. He wasn’t a schemer like Kei, he was honest and loyal to the point of being dangerous to himself.

Kei’s steps stop as he realized that he probably just answered his own question while trying to dispute the facts about why he SHOULDN’T love his complete opposite. Groaning he rubbed at his forehead, dammit, he was supposed to be good at debate but he just lost against himself.

Wait…

He kicked the trunk of the nearest tree in frustration, he was just giving himself a bigger headache with all of this. And all he had gotten for it so far was an aching foot. At least the damage didn’t warrant a reset.

Honestly, all of these developments might as well have been a bright red sign that screamed ‘caution, your day is only going to get worse don’t take any chances’. Everything that could go wrong, would go wrong. Unfortunately for Kei, his tangled brain and heart made it seem like he was wearing blinders.

Instead Kei just continued on his way after shaking his foot out. The sun was continuing to set, but the summer heat didn’t lessen and it made Kei’s shirt stick uncomfortably to his skin and there was no relief in sight as the abysmal humidity would continue to cling to the air even when the seasons changed.

So was life in Japan, still the heat would probably be more unbearable in India.

The thought made a sigh leave his lips as he came to a stop in front of a particular tree, gaze taking in the sight of the body hanging above him. The fingers would twitch from time to time, signaling the split seconds of revival before the weight of Kou’s own body and the pressure of the rope would end his life again and again.

How many resets did Kou endure a day in this desperate attempt to bring out a black ghost? If Kei wanted to he could probably calculate the time it took for each reset and death, then divide it by however long Kei had left him swinging that day. But honestly… Kei didn’t want to think about the brunet’s death. Even staring at the corpse now made a shiver roll down his spine despite his normal pensive scowl staying on his face.

It was his default expression, his mask. When wearing it, nothing could hurt him and it made people steer away from him. Except stupid, unperceptive Kou. Right, he needed to get the dumbass down.

The knot in the rope would be too tight from the pressure of the constant weight to untie it so Kei pulled out the pocket knife that Ogura had given him the other day. It took a while to saw through the thick braided strands, but as soon as the last strand frayed, the corpse fell to the ground with a meaty thump. The process of reviving would take care of any scratches or bruises that Kou received from the less than gentle landing.

Kei’s steps towards the body were quicker than he would like to admit, grimacing at the sight of a blue fac; a red, raw neck peeking under the rope, and an unmoving chest. His stomach twisted as he kneeled to loosen the noose and carefully slipped it back over the head, tossing the rope against the tree to be used the next day since there was still a decent length of it left.

How many more days would they continue to do this? How long would it take to stop Sato’s rampage? What would happen after they stopped Sato, would equal rights be given to ajin or would Tosaki betray them? What would Kei do, return home to a town that had completely turned on him in the wake of his discovery of immortality? Would Kou disappear from his life as quickly as he appeared? There were so many questions that buzzed inside of Kei’s head as he stared down at the motionless body. However, one stayed at the forefront of his mind.

How many times would he have to see Kou die, and not by Kei’s own hands?

Sure, when Kei or his IBM killed Kou, there wasn’t such a sense of panic as he had right now. It was strange and honestly should make no sense, but when the other ajin died under Kei’s action, somehow  he felt assured that the brunet would come back. Even if it was just to scream at him for being an asshole.

Kou wasn’t one to let anything slide with Kei after all.

Still the stillness in the taller ajin’s form made Kei’s chest seize slightly, resetting could take time depending on the damage take and the length of time it took for the ajin to die. By hanging, Kou’s windpipe and esophagus would have been crushed, the spinal cord broken in a few places by the mixture of pressure and weight, and more than likely some arties and veins had been severed. It was a lot to repair certainly.

‘There’s always a chance, right? That we won’t come back.’ Kou’s words, from before they started to regularly do this marathon of death, rung in his ears. There were records of an ajin resetting over two thousand times, there was no way that Kou had even come close to that number yet.

He was worrying for no reason, it would be fine. Kou’s annoying cheery voice would greet him soon enough and then he’d complain about being hungry.

That thought was there though, what would Kei do if Kou’s life was permanently extinguished? He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t need to. It wouldn’t happen. There was no need for these repetitive, redundant thoughts to plague him as he watched the corpse…. But they were still there.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kei took a deep breath, attempting to ease the rapid palpating of his heart.

Kei felt himself leaning forward, he could let himself crumble just a little bit, right? His lips brushed over pink lips, body shivering as the feeling. Kou’s lips were rough, chapped from obvious disregard for using things like lipbalm. Still Kei couldn’t say that he disliked it at all. Drawing back only a few millimeters he muttered eyes closed as he tried to commit the sensation to memory, “I love you, dumbass. You better not die for real.”

Then he felt warm breath against his face.

“Is this a dream?”

Kei reared back, eyes wide as he met a pair of matching murky red ones with thick brows pinched together above them.

Fuck, was the one word and thought repeating in Kei’s mind as he stared back into the pair of muddy red eyes that matched his own. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen, Kou was supposed to still be in the process of revival for another eight seconds. His calculations were almost never off, why did it have to be now of all times?!

Kei was frazzled, it felt like his brain was short circuiting as he tried to think of a solution to his mounting shit fest.

“Nagai?”

His IBM decided to make the choice for him.

The crackling dark form appeared in an instant and in the next its claw-tipped fingers were buried into and through Kou’s stomach. Ignoring Kou’s pained groan of surprise, confusion and pain, Kei scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over in his desperation. But once he got his footing, Kei was gone, tearing through the forest and back towards the base. Maybe, just maybe, he could outrun his stupid mistake and Kou wouldn’t be disgusted with him. That life would continue as ‘normal�� as possible between them.

Back in the clearing Kou grimaced as he felt his ruined internal organs shift inside him as the IBM lifted its arm away, but still crouched over him. What was all that? Kou’s mind was still trying to piece all the pieces together as warm blood continued to flow into the growing puddle under him.

Had Kei really kissed him? His hand lifted unconsciously to trace over his lips. Kou’s gaze was dragged up towards the black ghost still slouching above him, but he could see that it was starting to disintegrate. Before it did though, a distorted deeper version of Kei’s voice reverberated out of it.

“I love you…. Dumbass….”

Then it was gone, Kou’s cheeks flushed with what little blood wasn’t gushing out of him, before anger made him shout out, voice tinged with annoyance and frustration, “DAMMIT NAGAI!!! YOU CAN’T JUST SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT AND RUN OFF!!”

Oh, after he revived he had quite a few choice words for Nagai Kei.

Hope you all enjoyed it! Please tell me your thoughts, I love to hear back from readers to motivate me to write more. 

[tragicbooks]

A day in the life after you've been kicked out for being gay.

Youth homelessness is an epidemic, especially for young LGBTQ people. Here are three of their stories.

<br>

Image by Michael Calcagno/Upworthy.

As darkness blanketed New York City, Skye Adrian sat alone outside his parents' apartment, devastated and left with very few options.

He had a feeling it could come to this, he tells me. His parents had warned him he better start looking for another place to stay, after all. Still, nothing quite prepares you for the moment your parents kick you out because you’re gay.

"I had nowhere to go," recalls the now 21-year-old of that spring night in 2015. An immigrant from Jamaica, Adrian had just moved to New York and had nowhere to turn. "I didn't know anybody. I'm not from here."

Queer youth homelessness remains at crisis levels in the United States. Research suggests up to 40% of all youth who are homeless identify as LGBTQ, with a disproportionate number of them being transgender and people of color. That’s an alarmingly high figure, considering just about 9% of all youth identify as LGBTQ.

Why are so many young LGBTQ people homeless? The heartbreaking reason, advocates say, is that many are rejected by parents who seem to think it's more acceptable for their children to sleep on the street than to be gay.

For kids like Adrian, once the sun goes down, safe options are few and far between.

You might be able to couch-surf at friends’ houses for a while — like Adrian ended up doing — but that’s no permanent solution. If you’re lucky, you might find a shelter that’s both safe and has an available bed. You might snag a spot on a subway train or a public place like the library, neither of which is ideal. There’s always a sidewalk, of course, a particularly dangerous terrain that leaves you vulnerable to anything from violence to freezing temperatures.

Or there’s the option of "survival sex." As the term suggests, it’s an exchange someone in desperate need makes in order to stay alive. It’s a tactic homeless LGBTQ teens and young people resort to more often than their straight, cisgender peers. For a time, Adrian — who eventually ran out of couches to crash on — began using a hook-up app on his phone to find guys looking for one-night stands and willing to let him stay overnight. The constant stress of finding new partners took a toll on him, though. He was exhausted in more ways than one.

"Of course, if you wanted to stay there, it had to be sex," he tells me. "I got tired of that."

Image by Michael Calcagno/Upworthy.

As the sun came up over Los Angeles, Ashlee Marie Preston knew it would bring another exhausting day simply trying to survive.

As a transgender woman of color living in L.A., Preston found herself relying on meth to keep up. Without a place to call her own, she didn’t see any other way to keep up with a dizzying way of life that required staying alert and engaged throughout the night, relying on survival sex and keeping up with a group of friends who often resorted to prostitution. It made sense that her sunrises and sunsets eventually began to blur together.

"Here we are, 7 o’clock, 8 o’clock in the morning — I’m nodding off and drinking coffee — then we’d go to the drop-in center to sleep in the chairs," she explains. It was never supposed to be like this, though.

Preston moved to L.A. from Kentucky in 2004. She wanted to live in a safer city, a place more accepting of people like her. But even on the liberal West Coast, Preston underestimated the barriers that would stand in her way.

Being black and trans, finding a job was tough, as it is for many people in her shoes. Even when she’d land one, keeping it proved to be just as difficult. Employers wouldn’t necessarily know she was trans when they hired her, she says. When they found out, things would take a turn — "they would find different reasons to get rid of me," she says.

Unable to find steady employment or a stable living arrangement, she eventually lost all the things she brought with her from Kentucky, including many friends who weren’t accepting of her transition. She was completely devastated.

That feeling of complete loss is what a lot of people don’t understand about homelessness, Preston reveals. It’s not just about losing a physical place, "it's mental, emotional, and spiritual displacement," too, she says. "I felt like I had nowhere to be in the world."

That’s when she would end up at the drop-in center, trying to get some shut-eye as the rest of the city began a regular morning.

She'd wake up in a chair, hopefully be able to take a shower, and do whatever she could before the space would close its doors on her again. Often, she couldn’t find a shelter that would accept her overnight — men's shelters cited safety liabilities, and women's shelters argued that the fact that she'd been assigned male at birth disqualified her from taking one of the beds. It’s a dilemma that's all too common for homeless trans people.

Regardless of the reason, the end result was always the same: Preston and her friends would be back out on the streets just trying to make it through another day. "We had to do it all over again," she says of the exhausting cycle. "It was like rinse and repeat."

Image by Michael Calcagno/Upworthy.

It’s a chaotic day in Manhattan when Giovanni Lamour picks up their phone.

Lamour, who is genderqueer and uses they/them pronouns, quickly apologizes to me for the background noise (an ambulance siren is blaring and kids are screaming nearby), but they’re happy to discuss their difficult past, even during a busy afternoon on-the-go while preparing for their future.

Their life might not seem like most other 24-year-olds’ at the moment — Lamour is living in an emergency housing facility in Queens when we chat — but they’re putting all the pieces together to get there.

Lamour, who grew up in Spanish Harlem, had just come from a clinic visit to make sure they’re staying on top of their health. HIV and hepatitis C testing is just one of many services provided by the Ali Forney Center, a nonprofit committed to helping homeless LGBTQ youth. Lamour has received counseling and college preparation help, benefited from the center’s housing programs, and worked on their job readiness skills (like résumé-writing), all courtesy of Ali Forney.

"I always want to learn something new and problem-solve," they explain. "Where there’s a will, there’s a way."

After Lamour's mother died when they were just 15 years old, they went to live with their father. Their relationship with their dad "really wasn’t the best," they say, admitting they’re in part to blame for a handful of rebellious teen years. But still, Lamour vividly remembers their father’s habit of locking them out of the apartment on summer nights. Feeling unwanted was painfully normal in Lamour's house.

In the decade or so since Lamour’s mother passed away, a series of strained and complicated relationships — with their dad, uncle, friends, and significant others — gradually fell apart. With nowhere else to go, Lamour became homeless. "It’s entirely depressing," Lamour says of their blood relatives, whose intolerance forced them to create a new family. “I’ve really, like, chosen my family — my friends around the city."

Image by Michael Calcagno/Upworthy.

As the sun slowly drops in the sky and families settle into their living rooms across the country, thousands of young, homeless LGBTQ people are left wondering.

They wonder if they’ll eat dinner. They wonder where they’ll rest their heads once the sun disappears. They wonder if the future has any room for them in it.

While many homeless LGBTQ youth struggle in a continuous loop of basic survival, some — like Adrian, Preston, and Lamour — get the help they need and are able to find their way out. "The struggle that you’re going through is real," Lamour wants those young people to know. "It’s real, it’s common, and there’s help there for you."

Today, Lamour is one of Ali Forney’s youth advocates, working to draw more attention to the crisis of LGBTQ youth homelessness. They helped the nonprofit prep for a queer youth summit, for instance, and are leading the charge on various new projects to further Ali Forney’s mission. They’re determined to get back into school someday to prepare for a future in public advocacy. They dream of studying abroad.

Last fall, Adrian, who is living in transitional housing, also began working with Ali Forney. He’s helped the center on various initiatives, like an HIV prevention campaign and the fight to get more shelter beds for young LGBTQ people.  

"I want to be a beacon of hope for all LGBT youth," Adrian explains, noting he’s focusing more on helping other young, queer immigrants like himself who’ve experienced similar struggles. "Regardless of you being homeless, you can still do what you need to get done."

And Preston? One day, she decided she deserved better, and she hasn’t looked back since.

"I remember thinking, 'You know what? I don't know what the plan is — I don't know what God, the universe, whatever, has in store for me,'" she says. "But I know it's no mistake that I'm still here."

The day we talk, Preston is prepping for a meeting at Facebook’s headquarters in San Francisco. Now she’s a media advocate and diversity speaker, focused on elevating the conversations around youth homelessness.

Adrian, Preston, and Lamour aren’t just overcoming their own battles — they’re fighting to save more young lives along the way.

Each and every LGBTQ kid should know they’re loved, after all.

They deserve to wake up to a better tomorrow.

To learn more and help fight LGBTQ youth homelessness, support organizations on the front lines of the crisis, like the Ali Forney Center, the Happy Hippie Foundation, and My Friend's Place.

<br>

[socialviralnews]

A day in the life after you've been kicked out for being gay.

Youth homelessness is an epidemic, especially for young LGBTQ people. Here are three of their stories.

<br>

Image by Michael Calcagno/Upworthy.

As darkness blanketed New York City, Skye Adrian sat alone outside his parents' apartment, devastated and left with very few options.

He had a feeling it could come to this, he tells me. His parents had warned him he better start looking for another place to stay, after all. Still, nothing quite prepares you for the moment your parents kick you out because you’re gay.

"I had nowhere to go," recalls the now 21-year-old of that spring night in 2015. An immigrant from Jamaica, Adrian had just moved to New York and had nowhere to turn. "I didn't know anybody. I'm not from here."

Queer youth homelessness remains at crisis levels in the United States. Research suggests up to 40% of all youth who are homeless identify as LGBTQ, with a disproportionate number of them being transgender and people of color. That’s an alarmingly high figure, considering just about 9% of all youth identify as LGBTQ.

Why are so many young LGBTQ people homeless? The heartbreaking reason, advocates say, is that many are rejected by parents who seem to think it's more acceptable for their children to sleep on the street than to be gay.

For kids like Adrian, once the sun goes down, safe options are few and far between.

You might be able to couch-surf at friends’ houses for a while — like Adrian ended up doing — but that’s no permanent solution. If you’re lucky, you might find a shelter that’s both safe and has an available bed. You might snag a spot on a subway train or a public place like the library, neither of which is ideal. There’s always a sidewalk, of course, a particularly dangerous terrain that leaves you vulnerable to anything from violence to freezing temperatures.

Or there’s the option of "survival sex." As the term suggests, it’s an exchange someone in desperate need makes in order to stay alive. It’s a tactic homeless LGBTQ teens and young people resort to more often than their straight, cisgender peers. For a time, Adrian — who eventually ran out of couches to crash on — began using a hook-up app on his phone to find guys looking for one-night stands and willing to let him stay overnight. The constant stress of finding new partners took a toll on him, though. He was exhausted in more ways than one.

"Of course, if you wanted to stay there, it had to be sex," he tells me. "I got tired of that."

Image by Michael Calcagno/Upworthy.

As the sun came up over Los Angeles, Ashlee Marie Preston knew it would bring another exhausting day simply trying to survive.

As a transgender woman of color living in L.A., Preston found herself relying on meth to keep up. Without a place to call her own, she didn’t see any other way to keep up with a dizzying way of life that required staying alert and engaged throughout the night, relying on survival sex and keeping up with a group of friends who often resorted to prostitution. It made sense that her sunrises and sunsets eventually began to blur together.

"Here we are, 7 o’clock, 8 o’clock in the morning — I’m nodding off and drinking coffee — then we’d go to the drop-in center to sleep in the chairs," she explains. It was never supposed to be like this, though.

Preston moved to L.A. from Kentucky in 2004. She wanted to live in a safer city, a place more accepting of people like her. But even on the liberal West Coast, Preston underestimated the barriers that would stand in her way.

Being black and trans, finding a job was tough, as it is for many people in her shoes. Even when she’d land one, keeping it proved to be just as difficult. Employers wouldn’t necessarily know she was trans when they hired her, she says. When they found out, things would take a turn — "they would find different reasons to get rid of me," she says.

Unable to find steady employment or a stable living arrangement, she eventually lost all the things she brought with her from Kentucky, including many friends who weren’t accepting of her transition. She was completely devastated.

That feeling of complete loss is what a lot of people don’t understand about homelessness, Preston reveals. It’s not just about losing a physical place, "it's mental, emotional, and spiritual displacement," too, she says. "I felt like I had nowhere to be in the world."

That’s when she would end up at the drop-in center, trying to get some shut-eye as the rest of the city began a regular morning.

She'd wake up in a chair, hopefully be able to take a shower, and do whatever she could before the space would close its doors on her again. Often, she couldn’t find a shelter that would accept her overnight — men's shelters cited safety liabilities, and women's shelters argued that the fact that she'd been assigned male at birth disqualified her from taking one of the beds. It’s a dilemma that's all too common for homeless trans people.

Regardless of the reason, the end result was always the same: Preston and her friends would be back out on the streets just trying to make it through another day. "We had to do it all over again," she says of the exhausting cycle. "It was like rinse and repeat."

Image by Michael Calcagno/Upworthy.

It’s a chaotic day in Manhattan when Giovanni Lamour picks up their phone.

Lamour, who is genderqueer and uses they/them pronouns, quickly apologizes to me for the background noise (an ambulance siren is blaring and kids are screaming nearby), but they’re happy to discuss their difficult past, even during a busy afternoon on-the-go while preparing for their future.

Their life might not seem like most other 24-year-olds’ at the moment — Lamour is living in an emergency housing facility in Queens when we chat — but they’re putting all the pieces together to get there.

Lamour, who grew up in Spanish Harlem, had just come from a clinic visit to make sure they’re staying on top of their health. HIV and hepatitis C testing is just one of many services provided by the Ali Forney Center, a nonprofit committed to helping homeless LGBTQ youth. Lamour has received counseling and college preparation help, benefited from the center’s housing programs, and worked on their job readiness skills (like résumé-writing), all courtesy of Ali Forney.

"I always want to learn something new and problem-solve," they explain. "Where there’s a will, there’s a way."

After Lamour's mother died when they were just 15 years old, they went to live with their father. Their relationship with their dad "really wasn’t the best," they say, admitting they’re in part to blame for a handful of rebellious teen years. But still, Lamour vividly remembers their father’s habit of locking them out of the apartment on summer nights. Feeling unwanted was painfully normal in Lamour's house.

In the decade or so since Lamour’s mother passed away, a series of strained and complicated relationships — with their dad, uncle, friends, and significant others — gradually fell apart. With nowhere else to go, Lamour became homeless. "It’s entirely depressing," Lamour says of their blood relatives, whose intolerance forced them to create a new family. “I’ve really, like, chosen my family — my friends around the city."

Image by Michael Calcagno/Upworthy.

As the sun slowly drops in the sky and families settle into their living rooms across the country, thousands of young, homeless LGBTQ people are left wondering.

They wonder if they’ll eat dinner. They wonder where they’ll rest their heads once the sun disappears. They wonder if the future has any room for them in it.

While many homeless LGBTQ youth struggle in a continuous loop of basic survival, some — like Adrian, Preston, and Lamour — get the help they need and are able to find their way out. "The struggle that you’re going through is real," Lamour wants those young people to know. "It’s real, it’s common, and there’s help there for you."

Today, Lamour is one of Ali Forney’s youth advocates, working to draw more attention to the crisis of LGBTQ youth homelessness. They helped the nonprofit prep for a queer youth summit, for instance, and are leading the charge on various new projects to further Ali Forney’s mission. They’re determined to get back into school someday to prepare for a future in public advocacy. They dream of studying abroad.

Last fall, Adrian, who is living in transitional housing, also began working with Ali Forney. He’s helped the center on various initiatives, like an HIV prevention campaign and the fight to get more shelter beds for young LGBTQ people.  

"I want to be a beacon of hope for all LGBT youth," Adrian explains, noting he’s focusing more on helping other young, queer immigrants like himself who’ve experienced similar struggles. "Regardless of you being homeless, you can still do what you need to get done."

And Preston? One day, she decided she deserved better, and she hasn’t looked back since.

"I remember thinking, 'You know what? I don't know what the plan is — I don't know what God, the universe, whatever, has in store for me,'" she says. "But I know it's no mistake that I'm still here."

The day we talk, Preston is prepping for a meeting at Facebook’s headquarters in San Francisco. Now she’s a media advocate and diversity speaker, focused on elevating the conversations around youth homelessness.

Adrian, Preston, and Lamour aren’t just overcoming their own battles — they’re fighting to save more young lives along the way.

Each and every LGBTQ kid should know they’re loved, after all.

They deserve to wake up to a better tomorrow.

To learn more and help fight LGBTQ youth homelessness, support organizations on the front lines of the crisis, like the Ali Forney Center, the Happy Hippie Foundation, and My Friend's Place.

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