#I just drew someone vaguely girl adjacent

[uniclair]

Dakota!!!! Cole!!!! 

[depths-of-hope-and-despair]

Inception

Aditi dragged her feet back to her room, flipping the light switch off and practically collapsing onto her bed. Typically, the dark haired girl would drown herself in alcohol until sleep found her, but after the emotionally exhausted rescue and reunited with those she considered family, she needed no help at all with falling to sleep. She could only hope for pleasant dreams and not one of her dreaded night terrors.

When her eyes opened, Aditi was greeted by an unfamiliar sight. An office room, complete with an expensive wooden desk, dark teal walls, motivational pictures and childish drawings adorning the scene, and a hollow empty window to her left. A therapist’s office, not that she was familiar with that setting whatsoever. 

In front of her, with legs propped up on the office desk, was an usual man, staring straight through her. He smirked like a beast eyeing its prey, two fangs poking out from his upper lip. An unnatural luminescent pair of pink eyes met an equal rival in Aditi’s own bright lime green.

“Oh, what a surprise. I didn’t expect a new patient at this time.” He claimed, his voice reassuring while his predatory gaze switched to an apologetic expression instead. “Certainly I can squeeze you in, I’ll take my break a moment or two later is all.” Swiftly, he wrote down a note in a small notepad nearby only to slam it shut eagerly a second later. Leaning forward with interest, his gaze met hers once again. “May I ask who you are, my child?”

Aditi stared back, blinking slowly at the aura of this new character. She rarely saw new faces in her own dreams. This was out of the ordinary to say the least. “... Aditi.” She answered after a brief pause, her eyes scanning the room and moving back to him. “Why am I here?” She asked bluntly, trying to keep her anxiety at bay. The things she didn’t understand immediately were the most unnerving.

The man dotted down the information in his notepad once more, his hand moving at a breakneck pace. “Can you tell me your age and preferred pronouns?” Aditi looked down, noticing he seemed to be drawing a small sketch of her face on the information sheet. Strange.

“Twenty. She/Her.” She informed, her impatience already taking hold and shining through her tone. Her foot tapped on the hard floor, hand gripping the arm of the chair she sat in adjacent to the man. “Are you studying me?”

“Do not be afraid, Aditi.” He glanced up at her, his fangs on plain display while smiling, noticing how tense she had become. “I am under oath. All the information you give to me shall never leave this office.” He assured, tossing the notebook aside after the information was filled in completely. “You must be confused. Usually my patients come here for our patented dream therapy. It’s quite the genius invention. People more than often cannot afford or barely have the time to seek out someone that can help them with their mental health, sometimes they are too young and their parents don’t allow it. This is where I come in.” Though his explanation was vague at best, he flailed his arms in such a flamboyant nature that Aditi would have almost been fooled that she learned something new. Almost.

“So...” Aditi began, folding her arms together, closing herself off with narrowed unimpressed eyes. “You are a dream demon then? One that offers... therapy?”

“You wound me with such a barbaric title like that, Aditi.” The man chuckled at her change in posture, gaze softening to become more sincere and reassuring. “I can assure you, there is no need to fear me. I am an educated professional. I even have a degree.” He nodded towards the wall where, surely enough, a college degree was laminated and hung proudly on the wall. 

The ravenette squinted at the paper hung on the wall. Albert, that was his name. “.... That is a degree in marine biology.” She informed him, flatly.

“Unfortunately-“ He continued with an easy smile upon his face, electing to completely ignore her comment. “I did not have time to prepare for your arrival, so we will have to make due with a shorter session today.” Aditi could hear the sound of a drawer roll open, the man in front of her now holding up a deck of cards. “How about we play a little game to break the ice? Draw a card, there are pictures on the cards, and tell me something out of your life that reminds you of the picture. I will even play along with you, so we both learn about one another.”

Aditi steeled herself, frowning. There was no use fighting this, it was a dream. A fantasy. Nothing here could hurt her. It could end quicker and painlessly if she played along. With that in mind, her hand reached out and picked one of the cards from the deck. Looking over the splotches of ink and the shape they made, an answer fell out automatically. “A syringe.”

Aditi pushed the card back towards him delicately, ushering him to take his turn. “The point of this game is to get to know one another? I don’t see how image association will help with that.” She commented cynically.

“Oh contraire. Image association games reveal a lot about one's character and psyche.” He corrected her, tracing the ink on the card with his finger. “One sees a bunny in a blot, another may see a terrible monster. It’s the most basic way to determine thought disorders and reveal the mindset of a person. It has been used since 1921.” He chuckled, putting the card at the bottom of the deck and pulling one himself, looking at the image was the first time he broke eye contact with Aditi, intense gaze now roaming over the ink while talking: “Thoughts. Memories. All of it are pictures projected in the human mind. And the same memory could look very different in another person's head. It’s all just.... a matter of perspective....”

“You talk quite a lot, don’t you?” Aditi remarked, blinking at him, seemingly almost amused by his bountiful amount of information on this topic.

“It is my job to talk a lot, Aditi.” He commented in return, finally giving his answer: “I see hands.” 

Aditi hummed, reaching forward and grabbing the next card on her own. Scanning over the ink sketch, only one answer came to mind. The lines of black ink could only register as the cold iron bars. “I see a cage.” 

He dotted down another sentence at her words, not commenting in the slightest, instead looking at the ink splotch she saw, a crooked smirk spreading on his face. A lot of the younger patients saw a hashtag in it. He couldn’t say he was tech savvy, he didn’t even have a computer in his office, but the thing he always saw was....

“.....I see a cage too. How fascinating.” His smirk softened, becoming a bit more genuine as he then wondered: “I’m sorry, but can I ask you a...personal question? You are free to stay silent of course, but you don‘t like doctors and hospitals, do you?”

Aditi watched as he sat down the card, noticing the slight softening in expression from him. It didn’t mean much, but it was a start. A small sign, if any at all. When he asked his question, her neutral glance faltered into a harder and closed off expression. “... hatred.” She corrected. “I do not dislike them. I despise them.” She stated matter of factly, with crossed arms, solidifying her mental barrier.

He merely chuckled at her response, putting a simple check mark by his earlier assumption written down. He put the card back on the used pile and drew a card of his own, his expression changing to a manic one as he stared back at the red eyes on the paper, informing her: “I see......dismemberment.....” He slid the card towards her, pressing: “It’s weird that a card like this would be in the deck, isn’t it? Not that there's anything wrong with it, it’s just....unique.”

While the design was unnerving, her eyes only narrowed in confusion. The piercing red eyes struck her, and reminded her of only one person. What did that one person represent to her though? It didn’t take long to give her answer. “Obsession.” She answered, sliding it back to him, and flattening her lip. “Strange? Perhaps for a typical therapist, but you are not that, now are you?” She retorted.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, my child.“ he responded, not deterred or caught off guard in any way at Aditi‘s question, but also not going to answer it. He put the card back in the deck, holding eye contact with Aditi. He had a general idea of what happened to her, but saying it would only agitate her, so he held his tongue. “But you aren’t quite the ordinary girl either, are you?“ he began, gaze sharp.

“I can see it in your eyes. You look like you‘re ready to rip me apart with monstrous extremities should I make one wrong movement.“ he laughed in an amused fashion, unfazed by the idea of potential death. “You are a very fascinating young woman, Aditi.“ The girl across from him fought back the urge to pout at his intrigue and not fear. 

He shook his head. “Unfortunately we will have to cut the session short for today, but I promise you that we will meet each other again. My prescription for this time....“ he slowly wrote a note, making sure it was readable, his pen leaving little red ink splotches. “Is to open up to a person you care about. Nothing severe, of course, only with what you are comfortable with. Like admitting you stole a book from their nightstand. Do you think you can do that?“ he offered her the note.

Looking down at the card held out, Aditi huffs. Her hand reached out, accepting the note. “.... Tch. I’ll open up as I please, Doctor.” She hissed back defiantly, not eager to accept his advice right away. See her again? What did that even mean? This was only a dream, and she rarely had recurring dreams. It is only a cryptic message, ignore it. 

Despite the dream ending, and continuing with her day in the living, she couldn’t stop going back to the advice. To open up to someone else more. That she would see him again. It drove her nearly mad. But... curiously, she ended up following it. In the process of her late night drinking session before bed, Aditi admitted to Iyabo about how she began drinking by force. Celia fed her alcohol to observe the effects on her body with a lack of the usual organs needed to digest it. To make her dependent on Celia in one more way, as a supply for her alcohol addiction. Of course, Iyabo didn’t know how to respond, and only tried to awkwardly comfort her before scurrying off to her room. Not much progress, but... the first step could be made from this, perhaps?

Not that Aditi remembered that step forward after passing out on the couch anyways..

[zebrabaker]

Songbird; Prologue

Here we go! PLEASE let me know what you think!

“Just take a swan dive off a roof!” Those words rung in her head, and she blinked slowly, looking around. She was on the school roof, with her bag, jacket, tie, case, socks and shoes sitting behind her. She must have disassociated again, as she had no memory of coming up here. Her breathing was a little labored, and her eyes were tender. She must have been crying, and from the way her legs burned she must have done some serious running. She sat down so that her legs dangled over the edge, and watched the sunset. Mom would be getting worried soon, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Tonight, would be the night the monthly check came in…Mom always cried a little when she saw it. She would too, if she got a check every month just because her husband was dead. Even with the check, money was tight. Inko was a single mother, trying to raise a daughter with a slew of hobbies. Every time she even mentioned dropping one, Mom insisted that she could handle it. It was a lie, they both knew it, but to Inko it was the best she could do.

Mom probably wouldn’t be home for several hours yet anyway, she had mentioned taking on a late shift in the NICU tonight…she should have time.

She grabbed her bag, and dug around until she found her violin case. She rolled her neck as she drew her violin and bow. She stood, tucked the rosewood violin under her chin, and drew the bow across the strings. The first note echoed into the still evening air, and she smiled to herself.

With the ease of practice, she launched into her favorite warm-up. It was a simple piece, one of the first she had learned. The music rang out, cool and clear, and she twirled a little as she finished out the piece, enjoying the way her hair flowed in the wind. She panted a bit once she had finished, and gently popped her knuckles. Now came the best part, her favorite song.

She gently situated herself, corrected her posture, and began to play, humming the lyrics in her mind.

‘Wandering child of the Earth, do you know just how much your worth? You have walked this path since your birth you were destined for more.’

She launched into the first verse with vigor, sending the music out into the twilight. As the second round of the chorus snuck up, she quickly shook out her left hand, before plucking at the strings once more. She played on, watching the setting of the sun, the way the fiery orb painted the sky dozens of shades. When she finished the song, she pulled the instrument away from her face and bowed to her imaginary audience. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard someone begin to heartily applaud from an adjacent rooftop.

X0X0X

Shouta and Hizashi had started patrol early, and had been out for half an hour when something caught Shouta’s eye. A few rooftops over, there was a small figure standing near the edge of the roof. As he snuck closer, signaling Mic to follow and stay quiet, he saw it was a young girl, probably not even in her first year of high school. She had stood there for a few minutes, not moving, before she seemed to snap back to herself. She looked around for a moment. It looked like she was trying to figure out where she was. His heart seized when the girl sat with her legs dangling over the edge. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few seconds, she stood, before crouching to grab something.

He saw Mic perk up when the girl stood up holding a violin. She went perfectly still, and the world seemed to hold it’s breath, before she began to play. Mic slapped his arm gently when the melody became recognizable as Iz’s ‘Over the Rainbow’. It was beautifully played, and the girl was smiling softly as she gently pulled the bow across the strings. She twirled as she played the final note, before lifting her violin once more. The song she played was one he vaguely knew; it was an old lullaby his sister would sing to his niece to get her to sleep. Once the girl had finished the song, she bowed to no-one, before Mic began clapping like an over-excited toddler. Aizawa, thanks to years of practice, managed to erase his quirk before he could shatter the poor girl’s eardrums. The girl whirled around, going pink when she saw them. She almost dropped her violin, when she began frantically moving her hands. When the rosewood instrument nearly fell, she stopped long enough squat down to set it back in it’s case. When she stood back up, she was beaming, and he recognized her hand movements. She was using JSL, trying to communicate.

“Slow down there, little listener!” Mic chuckled, signing as he spoke. The girl turned bright red, before slowing down considerably.

‘Hi! I’m Izumi Midoriya! It’s so cool to meet you both! I’m a huge fan! Sorry I went so fast, I got really excited. Neither of you are seen that often, so it’s a pretty big shock to see both Eraserhead and Present Mic!’ Her movements were concise, clear, and easily interpreted. She obviously had been using sign to communicate for a while, possibly her whole life.

“Good to meet you too, little listener! Where did you learn to play like that?” Mic enthused.

‘My neighbor taught me, along with flute, piano and harp. Flute hurts me lungs if I play too much, but I love music! It lets me put my emotions out in the world, since I’ve been mute since I was three.’ She signed this all like it was just a fact of life for her, like ‘The sky is blue’, or ‘All Might is the number one hero’. For her, it probably was, considering she looked almost fourteen.

“What are you doing out so late?” He interrupted Mic’s tirade of compliments.

‘I’m not actually sure…I disassociate sometimes. I’m not even sure what time it is, since my phone is dead. My last clear memory is from earlier today.’ Her face darkened, and she began to pick at her nails.

“Have you called anyone? Let them know where you are?” Mic asked, clearly concerned.

‘No. My Dad’s…gone, and Mom is working late in the NICU tonight. It’s just the two of us, so I usually stay out of the house on nights she works late.’ The girl seemed confused when the two shared a look.

“HEEEY! How would you like an escort from two Pro Heroes?!!” Mic screamed, making the poor girl jump a bit.

‘Sure!’ She signed, before snagging all of her things. She carefully packed her violin away, ensuring there was nothing clinging to the strings or bow. She slid her feet into her socks and shoes, shrugging into her jacket as she headed for the roof access, which was propped open with a brick.

“What were you doing on the roof?” Aizawa asked. For a few minutes, she had looked like she was going to jump. The girl whirled around, taking the steps backwards, moving like she had done it thousands of times.

‘I practice up there sometimes. It’s quiet, so I go up there when things get rough.’ She turned back around mid-step, and jogged down the stairs. She pulled a keyring out of her pocket, and unlocked the door at the bottom. She guided them through the halls of the school, listening to Mic chatter with a small smile. She waved to the few janitors she saw, and they all waved back, shooting glances at the oddly dressed men behind her. She just smiled and nodded when they asked if everything was okay, which seemed to reassure them.

They left the building, and followed the girl through the streets to a series of streets that were nothing but tall apartment condos. Mic and the girl kept up a rapid stream of JSL that he could barely follow. She kept walking until they reached what looked like a decent building, nearly twenty stories. She turned to them, smiling.

‘Thank you for walking me home! This is the nicest anyone has been to me in ages! Good luck on your patrol!’ With that…mildly disturbing comment, she swiped a key card at a pad beside the door, and ducked inside.

“Something is wrong.” Mic said as they turned around and began climbing a fire escape to resume patrol.

“What do you mean?” He asked, adjusting his scarf.

“She mentioned some trouble at school, and dropping a few hobbies. She said that she’s mute because of an accident as a kid, and she had a vocal quirk, and had gotten it a few days before. When the accident happened, she couldn’t use it anymore. Apparently, it caused some trouble at school.” Mic was fidgeting with his headphones, clearly uncomfortable.

“Kids can be cruel. Why are you harping on this?” Aizawa shot his boyfriend an odd look.

“I want to train her. You practically fight quirkless as is, so why can’t she?” Little did either man know, that question would shape Izumi Midoriya into the world’s greatest hero.

[texanredrose]

Runner-Up

Because I can. That’s it, that’s the only justification.

It’s not that they’ve always been competitive. It’s just, within Team RWBY, they found unique ways of motivating each other. 

When Yang suggested they make a bet to see who could and couldn’t get a date to the Rose-Branwen-Xiao Long annual picnic, Ruby thought it meant just motivating each other to go out and try dating, seeing as they were gearing up for graduation and all. Figuring out how to balance a social life with everything else- that was just a skill they’d have to learn, and what better way to drive the point home than with a little healthy competition and bragging rights?

However, as Ruby stepped onto the path leading to the hill that overlooked her childhood home, she had a feeling that this would either be the last competition Team RWBY held or the first in a never-ending escalating war that would threaten to destroy all of Remnant in one way or another.

“Calm down.” Fingertips lightly brushed the back of one hand, enticing her to interlace their fingers. “Everything will be fine.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Blake!” She leaned into her girlfriend’s side. “It’s not your family!”

Her other girlfriend pressed against her other side. “Well, Blake’s family is quite different in a number of ways.”

“Oh, I could say the same for yours,” the Faunus replied with a little smirk. 

“And they’re both miles away from my family.” She whined. “Do you two have any idea how my moms are going to react to this?”

“Of course.” Blake nodded solemnly. “Summer will be overjoyed and Raven will threaten to kill us.”

“That does seem to be the most likely.” Pyrrha offered a soft smile, gently readjusting her red cape. “But we knew that when we started dating. Between your stories and Yang’s, it’s hard not to see how things will play out.”

Another groan left her lips as she reached up, pulling her hood over her head to try and hide her blush. Truthfully, she hadn’t intended to date both of them. She’d just... casually mentioned to Blake one day in the library that she thought Pyrrha was pretty, and kind, and sweet, and the Faunus agreed, even confessed to having a bit of a crush on the so-called Invincible Girl. It wasn’t until her heart clenched painfully at hearing the whispered words that it occurred to her that she maybe had a crush of her own, but she encouraged her teammate to pursue it anyway. She shouldn’t stand in the way of her friend finding happiness, right?

But then Blake admitted that she had a crush on someone else as well, and it would make her feel guilty to pursue one but not the other, and she didn’t really think either would pan out anyway. That led into a brief little debate about whether or not admitting to a crush would be a good idea and Ruby blurted out that she, too, had a crush on Pyrrha. Then, she saw the little bit of hurt in amber eyes, and followed it up with admitting that she had a crush on Blake as well, and she wanted them both to be happy.

That’s about the time that Pyrrha herself leaned over from the adjacent table and asked both of them on a date.

A week later, Yang proposed the little contest for their family picnic, and, well, she couldn’t not bring both of them to Patch. Blake already had an invite, on account of being part of the team, but getting Pyrrha out there without raising any brows...

“Oh, crap, Yang’s going to kill me.” Ruby groaned again.

“I’m sure she’ll take the news better than Raven.” They started up the hill, Blake squeezing her hand reassuringly. “I mean, she’s our friend and my partner. She’s not going to object-”

“But she might tease you a little bit for not telling her sooner.” Pyrrha pointed out, chuckling softly and slipping her hand into Ruby’s unoccupied one. “If she starts anything, I’ll challenge her to an arm wrestling contest.”

“Our knight in gold armor.” 

Over her head, Blake and Pyrrha exchanged a soft kiss, and somehow seeing her girlfriends kiss made things a little better, because somewhere deep down, she knew both of them had good points. She really didn’t have anything to worry about; she’d just never brought anyone home before.

But, really, what did she have to worry about?

“Ruby! Blake!” She blinked, looking up to the top of the hill, where the light breeze had caught her mother’s white cloak while she smiled down at them. “And I believe that’s Pyrrha with you, isn’t it? Yang mentioned you’d be bringing... guests.”

Okay, that meant her sister had either told Taiyang the truth and he’d carefully worded it when he informed their other parents or had told Raven something vague and she’d repeated her verbatim. By the little smirk on the woman’s lips, though, she didn’t think it mattered; her mom had seen straight through it.

“Hi, Mom! I, uh, wanted to introduce you! To my girlfriends!”

“Like momma, like daughter, huh?” She opened her arms and it didn’t matter that she was just a few months shy of becoming a full fledged Huntress, Ruby immediately released her girlfriends’ hands and charged forwards, jumping into her mom’s outstretched arms. “Looks like you’re growing up, my little Rutabaga. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” She drew back a little bit, a bit of nervousness creeping into her smile. “Do you think Momma’s going to... well...”

“Oh, she went and dug out her mask the moment it clicked.”

Her shoulders fell. “She’s not going to make a scene, is she?”

“Now now, your mother’s dramatic, but I don’t think she’d intentionally ruin the picnic.” Silver eyes narrowed briefly. “At least, she better not, or she’ll have me to answer to.”

“And me!” Tai called out, carrying a tub of potato salad up the hill. “Good to see you, Ruby. And Blake, Pyrrha- Yang mentioned there’d be more than just us this time around! Glad both of you could make it!”

Summer, however, became instantly suspicious. “Tai, where’s our wayward wife?” 

“Oh, I thought she was up here with you.”

“No, I haven’t seen her this morning.”

Ruby opened her mouth, because her Momma rather liked hanging out in the attic ever since last year, when Yang and Ruby combined their talents to turn it into a hybrid study and aviary. However, before the suggestion could leave her lips, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she had to bite back something that would get her a sharp look from her mom as a black portal tinged with red appeared. Slowly, a bone white mask with red lines emerged, burning red eyes peering out through the slits.

“So... you two are dating my daughters, is that it?” Raven growled out in that patented ‘I’m-a-threat-and-you-should-fear-me’ voice that had previously only come out during scary movies and Halloween.

Blake and Pyrrha, however, remained unfazed, one well adjusted to the shenanigans that regularly occurred within the Rose-Branwen-Xiao Long household and the other simply accustomed to more intimidating displays back home in Mistral.

And, sure enough, it was Pyrrha who first rose to the challenge. “Actually, we’re only dating one daughter.”

That brought Raven to a halt, halfway through her portal, the red of her blade just beginning to peak out. Not that she would actually draw the weapon, of course; it was probably just for show anyway. “Wait, which daughter?”

Blake’s ears twitched though she held her ground. “Ruby.”

“Oh.” Hopping out the rest of the way, she reached up and removed her mask, shaking he head and running a hand through her bangs. “Nevermind then. She’s not the one I have to worry about.”

“Momma! What does that mean?” Ruby crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. “Yang has good taste, you know.”

“I’m not saying she doesn’t.” Her lips curled into a little smirk. “But, between the two of you, she’s far more likely to bring a date for the express purpose of getting one over on someone, and I’m not getting pranked by my own kid.” The young team leader raised a brow until the woman relented. “Again.”

“She did get you pretty good last Christmas,” Tai said, checking over the old wooden table that could probably be replaced- they’d spent more time and effort trying to replace the benches and tabletop than making a new one would’ve taken at this point- and nodding to himself. “I thought it was hilarious.”

“Of course you would.” Clicking her tongue, Raven favored Blake and Pyrrha with a smile. “It’s good to see both of you again and I’m happy to hear you’re both dating Ruby. Be good to her, alright?”

Ruby put her hands on her hips. “Wait, so you were really doing the whole ‘I’m the terror of your nightmares’ thing just to scare off whichever inappropriate date you think Yang might be bringing?”

“I can’t believe you still remember that,” her Momma said, coming over and wrapping her up in a hug, careful not to catch the edges of her mask on her cape. “If I’d known it would’ve scared you that bad, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Raven, she was six, everything terrifies a six-year-old.” Summer sighed. “Tai, talk to her; I’m sure Yang’s not going to prank her today.”

“I know my daughter; she’s plotting something.”

“Honey, she’s probably not.”

“Don’t take her side!”

As her parents began fussing with each other, Ruby turned her attention back to her girlfriends. “So! That was a thing.”

“Well, we didn’t get a death threat!”

“I’m genuinely surprised that all we got was a stern warning.” Blake then smiled, leaning down to peck her cheek. “We told you it would be fine.” Pyrrha curled her arm around Ruby’s shoulders, pulling her closer while the Faunus’ ears flicked back. “Oh, Weiss is here.”

“Is someone with her?” Although she couldn’t actually let it be too known, she’d worried a bit about her partner- specifically, the pinch that came to her brow when she accepted Yang’s suggestion for the contest. Sure, she had her suspicions that the former heiress had a crush of her own that she hadn’t yet addressed, but Weiss always got... touchy about discussing personal issues. So, she’d tried obliquely encouraging her, because, really, even if she could be a little... difficult from time-to-time, or dramatic, or both, Weiss had come a long way since their initiation! Who wouldn’t want to date her? “Oh, please tell me someone’s with her.”

“Someone is.” A slick grin crossed her face. “Someone we know, too.”

With a raised brow, she popped up onto her toes, trying to peer over the lip of the hill. When she finally caught sight of her partner and her guest coming up the path, she outright laughed. “Weiss! Coco!”

“Oh, calm down you dolt.” Of course she rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips and very, very light blush on her cheeks speaking more than her words. “I’m glad you remember our names, though.”

“Hello again.” Pyrrha waved. “How’s the Huntress life treating you, Coco?”

“Oh, it’s a blast.” Tapping her sunglasses to lower them enough for chocolate eyes to look at them, she walked over and pulled each of them into a hug. “I spent last week in a Vacuo desert chasing down an alpha duneworm- the thing was almost half a mile long. Managed to stop by a lovely village and pick up some nice scarves, though, for our big trip to Atlas.”

“Atlas?” Blake’s ears perked up as she tilted her head. “Weiss, are you really-”

“It’s not for my father, but I would like to see Klein and my mother again.” She shrugged, spreading her hands. “Winter swears up and down she talked some sense into the woman. I’d like to see it for myself.”

“And introducing your kickass girlfriend to them.” Coco threw her a look. “That is on the list.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Blue eyes darted between Ruby, Blake, and Pyrrha. “So... question. Pyrrha, who are you here with?”

“My girlfriends,” the redhead replied with a wide smile, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

Weiss’ shoulders fell. “Girlfriends?”

“Uh... surprise?” Ruby offered a weak little smile. “It’s... pretty recent.”

Before the former heiress could start in on a lecture about keeping secrets, Coco wrapped her arms around Weiss’ waist and chuckled. “Oh no, my pretty pearl, you’re not about to get onto them for not telling when we’ve been dating for almost six months and you didn’t mention it.”

“I- I was- IT’S NOT THE SAME!” Weiss sputtered, either from genuine outrage or just being unaccustomed to open affection still. Through the years, she’d gotten better... but she still had some distance to go.

“It really is, though,” Blake said with a fond shake of her head. “You’re just being contrarian again.”

“Am not.”

“Hey, hey now, no fighting at the family picnic!” Tai warned, though there was warmth in his voice. “And when’s Yang getting here? Not like her to be fashionably late.”

“I’ll call her.” Ruby offered, pulling out her scroll. 

A few moments later, her sister picked up, though the screen initially only showed the blue sky overhead while laughter rang out, Yang’s happy visage eventually filling the screen. “Hey, Rubes! Everyone there?”

Blake and Pyrrha pressed close to her while Weiss and Coco peered from the other side. “Yeah, where are you?”

“I had to pick up my date from the docks! Literally!” Her shoulders shrugged, jostling the person in her arms. “So, how’s our little bet going?”

“Well, Ruby brought two girlfriends, and I happen to be one of them, so I think we win,” the Faunus said with a smirk.

“What about Weiss?”

Suddenly, Ruby found her scroll being pulled from her hand as the former heiress glared at the screen. “I brought my girlfriend of six months, Yang. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t be able to get a date?”

“Nah, of course not! But, ya know, we gotta have a second place, and we have been together seven months! But, that’s kinda a silly way to judge it, so how about something else?” 

“What do you propose?”

Silver eyes widened as she got that feeling again, the hairs standing up again, and she had to glance over to ensure Raven wasn’t about to pull something. Her Mom and Momma were a bit busy fussing over the chocolate chips cookies, though- one trying to sneak a few while the other played defense so there would be some for everyone- which meant it would be Yang pulling something this time around.

“Well, I’ve been carrying my sweetheart since the docks. Figure that’s enough of a headstart for you.” Lilac eyes danced with mischief. “So, you pick up your date, and the first one to drop their girlfriend is in last place.”

Ruby, Blake, and Pyrrha exchanged looks that ranged from curious to cautiously optimistic.

“You’re on, Xiao Long.” Returning Ruby her scroll, Weiss motioned for Coco to come over, the shorter of the two still managing to slip an arm beneath her girlfriend’s knees while the other supported her shoulders- a classic bridal carry. “There. Now, get here in some semblance of short order and accept your defeat with dignity.”

“Oh, I’m already here! Turn around!”

As one, they all looked back towards the path leading up to the hill, and Ruby could see it happening a moment before everything did.

Because her sister hadn’t shown up with just any date cradled in her arms, no.

She happened to be carrying Winter Schnee, Weiss’ big sister, who had traded her military uniform for board shorts and a tank top.

In pure shock, Weiss’ body went slack, which meant she immediately dropped her girlfriend to the ground with an undignified oomph.

“Weiss, how dare you,” Winter said, collapsing the scroll and tucking it into Yang’s jacket without looking. “You haven’t even introduced me to your girlfriend yet, and you’ve already dropped her, really, I raised you better than that.”

“Weiss, what the fuck.” Coco pushed herself up to her elbows. “Could you be a little less of a total mess?”

Now, the former heiress was caught between apologizing to her girlfriend, explaining to her sister, and yelling at Yang for engineering it. Amidst it all, Raven’s loud laughter could be heard, breathless explanations of how Yang’s pranks were good as long as they weren’t directed at her earning chiding remarks from both Summer and Tai while the former tried to keep his own amusement in check.

Meanwhile, Ruby slipped her hands into those of her girlfriends, smiling up at them, and unsure why she was ever worried in the first place. For all the craziness the past few years brought with them, they’d forged the sort of family and support system that could weather any storm, as evidenced when Winter was set back on her feet and immediately went over to warmly introduce herself to Coco while Weiss lightly smacked Yang’s shoulder in recompense.

“Hey,” she said, looking up into amber and emerald eyes. “I love both of you.”

“Love you too,” her girlfriends replied, pressing kisses to her cheeks.

Yeah... she really had nothing to worry about at all.

[ghostmiracles]

quest development: the spiritual journeys of reika titov (1)

this post is kind of gigantic, but for the purpose of this series, moving through the arc development is best, since we have already covered arc development with theia, but for this series we need to establish what this character’s arcs are like for the quest set development i am about to do to make very much sense.

so without further ado... ^_^

(tw/cw for abuse and lesbophobia)

Book 1: The Aspen Tree

1► It’s hard to believe, but this part of your life actually happened.

This Arc is about Reika making herself the villain, and trying her best to see it as something amazing and cool. She goes through lots of failed schemes, lots of villainy that ends up more heroic, that she tries to justify through some vague stupid excuse that makes it seem like she’s not just doing it to be nice.

But she starts to get sick of that whole thing. She starts to process the fact that it really isn’t for her, even though she wants it to be.: But she starts to get sick of that whole thing. She starts to process the fact that it really isn’t for her, even though she wants it to be.

Oki, so widely expanding on that basic idea -

This book starts a little while after Reika became the Darkweaver, maybe a year. She has spent the past year really acclimating herself to what things are like now – her new powers, her basic experience as a Dark Walker, etc. She has mostly kept to herself during that time period, and has decided to really re-enter society. I am thinking that she might even start trying to attend school, but after being out for a year, things are very messy.

There is a lot of rumour and stuff about what Reika was doing during her gap year. Lots of these rumours are very bad, and lead to her being kind of socially shunned. Reika tries to involve herself in [insert school club here], but things keep getting ruined by very very messy stuff. Reika gets shoved into the role of a villain, and tries to live up to the role, but then after a big scheme where she really hurts someone, Reika realizes that maybe being a villain is not what she really wants. She decides that when she graduates high school, she will change everything about herself completely and become a hero. A redefinition, in essence.

Quest 1: Reika tries to get involved in [insert school club here]. She throws herself full-force into it. But everything keeps getting interrupted. Everyone keeps side-eying Reika, and she gets dragged into messy villainous stuff. She gets a bad reputation, and the club stuff by the end of this quest starts to seem very very messy and unworkable. This quest ends when Reika decides that if everyone is going to call her a villain, she might as well become one.

Quest 2: Reika throws herself into a big villainous scheme, I am thinking that it is probably something involving the Child of the Sun, who is part of some School-adjacent group. Maybe this scheme involves kidnapping her at an alumnus gala and doing something magically to seal her away to blot out the sun, or basically kill her in a symbolic way. This definitely visually involves shooting her with a bow and arrow. I think that Reika teams up with some sort of vampire alliance to do this, or rather that she is doing it for them. This quest ends when she does it and then the Headmaster of the Bleak Academy appears at her door to try to recruit her to the Bleak Academy. (This is, of course, deeply upsetting, along with the damage she just did to things.)

Quest 3: This quest gets very very psychological, as the labyrinth in it is completely Reika's troubled mindscape. This is represented by a complex puzzle box that she drew out of the Child of the Sun when she did whatever she did to her. In her final weeks of school, Reika works desperately to solve the puzzle and pass her classes, with the hope that the puzzle box will contain the answers she needs. When it comes down to it, the puzzle box is empty, and that is its own kind of answer. The answer that she is going to have to figure it all out herself.

Book 2: Oleander and Rosebay

2► There’s some illusion or trick here.

So then Reika tries her best to be nice. She tries her best to be more like a hero, even though society is trying its best to make her be a villain. She just wants you to like her! That’s all she really wants! But it’s all hard.

During this Arc, she befriends a boy around her age named Mikhail Nemetov. His family is abusive, and Reika empathizes with him, and spends a big portion of the Arc trying to help him get out of his bad situation. They kind of have a bit of a romance, and Reika really connects with Mikhail. He becomes her only friend.

And then Mikhail reveals his true intentions. He isn’t a sweet, shy teenage boy. (Well, he is still a teenage boy, but…) He’s a powerful enemy of the world, an Excrucian Deceiver, who created a family for himself to create a situation to lure Reika in, to gain her trust, so that he could do his best to convert her to his cause, to recruit her into a war against the world.

So to expand upon this -

Reika has finished her second-to-last year of high school. This book is set during her vacation. She's know as a hardcore villain for what she did to the Child of the Sun, but she's at this point very much not sure that was really what she wanted to do.

Reika decides that she is going to become a hero. She (of course) does not process how impossible this will be, given who she is.

Early on in this book she meets a sad boy her age named Mikhail Nemetov. His family is abusive, and this story centers a lot on Reika's romance with him, or rather, his courtship of her. She falls for it hook, line, and sinker because she is comphet-ing, and because he is one of the only people in her life who accepts her as a hero. Mikhail sees her as a hero first and foremost even, and what villain looking for redemption wouldn't obsess over the person who sees her as completely who she wants to be.

This book really builds up to the reveal that Mikhail is not the sweet, shy boy Reika sees him as, but that he is an Excrucian Deciever who created a false family for himself to lure Reika in and gain her trust, so that he could try to recruit her into a war against the world.

Quest 1: Reika gets excited about being a hero. She posits lots of ways that it could work. She meets Mikhail. She starts to crush on Mikhail. This quest is kind of just a glorious exploration of Reika's decision, but even it has a dark side. This quest ends when Reika makes a full decision to help Mikhail out of his abusive household.

Quest 2: This is about Reika helping Mikhail get out of his situation, and is very focused on their romance set-up. Reika does cool stuff, and ultimately, Reika gets Mikhail out of his abusive situation. This is accompanied by romantic music and confetti raining from the sky! (That may or may not be literal.)

Quest 3: I am thinking that this is about Reika unknowingly navigating Mikhail's complicated trap. Throughout this whole quest, Reika is not aware that Mikhail is dangerous (despite overwhelming signs). It is clear to the audience, with lots of dramatic irony, but it is something that Reika does not at all catch onto. This is basically their full-on relationship set-up, or rather explicitly Mikhail's seduction of Reika. This quest and book ends with them dating, and Reika in some deep ways under his sway.

Book 3: The Ebony Tree and the Shrike

3► There’s something that rings false about the threats you face here.

Reika traverses a literal labyrinth in this Arc. It’s a representation of her tangled-up emotions, the way she’s majorly torn between two ways of life – the life of a hero and the life of a villain, the Reika who is and the Reika who the world expects her to be. Mikhail is trying to corrupt her, and make her into a villain, which symbolizes in a way the world’s expectations of Reika.

She reaches the center of the labyrinth, defeats Mikhail, and then she decides to just be who she wants to be, even if that’s not totally something consistent, and even if she can’t figure out how to make it work. She decides to just live for herself instead of listening to what people tell her to be.

To expand -

Quest 1: This is about Reika's new relationship. This is about her “bliss” with Mikhail. He's come into a lot of money he inherited from an old aunt or something. She is constantly on his arm, and he is constantly buying her fancy things, showing her off. Reika starts to think that maybe her shortcut into society could be through Mikhail. There is also, I think, a hasty proposal. But then as the honeymoon period starts to wear off, she starts to see the problems. She starts to see that things might not be as good as she is thinking, but none of it is really enough for a full indictment yet. Just enough to make her question.

Quest 2: Reika starts cheating on Mikhail with a girl. The girl does not like Mikhail, and tries to do her best to get Reika to dump him, but Reika insists that Mikhail is all she has. Meanwhile, Mikhail is really trying to influence and corrupt Reika. He is performing a flower rite with the goal of shoving an excruciated estate into her and making her a mimic. Mikhail tells her about his plans at the end of this quest – attracting dangerous attention and being praised by an enemy – but with how she's been during her secret affair, Reika actually starts to really deeply “what the fuck” about Mikhail.

Quest 3: This is Reika trying to get out of the cage of Mikhail's grooming and love. Reika trying to break out of things before Mikhail finishes his Flower Rite and uses her as the tool he needs to fight the world. This quest culminates with Reika breaking up with Mikhail before he finishes the Flower Rite, and deciding to stick her nose into stopping him.

Quest 4: This is a slow race towards the end of the Flower Rite, but every fight with Mikhail is a chance to be drawn back in again. This is Reika's confused flurry with everything on the line. And it ends with Reika stopping Mikhail from his Flower Rite, but he gets away.

Book 4: The Abraxas Rose

4► The trick is about to be revealed.

Reika embarks on a great quest, something very very upwards. I am leaning towards something that other heroes and villains are striving for as well. Something very mythic and Greek. She’s decided that this is the sort of thing she does these days. She’s decided that this is who she is. But what she’s not letting on is that part of her motivation is that she wants people to see her as a hero for doing this. She wouldn’t admit it, but somewhere in her subconscious, that’s the reason why.

Reika reaches the target, completes the quest, is the one to complete it, before anyone else can, and because of it, she starts to become a bit more confident in herself, in her decision to be who she wants to be. She starts to get a bit more sure of herself, and returns home with her prize (which I’m conceptualizing as some sort of artifact or something).

To expand -

This new version very much involves the fact that Mikhail is still out there, and now that Reika is out of his grasp, he's just going to try to do this with another girl. This also involves the mythic hero quest that Reika thinks will help people see as a hero. She doesn't want to admit it, but that's a big part of what's going on. Yes, the actions she's taking are good, but they're by no means done for pure reasons. Parts of it are even motivated by hate and petty revenge.

This book ends with Reika killing Mikhail in what is presumably saving the world, and the fanfare that comes along with this, or rather, the presumed fanfare.

Quest 1: With Mikhail gone, Reika searches for a heroic quest she can take on to become a hero, to be treated as one. This quest has a lot of Reika trying out various tasks, the beginnings of several failed adventures that go wrong in Reika's trademark messy and not-totally-morally-good style. This quest ends with Reika finding out a large conspiracy with Mikhail at its center.

Quest 2: This quest focuses a lot on Reika fighting and investigating the shadowy organization Abraxas, which is basically Mikhail's mysterious villainous organization. She takes lots of decisive action, and starts to get to the bottom of the whole conspiracy, but then this quest ends when Mikhail comes back into Reika's life, asking her to join him in his schemes, and she pretty much falls for it.

Quest 3: This quest centers on Reika's time inside of Abraxas, trying to get out of Mikhail's clutches yet again. This quest has a lot of focus on the metaphorical labyrinth that is the internal politics of Abraxas, and on the labyrinth that is Reika's emotions. I am thinking that there is another girl who is Mikhail's intended vessel. Reika starts to fall in love with her, and kind of starts to realize that she needs to save her from Mikhail. This quest ends with Reika really properly challenging Mikhail and him fleeing to the spiritual realms with the girl, goading Reika into chasing him.

Quest 4: This quest focuses a lot on Reika's emotional state as she explores the spiritual realms in search for clues about Mikhail's whereabouts. At times, she considers leaving the other girl to Mikhail, but knows that in the long run that would make things worse. This quest culminates in Reika finding the location of Mikhail's chapel, and making preparations to descend into it.

Quest 5: This is Reika's final descent into Mikhail's chapel, her final descent into the maelstrom. Her final fight with Mikhail, her final challenge in breaking away from him. This quest is also very focused on the fact that Reika is very conceptually lost by the idea of ending everything with Mikhail. The fact that she uses her opposition to him as a sort of identity of her own, a place in the world, and that without him, that identity will be lost. And then deep in Mikhail's chapel, Reika and Mikhail fight one final battle, and she kills him in a moment of intense emotional catharsis.

Book 5: Wormwood's Flight

5► ...and it’s going to change everything.

Reika thought the hero-quest would make people like her, thought that they would start to see her as a hero because of it, but she was wrong. She’d been telling herself she was going to just do what she wanted to do, but she can’t help but get all caught up in what people think of her. She gets really depressed, and during this time has some weird, dark adventures that are a metaphor for her mental state. She gets hurt a lot, and fails a lot, and several times nearly dies.

Then she actually dies, and is brought back by an outside force, then has to work to recapture her Blasphemy, shove it back inside of her and save everyone.

After that transcendence of death, Reika takes a new lease on life. In the afterlife she saw something that really changes how she viewed things, that really changes how things work for her. She finds something there that allows her to actually live for herself and be happy. I think it’s likely rooted in the fact that she has a circle of friends already, but doesn’t really realize it. She has people who care about her. She just hasn’t noticed that they all actually care deeply about her. She’s had these people for a while, but her own thought processes have been holding her back. So then she lives for herself, and take care of her friends, and is happy.

To expand -

This is the point where Reika really has to face how lost she is. She thought she would be a hero, but the world is calling her fight with Mikhail an empty lover's quarrel. Despite having broken free of Mikhail, society still defines her by her relationship with him. And this is basically the story of how Reika breaks free of society's definitions of herself, which is also a coming out metaphor that is also literal.

Quest 1: This quest focuses on Reika trying to enjoy her Mikhail-free life, but shadows and ghosts that represent both the shadow of Mikhail in her life, and society's perceptions of her haunt her. Reika tries to be excited about her life, but keeps getting brought down again, especially by the fact that society isn't treating her as the hero like she wanted. Society is treating her like an accessory. I mean, the parts of it that are not treating her as Mikhail's co-conspirator. After all, she is the girl who put out the sun for a while after trying to kill the Child of the Sun. This quest ends with Reika really losing sight of all the ways her life has improved and falling into despair.

Quest 2: This quest centers on Reika trying to do her own thing and ignore all of her problems. This quest is a time of false celebration and forced smiles. This quest is that confused attempt to say that your abuse didn't hurt you, in a vain attempt to avoid being defined by it. This quest closes on Reika having a dream of Mikhail telling her he's proud of her, and the whole thing feels to real, to the level where she wakes up crying and wondering if maybe he didn't really die.

Quest 3: This quest is about Reika trying to make sense of everything, trying to get to the bottom of the whether or not Mikhail is alive. A part of this is fueled by a desire to have him gone, but a big part of it also is fueled by a fucked-up sense of love. The desire to fix things, to make him better. The desire to kill him again and thus excise things forever. And then Reika finds her answers at the end of this quest. She realizes that Mikhail is dead, but a part of him will always be with her, because that shared abuse experience is never going to go away, no matter how much she wishes she could get rid of it.

Quest 4: This quest is about Reika taking it upon herself to take out the remains of Abraxas, ending it all once for all. This quest goes to a lot of very dark places, because Reika is still lost, even though she has come to terms with her history with Mikhail in a way. The scars still remain, and her life still hasn't been pieced back together, but this is maybe a last chance. This quest also delves a bit into some history, and addresses the fact that Reika still thinks she loves him, but that love is realistically a way of clinging to something that feels real. This quest ends when she fights the new leader of Abraxas and dies.

Quest 5: This quest is Reika's time outside of the world, primarily, her time dead. This quest is a time of painful transcendance. This quest is when Reika realizes that she doesn't love Mikhail, and that she never loved him. This quest is when Reika realizes that she's a lesbian. This quest is when Reika realizes that the world doesn't matter, and that the world doesn't get to tell her who she is, because she is the only one who gets to define that sort of thing. And then Reika returns to the world, pulls the shadows back into her kicking and screaming, comes out as gay, and finally starts living.

next time we will be going over how i convert these arc writeups into a distinct quest set for telling these stories! ^_^

[fordarkisthesuede]

At the Brink of Midnight - Chapter 11

IT’S FINALLY HERE! REJOICE!!!

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Important Spoiler Tags:  past suicide attempt (mention), death (mention)

(Read on Ao3 or Continue Below:)

Chapter 11:  A Laughing Matter

The ride to Jackie Lant’s apartment was fast and quiet. Bruce wasn’t sure why, as John had a tendency to talk a lot when they were riding around before, and would talk about almost anything.

John was mulling over something, and when asked, John had shrugged and said “just some things”.

Like Bruce couldn’t worry over a response like that. He figured it had to have been what happened at the Main Street Diner. John’s street make-up was back on, and done just as impeccably this time, but with the addition of heavy black eyeliner, so it wasn’t as if he’d left in a rush.

Jackie’s apartment was high up in a building that had definitely seen better days. The neighborhood wasn’t one of the best, either – Bruce had visited it many times, always late at night, and he was sure he’d been on the other side of the apartment building on a case long, long ago.

They entered through the rooftop door, which it seemed no one had bothered to lock. (Not that Bruce was surprised – he was the only one in the city who made a habit of flying roof-to-roof, and anyone who walked up to any building’s roof at night was up to nothing good ninety-five percent of the time. Raids by blimp or helicopter were few and far between, thankfully.)

“Kind of reminds me of Arkham,” John (no, Joker, they were outside together) commented in a hushed voice as he shook the rainwater off his borrowed fedora. The stairwell was vaguely reminiscent of the asylum’s, but rather than white-washed brick, it was bare and aged, and it didn’t have the large glowing florescent lights hanging on the walls. There was just a small light in the middle of the staircase leading down.

“Her place is just on the fourth floor,” Bruce said, leading the way with light steps. He was always careful about stairs; he never knew if someone was sitting below a set.

The metal door leading into the hallway was lighter than it looked. Peeling red wallpaper greeted them, and the dark wooden floor had seen better days, but it wasn’t the worst apartment building Bruce had ever set foot in. It’d be a four out of ten, if he was feeling generous… The water stains on the ceiling certainly detracted from that generosity.

“If I hadn’t been spoiled by your place, I’d say this was pretty nice,” John muttered, grinning over at Bruce.

Bruce bit back the comment that it was only because John had no decent standard of living, and gave a very small smile in return. He remembered the little place John had made for himself back at the Old Five Points – the Ha-Hacienda, as he had called it. He’d taken what was a run-down little shack and thrown his heart into it, putting up pictures and lights like it was a real home.

He’d tried going back there the day after John had fallen off the bridge, but John had somehow managed to smuggle most of his things out of there to one of his friend’s places, and now they were impossible to find. It hurt to think about.

Jackie Lant had the corner apartment, overlooking the back. Working the lock-picks in the door took so little time Bruce found himself thinking he should find a way to pressure someone into making a policy that apartment managers had to upgrade their client’s locks every few years.

The beam of light stretching in from the hallway cast his shadow over the place, but he could already see it was much homier than Dr. Crane’s, despite it being smaller than Bruce’s master bedroom.

He stepped inside, John (Joker) following him and immediately making a line for the dresser. Bruce decided to look elsewhere.

Posters were plastered and pinned all over the walls, most of which were for movies or famous plays. There were also over a dozen flyers mixed in, like those handed out for amateur gigs, and they all seemed to be for copyright-infringing shows at Gotham University or South End High School; the dates were in line with Jackie’s educational attendance.

There was a cheap wire shelving unit holding all matter of things – books, DVDs, and bits of décor that almost all looked like they came right out of the Halloween section of a D.I.Y. store. Casting a look over at the bed (it didn’t have a frame, it was just two mattresses piled on top of one another, but was a bed) told him it wasn’t just a seasonal thing, either; there were two different pumpkin-shaped cushions and the blanket on top was patterned with smiling jack-o-lantern faces.

At least she had a variety of different tastes:  romance, fantasy, popular YA literature, used psychology textbooks… There were some horror novels in the mix, but it looked more…pulpy than anything. Her little movie collection had a few of the same titles as Crane’s, too, but they looked to be either from the more popular franchises or cheesy b-movies.

Bruce cast a look at the kitchen unit – nothing spectacular, but he should go through the cupboards, just in case she’d hidden anything in there…

“Bats,” Joker called, frowning at the strung-up photos in front of the desk on the back wall, “can your gadgets scan faces?”

“Something like that,” Bruce answered, stepping towards him. Some photographs were placed directly above the desk, adjacent to the window surrounded by string lights with jack-o-lantern faces. They were hung up by laundry clips on wire wrapped around a combination of nails and tiny peel-and-stick hooks. Looking at them made Bruce think of John’s photos, all arranged in a smiley-face wherever he went.

The pictures were all group photos, varying in age, and it didn’t take a genius to notice that the last several pictures all held the same people, but dwindling in number. Bruce clicked a button on his visor, and waited as the Batcomputer scanned the faces he honed in on and ran through its database of connections to news and GCPD files. Jackie Lant was easily recognizable, due to her curly red hair, but in a few pictures she was very young. The oldest photo was just of her and another little girl, looking up into the camera with the sort of wide-eyed innocence that only children could really have.

He checked his gauntlet, and decided to go from the bottom to the top.

Richard Seed, deceased.

Zoe Smith, deceased.

Angela Maynard, deceased.

Deceased, deceased, deceased. It was just one after another, two of which happened one month apart, and half of the death records were pulled from the GCPD – car accidents, crossfire shootings, muggings gone wrong... The earliest death was almost fifteen years ago, when a missing girl was found wrapped in a rug by a dumpster.

Bruce cast a look back at the photo of the seven-or-eight-year-old Jackie Lant, and remembered her mention of how the formative years played a lot into one’s psyche.

The only people left alive came from the middle bunch of photos:  Dean Norton, who still lived in Gotham, and Veronica O’Reilly, who hadn’t lived there for a little over a decade. Dean showed up in only one photo near the end of the bunch, too, where he was with three other people who had passed away within the last four years.

Bruce thought back to the list of contacts she had on her FriendBook. He didn’t remember seeing any R.I.P. posts or anything like it in her timeline, but he’d checked out the people she contacted most on there, and none of them were dead… “Have you seen any other photos?”

“Just two on her dresser – pretty sure it’s her parents and… I dunno, an older guy, so maybe an uncle?”

“I’m beginning to think you were right,” Bruce grumbled, clicking off the scanning feature in his cowl, “Jackie Lant’s current friends might not really be friends. Almost all the people shown here are dead.”

“Yikes,” Joker winced, “and I thought I had it bad, with most of mine in jail…”

“Did you find anything in the dresser?”

“A few spare bullets and a box of condoms. You know, the essentials,” he joked.

Bruce cast a look down at the desk. A laptop and a tray of loose papers. “Check the closet. If she hid Crane’s stuff here, the only spot left is there or the kitchen.”

“On it,” Joker said confidently, swinging open the flimsy panel doors behind them. “Though I would think I’d scatter them all over the place… You know, put the drive in a bag and tape it inside the toilet tank. That kind of thing.”

Bruce flicked through the pile of paper – mostly the bills for rent, insurance, and student loans, at least two of the latter bearing ‘OVERDUE’ stamps. “Then check there, too. Follow your instinct.”

“Ha ha, okaaayyyy,” John drew out quietly, shifting through a pile of clothes. Jackie seemed to prefer yellows and reds; Bruce remembered her work clothes looking rather nice, and wondered if she hadn’t spent more money on them than anything else.

Bruce opened the laptop on her desk, mindful of the speakers she had plugged into it knocking over the well-loved stuffed cat sitting there. The lock-screen was password-protected and the hint was “check the handbook”.

Handbook…? Hadn’t he seen something with that?

Bruce returned to the shelf – The Handbook for the Recently Deceased sat next to an empty candlestick holder molded in the shape of a raven.

Sure enough, it was a blank journal with a list of contact information (birthdays and death dates were listed, too, much to Bruce’s surprise) and passwords to different sites – banks, her social media, and even a bloggr account – with the laptop’s password written on a sticky note in the front:  Pumpk1nPr1nc355.

“Hey, Batman, I found somethiiing,” Joker called, tugging out a heavy-looking lock-box. “Hidden right under the loose floorboard, how cliché… Ooh, you looking into her laptop?”

“I figured it might give an insight into her, if she didn’t have Crane’s work copied onto it.”

“Right. You look at that, I’m going to poke around her bathroom for a key to this thing.”

Bruce wanted to question that, but Joker left without another word, a confident smile on his lips.

Jackie Lant’s laptop hummed to life. It seemed it had been in hibernation mode – her browser was still open to her email.

Bruce read through the headers:

New post from Batman Watch

New post from Gotham-Sucks

[!] Application for job #P283451

[!] Application for job #E7990S2

We’re sorry to inform you that your…

New post from Gotham-Sucks

RE:  St. Mary’s Mental Ward Position...

RE:  Hopkins Mental Clinic application

BatmanChick96 replied to your post

[!] Application for job #8714E03

Bruce could deduce without even opening any of them that the application notifications were rejections. Judging by the bloggr notifications, she was likely trying to leave the city. Scrolling down further and seeing the list of rejected applications amidst the odd bank statement and old blog notifications told him she’d been trying to do leave Gotham for months.

That explained why she wanted to steal Crane’s work – she must have figured that she could take it and run out of the city, publish it with her name attached, and make something out of it. In her mind, he supposed, she had bills to pay and not much to lose.

He opened her file browser; thankfully it looked like she was the type to keep all her files fairly organized. There was what looked like a folder for her old school documents, a folder for her Arkham internship-employment, tax folders… A quick search said the only thing with Crane’s name in it was a term paper on Working Through Grief and some copies of his work, though they weren’t opened in over a year.

Looking under her recent files, she had a video labeled with a date from several days ago, and she did have a webcam… Maybe she was the type to vlog.

“Whelp, nothing in there… What’d you find?” Joker asked, coming to stand behind Bruce and lean on the back of the rolling office chair.

“Hopefully, a video log.”

“Well press play, then! Maybe she’ll just tell us where she stashed Crane’s stuff. I’m going to be mad if it’s not in that safe…”

Bruce double-clicked the video dated several days ago.

Jackie Lant sat in front of the desk, pushing back the laptop screen until she was entirely in view. She threaded her fingers together under her chin, on level with her hair, and and gazed right at the camera with an intense focus as she breathed deep.

“Normally, I try not to talk too openly in these sessions, in case I have one of those Agents monitoring me like everyone seems to think we do, but just in case I fail miserably, or Professor Crane decides to bury me in his backyard, I want to say something. I’m probably going to regret this video later… Then again, if everything works out, I’m going to delete this and pretend it never happened anyway.”

Jackie shrugged, folding her arms on top of her desk.

“There’s…no going back for me, now. I had to keep telling myself that if I did… If I did, then I might as well just throw myself off of the bridge tomorrow. I’m in too deep. I know too much. I’ve…seen too much.”

The young woman scowled slightly down at her hands.

“I can’t pretend that I’m not going to regret anything. I already regret a lot. I don’t think I’d be at this point if I’d chosen a theater major,” she said with a slight hint at a smile. “But in case something happens, I just really want to say – I’m the one who tried to kill Dr. Jonathan Crane, and stole all of the research that would’ve given evidence pertaining to his unethical experiments at Arkham Asylum. I’m hoping someone will find his bloated corpse floating around the docks or face-down in a pool of his own blood in the street,” she continued with a nasty curl of her lip that lasted all but a couple of seconds. “If not, then I failed, and I’m probably dead already, either by Dr. Crane himself, or Bruce Wayne, for taking advantage of him like I am tonight. I wouldn’t blame him for it, honestly…” She looked down, regret flashing in her eyes. “He and I both have mobster blood in us, I’d be surprised if he didn’t want to kill me for letting his friend get hurt and not doing anything to stop it… It’s what Great-Uncle Finger would do.”

Jackie looked back up at the camera, sincerity peeking through a steely gaze.

“But I am sorry to whoever might get caught in the middle. I hope there’s none, but… If I could see the future, then I would’ve swallowed that bottle of ibuprophen years ago.”

The video cut out after a moment, and Joker immediately leaned over Bruce to click through the video folder, his eyes shining in the light of the bright screen. “She’s got to have more. Something,” he muttered, and promptly played a video dated nearly six weeks ago in a folder marked “personal vlogs”.

The first thing Bruce noticed was that Jackie still had her long ponytail, giving credit to the date on the filename. The second detail was that she looked rather conflicted, even as she just sat there hugging herself in her jack-o-lantern blanket.

“I had…an epiphany, last night. I normally would’ve done this when I got home, but… I couldn’t. I was too… I’m not sure. Not scared… Bewildered, I guess is the right word. Dr. Crane invited me over to his house again, yesterday. I thought, ‘yeah, last time was nice, despite the talk about death in the middle, why not’? It was okay, at first. You know, home-made pumpkin spice lattes, catch-up about how I’m doing, gossiping about patients’ sessions I have to sit in on… And then we got onto the topic of Gotham, somehow. I think I asked him why he stayed here, since he had the means to leave, and he just…”

She was half looking into the camera with general disbelief.

“He said he liked it. He thinks all the general misery is fun to study. I didn’t know what else to say to that, so I tried to change the subject, and asked what he thought of Batman, because…I mean, what normal person doesn’t like him, right? And he thinks he’s fascinating. Or…really, he thinks the effect Batman has on the city is fascinating. He thinks the way criminals fear him is interesting. So… I just said, ‘yeah, that makes sense, you like studying human behavior around fear, don’t you?’”

She got quiet, but stared dead at the camera.

“He lit up at that. Like, the happiest I think I’ve ever seen him. He actually smiled a little,” she pressed, leaning forward to emphasize her point before sitting there with her arms on the table. “So, I figured that had to be good. We talked about his work for a really long time - I still remember going through bits of it at school, and I did genuinely like his stuff, so he walked me through his last one, and I guess I said something right, because… He said he was testing something special for his current research, and he asked what my worst fear was.”

She paused and sat up straight, crossing her arms again.

“I mean, I’m not stupid enough to ask why. I can guess why. So I told him my old one so it’d be believable. And he just looks at me and says ‘So imagine I can manifest those roaches before your eyes. What would you do?’” She phrased in a fairly good imitation of Crane’s pitch, “I said I didn’t know; probably squish as many as possible while screaming my head off, and he…he just said, ‘Yes, that’d be interesting, wouldn’t it?’”

She stared down at the surface of the desk, almost in awe.

“And I just… I just realized, right there, that he was making something to do that to patients. I never asked him about what he did in sessions, but… I’m allowed to peek at almost everyone’s notes to look at the progress of certain patients, and it just…hit me. He’s why some of them are regressing.”

She was quiet for a minute, only shifting to get comfortable again, and staring out the window by the desk.

“And I couldn’t help but think, ‘that IS interesting’. I thought that, and I meant it, and I hate that I thought it at all. And… I know that secret, now. I have to carry it around with everything else.”

Jackie stared a little longer, first out the window, then at her desk, and then she swiveled the chair and moved to click the mouse with an irritated scowl.

“Fuck it.”

That was certainly enlightening… Bruce had wondered how Jackie had developed the idea to steal his research – she’d apparently known for weeks already, before she’d reached out to him days ago and asked for his help. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was her who had prevented him from seeing John, solely to drum up his suspicion and get him invested in her idea of helping her steal Crane’s files.

(Though he couldn’t see her knowing everything else in-between. There was no way she knew he stole Crane’s fake drugs from the lab, or that they would walk right by John that day, or that John would break out of his cell at all.)

John was already clicking to another video, a determined frown on his long face.

“Joker, that’s enough,” Bruce said, moving to stop him, but Joker was just fast enough to start a new one, dated almost four weeks ago, and it caught his attention enough that he let John’s hand go.

Jackie Lant faced the webcam with her head in her hand, taking deep breaths, and on the third, she turned her gaze to the window to her side.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I really, really, don’t.”

The look in her eyes was furious, despite her relatively flat expression.

“I hate it when people say it’s ‘the little things in life’ – they always mean ‘oh, life’s not so bad, just look at this fucking rainbow’, like that will make everything better for you,” she grumbled, turning to look at the camera. “It’s like, ‘hey, you ever see a guy get stabbed in the middle of the road? Just fucking stabbed? And you’re in your car, you have to keep driving, because you’ll be penalized for being late to work, and if you go out there and try to do something about it, you’ll be stabbed, too. And you have to just…pretend like you didn’t see anything. That everything is perfectly fine. It’s just…a little thing,’” Jackie finishes, a lopsided smile tugging on the corner of her mouth for a moment, and then it faded into a flat line. “I tried texting Dean about it, since he was there when Michelle got killed, and he just… He said ‘that’s how life is around here, you gotta be tough’.”

Jackie stared at the table, her eyes glistening slightly, the anger never leaving them.

“Four years… Four years, and that’s what seeing her die in the fucking street has reduced that to. Just another part of life in Gotham.”

She blinked away the tears threatening to fall, taking the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe at her face properly for a moment.

“I tried telling Ver’ about it, too – not directly, just, ‘hey I’m feeling super awful and I hate my life.’ And all she said was, ‘Look on the bright side! It’s the little things that make life worth living!’” she paraphrased in a falsetto sort of voice, her brows furrowing. “Fuck her. Just…fuck her. She can come live in Gotham for a day, see if she can look on the fucking bright side…”

Jackie grunted to herself, rubbing her face into her hands for a moment, and when she reappeared, she had a steady gaze.

“I just have to shove all this down, I guess. Like I don’t already do that all the time.” She stared right at the screen, as if watching herself, and her face grew soft and contemplative. “I’ll just put it next to the thoughts of how I threw my dreams down the gutter, or how much I’d rather risk taking the train to East End than having to work at Arkham one more day,” she added spitefully, despite the glint of humor that crossed over her expression. “I guess I just have to…” She smiled a little wistfully at the camera, even as her eyes dulled. “Smile, though your heart is breaking,” she half-sang.

Bruce heard John snort heavily, as if trying to stifle a laugh, and turned to look just as a loud cackle burst out of him.

John doubled over, clearly trying to stifle his own raucous laugh as he held his stomach like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

Bruce almost wanted to punch him, but held himself steady, clenching his fists as John turned away from him, giggling uncontrollably.

Half a year in Arkham wasn’t going to change him. He was always going to find this sort of thing entertaining. Bruce never quite forgot the conversation they had during Harvey Dent’s speech about hunting down the Children of Arkham; John had grinned wide and joked about it all like it wasn’t actually happening, even though they both knew it was. That same man was right there, throwing open the window and laughing like a damn hyena.

John stuck his head out into the pouring rain, letting the water drown out some of the noise as brown hair dye and make-up started to wash away.

“What are you doing?!” Batman’s voice growled out as Bruce shot up and yanked him back out by the collar, angry at him for laughing at all, for doing something so stupid as showing his face, for further washing away the only thing really keeping him safe-

“I-I’m sorry,” John managed, still chuckling to himself as he tried to steady himself upright using Bruce’s shoulder. “It-it’s funny, but I just… I just can’t – hee hee – be-believe… I’m…” He tried to breathe, a grin still plastered on his face, make-up running terribly in what almost looked like tear-tracks on his cheeks as his laughter slowed. The sound of the video continuing on low volume as rain hit the brick and pavement outside was almost loud enough to prevent Bruce from properly hearing him. “I’m sympathizing with her!” He finished, letting out another little burst of laughter.

That was sympathy…?

“I just – oh, geez, that hurts,” John breathed, a slight giggle coming out as he clutched part of the cape draped over Bruce’s shoulder. “When she was threatening you, back at Arkham, I just thought she was like Crane; a weird, more emotional version of him, but… I hated her for it! And it turns out we - we not only having something in common, but she’s like you,” he emphasized, looking up at the white lenses with a bright-eyed look. It made Bruce feel like he was stuck to the floor. “You both just shove your real feelings down so far even I can’t see them! You both just put on your public faces and pretend!”

Bruce was tempted to wipe some of the run make-up away, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the knowing glint in the green eyes that stared up at him, or if was because he just wanted to distract the man from continuing to hit Bruce right in a sore spot.

“I still don’t like her,” he said, “but I don’t hate her anymore. And that’s so ridiculous, because I loathe anyone who even thinks about hurting you, Bruce,” he finished with a laugh, caressing Bruce’s arm through the batsuit.

He didn’t know what to say. What could he even do, in a place like this? In a situation like this? He felt guilt and warmth pile up on one another, and he wanted to tell him he was sorry, and he wanted to reach out and cup his face and get rid of all the color until there was nothing but John left, and he knew what John said wasn’t exactly healthy but it still sent a rush through him and he just wanted to…

It wasn’t the time or place for anything like that. He was Batman. John was Joker. They were supposed to be investigating Jackie Lant so they could get a lead on Crane.

Batman was sturdy. Bruce was sturdy.

“Joker,” he started, forcing himself to maintain eye contact even as John’s pupils dilated slightly in response, “Go wash the rest of that stuff off. I’ll copy over the rest of Jackie’s vlog files.”

“My face looks that bad, huh?”

“A little.”

Joker tore himself away, letting his fingers slide over the armored bicep as he passed by. He couldn’t feel the touch at all, but the gesture was more than enough to give him a pleasant little jolt.

Bruce copied a compressed version of her vlog files to the USB stick he carried in his belt. They might be useful, or they might not. A quick scroll through of the rest of her documents showed nothing nefarious, no hidden files, no detailed plans - not so much as a crude map of the asylum. Her browsing history was pretty normal, though he did see some bookmarks to particular blogs she followed, such as Batman Watch, Gotham’s-Dark-Knight, and Gotham Gazette Official.

Bruce was sure he could reason with her. Jackie Lant was stubborn, but she seemed desperate for someone to talk to, and relied only on herself for everything; she either had a backup plan memorized for if things went south, or she was making it up as she went along. She clearly internalized a lot of pain, and not having an outlet for it besides talking to herself seemed to be the final straw in what drove her to desperate measures of escape.

She would probably be thrown in a jail cell for assault and conspiracy to murder, but Bruce was fairly positive she needed some mental help. If he managed to talk her down, he could likely fix it so she wasn’t thrown with the rest of the wolves in Black Gate. Perhaps he could even transfer her out of Gotham entirely.

The files had almost finished downloading when Bruce heard a metallic clink ringing against tile followed by a muttered curse.

He rushed to the small, dimly-lit bathroom, and was greeted with John standing on the rim of the built-in tub, rubbing his head with one hand and holding what looked like part of the shower-head in the other.

“No need to worry, Bats,” Joker said without even turning around. “Just hit myself a bit on this,” he explained, holding up the outer piece to the shower attachment. “Good news though, I found the key to the safe!”

Joker hopped down, stooped, and picked up a key from the base of the tub, turning to face Bruce with a proud grin. “I knew it must have been in here!”

His face was mostly clear, now. His eyelids were still fairly dark, but it was a lot of make-up to wash away, and it couldn’t have been easy for such a fast job. His eyebrows were back to being green, and there were even chunks of color showing under the temporary hair dye.

Bruce forced himself to focus on the task at hand. “How did you think to look in the showerhead?”

“Jackie’s a super-secretive girl, and I would put a key to a safe holding what I was working my life towards in a place no one would think to loo… And the toilet tank was empty.” He dangled the key in front of their faces. “You want to do the honors, Batman?”

Bruce took the invitation. He dropped the lock-box onto the desk, minding the laptop, and turned the key, pushing away the tiny concerned thought about a potential bomb.

He pushed aside the academic papers Crane had written on top of the pile, and found a stack of Arkham patient notes that Bruce knew he’d comb through later, despite it likely not holding much more information than he already knew. And then, under all that, was Crane’s hard drive.

“See if you can find some plastic bags,” Bruce suggested, leafing through the papers to make sure everything was accounted for.

“No need to look, Batsy,” Joker grinned, and yanked an orange bag from the trench coat’s ticket pocket as if he were pulling out a line of scarves. “Ta-dah!”

“That’ll do,” Bruce answered, unable to stop the minute smile from spreading on his face.

He’d all but tied the handles together and passed it to Joker for safe-keeping when the head-set in his cowl rang obnoxiously in his ear.

“Hello?” He asked in his normal voice.

“It’s just me, Batman,” Tiffany answered, sounding somewhat drained; John mouthed ‘who is it’ as he stepped a little closer. “I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier. I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around…everything.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, well… I also wanted to tell you I got a signal from one of Maroni’s thug’s phones. I’ll send you the coordinates. Is he with you?”

“…yes.”

“Figures… I’ll…discuss that with you another time. Just…be careful out there.”

“Always am.”

“No you’re not,” Tiffany countered with a light-hearted scoff before hanging up.

Notes:  Blargggh, my brain failed me at a critical time, and then today my stomach acted up for about 2 hours, which impeded me further!! Something must have really wanted me to just wrap up this chapter here… That, or they wanted you guys to wait this long. I certainly didn’t!! (T^T)

As always, thank you SO SO much to everyone that comments, reblogs, likes, kudos, bookmarks, or subscribes!!! I said it before and I'll say it again - I love you guys!!! You guys are awesome!!!! (ෆˊ͈ ु꒳ ूˋ͈ෆ) I'm gearing up for some good times comin' soon... REAL good times. Stay tuned next weekend...

[shimmersing]

Something Better

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Chapter 3: Unexpected Peace

Travel through Taris was hazardous at the best of times, deadly at the worst, and annoying at all other times. The planet was overrun with not only rakghouls, but other dangerous species that had flourished in the polluted environment. Aitahea and Erithon’s progress was slower than either of them would have liked, finding it necessary to dispatch a number of aggressive creatures in their path.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Aitahea found herself smiling as they traversed the recklessly beautiful landscape. Erithon’s interest and concern about her history had been genuine, and his chagrin at unsettling her just as real. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have shared the details of her traumatic childhood, brushing any concerns aside and refocusing on their goal. But his sympathy felt like a warm embrace, unfamiliar yet irresistible. Her thoughts had lingered on that feeling for far too long, and she pulled her concentration back to their shared task.

As darkness drew close, they determined that making camp would be a necessity. The rest would be necessary to restore their strength, and nighttime travel was even more hazardous than daytime.

Though it was hazy and humid the temperature was comfortable enough, and the pair settled adjacent to each other to share some of the bland Republic rations as night fell. Aitahea felt an unexpected peace as they rested, only the echoes of wildlife interrupting the stillness. She could sense a quiet curiosity behind Erithon’s contented mood, his silence laced with an expectant hush that waited for her to fill it. She found herself suddenly grateful for the gathering darkness.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly, pushing back her hood.

Erithon considered before answering, gaze still fixed on the landscape. “On Taris? Hunting traitors."

Aitahea’s brows rose. “High enough in rank to require the intervention of Republic special forces? That seems unusual.”

“Well,” he drew out, expression grim, “since the traitors were also Havoc, it kind of leaves the burden on me, I guess.”

The Jedi frowned. Erithon’s tangled emotions seemed as baffling to him as they did to her. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Not sure I do, either, Master Jedi.” Erithon shifted and leaned back, his pack pillowed behind his head. “I’d only just arrived on Ord Mantell when it all fell apart. Doesn’t leave a man feeling very confident when an assignment goes sideways like that.”

Aitahea was quiet for a generous moment before swiveling around to face him. “What happened?”

“Typical mission, nothing out of the ordinary, especially not for Havoc.” He glanced sideways and gave her a crooked smile. “I guess you know about the mess with the Separatists on Ord Mantell.” Aitahea nodded. “They’d shot down a ship with a ZR-57 orbital strike bomb, capable of vaporizing a city, you know how it is. Havoc was supposed to retrieve it. At least it looked that way to the new guy.” His smirk turned to an unhappy frown. “Turns out they were taking the bomb along with them, to the Empire.”

Aitahea’s intake of breath was harsh in the silence. “They didn’t include you in their plans?”

“Not exactly. When we first lost contact we thought they’d been killed, which was bad enough. SpecOps are always high risk, but Havoc is – was – the best. When I discovered their true intentions, Tavus – the commander – asked if I’d join them. I’m sure you can guess my answer given where we are now.” He coughed a harsh laugh. “I don’t know what offended me more: asking me to turn traitor or trying to kill me.”

The weight of his frustration felt as heavy as beskar. Aitahea brushed away the desire to reach over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. It must have shaken you to the core.”

He frowned for a long moment, then rolled to the side so he could face her, propped up on an elbow. “For a minute, maybe. But then I realized, what they chose didn’t change me.” Erithon met Aitahea’s gaze, his blue eyes earnest. “The people of the Republic have my loyalty. I chose to protect them. Like those settler kids you sorted out at the base.”

“You know about that?” Aitahea blinked, freshly thankful for the concealing darkness.

“It was practically all Private Sakal could talk about.” Erithon gave her a cheeky grin before continuing. “The way you convinced the property owners and the settlers to work together, that’s what we work for. Tavus walked away from that, and I don’t even know why.” He grimaced again and raked a hand through his hair, the motion revealing his confusion. “I guess… things aren’t as black and white as they look.”

Aitahea smiled ruefully. “They do seem less and less so, don’t they?”

Erithon arched a brow at her. “That’s funny coming from you. I thought light and dark were what Jedi specialized in.” Despite the unease his words sent through her, she sensed his intention was candid, not caustic.

Her gaze lingered on her hands, clasped on her lap, before she answered. “So did I.”

The stream was a reasonable distance from the Republic camp, but Master Satele had said it was still close enough to be safe. Aitahea liked to steal away as often as she could manage. She could almost feel Master Faron and her friends here. Almost. It reminded her of the gardens in the Jedi Temple, though everyone said her former home was little more than a pile of rubble now. She was glad she hadn’t seen it. She wanted to remember Coruscant the way it had been.

The camp was getting bigger. There was supposed to be a treaty in place now, but no one was any more relaxed. There was a hush of uneasiness among the soldiers. Their restlessness made Aitahea herself feel unsteady and irritable. More and more Jedi initiates, even some younger Padawans, had been slowly trickling in, and now there were almost a dozen of them. Safe on Brentaal, waiting while the masters found safe places for them. The girl tried hard to make sense of this. If the Jedi Temple on Coruscant hadn’t been safe, where in the galaxy would be?

The sound of bubbling water diverted her unhappy thoughts. Meditation was easy here, unlike in the camp – though Master Satele would tell her that focus under pressure was the sign of a good Jedi – and Aitahea had no trouble quieting her mind and settling into the embrace of the Force. The little brook had become a place of comfort, isolation, and peace.

Aitahea frowned and slowed to a stop, a stone’s throw from the running water. Someone was sitting in her spot. A boy, maybe a year or two older than her, right on the branch that arched over the water. He hunched over with his elbows on his knees, legs swinging listlessly.

It was like looking in a mirror.

Even with her defenses up, sheltering her from the influence of others’ emotions, his loss radiated like a flame. Her chest contracted with anguish, the unexpected mingling of emotion, setting her knees wobbling. She felt tears well up, the walls around her heart crumbling. Absently, she took another step forward, an unnoticed twig cracking under her foot.

She looked down in alarm and by the time she’d lifted her gaze again, the boy was already scrambling back across the branch, nearly slipping into the water at one point. He stopped at the opposite bank and looked over his shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks flushed. He’d been crying.

“Aitahea!” Master Satele’s voice came sailing over the rise, and the girl twisted around to look back towards camp. She took a deep breath to call back, thought better of it, and turned back to the brook. The boy was already disappearing swiftly in the opposite direction.

Reluctantly, Aitahea moved toward the summons, leaving behind her refuge and her questions.

Erithon had offered to take the first watch, and Aitahea had accepted readily. She was only a few steps away from him, curled up with her cheek on one hand, hood pulled back up over her hair. He watched her settle into dreaming, eyes flickering beneath her lids, and every so often her lips pursed. He indulged his wandering imagination, wondering what she dreamed, vaguely hoping he might be included in the unconscious cast.

It was the first time he’d spent any substantial time in close quarters with a Jedi. He guessed she was pretty typical, all her responses focused and composed. Being near her was comforting, soothing. But there was something else under all that formality, something earnest and endearing. He felt the usual anxiety of the mission fall away like a worn cloak.

And stars, she was beautiful.

He’d been genuinely surprised when she asked if they’d met, and despite his somewhat clumsy response, it was the truth. They’d apparently been on Coruscant at the same time; had they crossed paths and it didn’t register? It would have been hard to forget the curve of her cheek, bright eyes framed by dark lashes-

By the Core, he thought, exasperated. Are you a teenager? Stop that.

He rolled his eyes and pulled out his datapad, checking messages and progress. Jorgan had messaged with positive results on an ancillary task, and the ship’s droid had sent several nonsense communications about really nothing at all. No distractions there. As the hours passed, he alternated between walking the perimeter of their small camp and returning to sit near the Jedi, each time admonishing himself for staring at her, though his remorse was only ever halfhearted.

She’d drawn him out with practiced ease, asking about his mission, soft words that slipped beneath his armor as effortlessly as rain. He hadn’t discussed the defection with anyone other than Garza and Jorgan, and then only out of necessity. He still stung about it, beyond the more generalized fury that accompanied the whole scenario. There were too many unknowns, too many questions, and too few answers. He felt like he was playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek with Garza handing out intelligence whenever it seemed to suit her. He felt less and less guilty each time he fudged orders, finding a smug gratification in noncompliance. There were regulations, and then there was integrity, and so far Garza had been leaning a little too hard to the former for his taste.

The alarm on his datapad beeped quietly; the night’s tedious hours had passed, and it was Aitahea’s turn to take watch. Erithon almost didn’t want to wake her. He couldn’t deny enjoying the freedom to observe her, but he’d need rest himself to be at all helpful as they continued.

Erithon smiled regretfully and knelt next to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. A deep breath preceded her eyes fluttering open to meet his. Erithon felt his heartbeat speed up and hurriedly offered a hand to help her rise. Once on her feet, her brows drew together, watching him with solemn wonder.

“Jedi? Something wrong?”

Her intense gaze lingered even as she shook her head. “I’m well, thank you,” she replied, looking like she might say something else. He held his breath, but the moment passed and Aitahea shook her head again with a polite smile. “I’m ready to take watch. You should rest.”

He glanced down to see their hands still joined and pulled away self-consciously. “Yeah,” Erithon said, retreating to where his pack lay, punching it a few times before determining that it was comfortable enough. He flopped down, turned away from the Jedi, and waited impatiently for sleep.

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[subfunctions]

Horizon Zero Dawn OC: Yara

Inspired by 1) my theory that at least one other subordinate function has probably found a human to buddy up with and 2) my theory that MINERVA will be the first subordinate function to emerge as an ally to Aloy.

Loosely inspired by these lines of “The Mountain Poem: Words Spoken in Contemplation” by Ibrahīm Ibn Khafāja, following the lines you can find in Metal Flower Mark II (F):

And through the night, that tongueless mountain uttered marvelous things: "How much more time in space? How long have I been the assassin's safehouse And sheltered hermits from the human race?"

But mostly just an exercise in character creation, as in: if I had the task of creating a character to be the human partner and counterpoint to a subordinate function, what would that character be like?

My other self-appointed parameters were to create someone who’s a bit of a foil to Aloy and Sylens both, so: someone who chose isolation rather than being subjected to it, and someone whose interest in knowledge is specialized rather than general, while maintaining a moral compass.

--

(face claim: Grace Mahary)

Name: Yara Gender: Female Tribe: Utaru Age: 23 at time of main game

Notable Physical Traits: Though Yara keeps prominent Utaru elements in her attire, her usual outfit is a practical mixture of Utaru and Banuk styles, something she’s put together to guard against the months of cold in the home she’s settled in. Due to contracting polio as a child, her right leg is stunted and partially paralyzed; she walks with a cane and wears an adjustable brace made of machine parts on her leg.

Personality: Intellectually minded and gifted, Yara’s great love is the sky and what lies behind it - the vast expanse of space beyond the planet, which she has dedicated her life to studying. She is endlessly curious about the greater workings of the universe and how her world fits into it, and with the eventual help of a Focus and later MINERVA, she’s made progress in uncovering a fraction of the universe’s secrets. Because of certain traumatic events in her life and a bloody history that she is not entirely proud of, she prefers to keep to herself and keep only MINERVA’s company, craving solitude and her studies. However, her Utaru roots are evident, not only in her love of the natural world but in a generosity of spirit, from which that bloody history sprung - an inability to sit there and do nothing in the face of the Red Raids and the losses her people suffered because of them. 

Relationship With MINERVA: Yara found MINERVA in the wake of tragedy, and the subordinate function’s eagerness to help and learn endeared her to Yara and gave them a common ground. She feels as if she owes MINERVA for stabilizing her during such a turbulent time in her life and giving her something to live for - a renewed love for the universe and a friend she could relate to. MINERVA, similarly, was able to stabilize developmentally because of Yara’s friendship, finding companionship and purpose in Yara after she had no purpose left, as she is the only subordinate function whose job was completely finished. 

Songs: Inner Space - Apex The Warpath - Conner Youngblood Cover Your Tracks - Young Galaxy

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Bio: 

Yara was born to the Northland clan of the Utaru in 3017, a clan composed of several extended families, Yara’s among them. In 3020, when she was three years old, a distant mountain exploded, its lingering cloud visible even as far as her clan’s riverside village in the northern part of Plainsong, once known as the Great Plains of western Nebraska. A few months later, in the winter, an illness known to the Utaru as the Strength Eater, and known to the Old Ones as polio, spread throughout the clans gathered together for the annual celebration of the harvest. Many survived its onslaught intact. However, some died, their breath stolen away by the Strength Eater, and a few were left permanently weakened afterwards.

Yara’s father was among those who died, and Yara herself was left with a paralyzed and stunted right leg. For the rest of her life, she would need a cane to walk, and Utaru ingenuity in redesigning machine parts into farming tools saw her outfitted with a brace as well. Over time, the complications of walking with a stunted leg would curve her spine and weaken her bones and muscles as well, and she was never able to participate in the labor-intensive work of farming to the same degree that others did. However, she had little interest in it. She had some talent in hunting with bow and arrow, a less central but still important part of sustaining the clan, but she often had little patience for it.

Her mother often called her a child of the earth with her eyes to the sky. While the Utaru revered the act of tending to the earth and drawing sustenance from it, Yara was more interested in the tableau high above – the stars and the moon in the nighttime, the sun in the daytime, and what it all meant. She could often be found sneaking away from chores during the day to observe the sky and sneaking away from the village at night to make amateur star charts.

The Utaru respected the Old Ones as forebears who lived on in the earth. Yara was interested in them for what they may have known about the answers she sought from the sky. Sometimes, relics of the Old Ones would be found in the ground, when soil was overturned and crops were harvested. These were always buried adjacent to the graves of the Utaru, out of respect for the dead. However, Yara had little such sense of propriety, and when one of her cousins found a still-active Focus during planting season, nine-year-old Yara snuck out at night to dig it up and secretly keep it.

The Focus showed her wonders and helped her to understand much – that the sun was also a star like the tiny pinpricks of the night, that the night sky was richer than she imagined and filled with things that she could not see with her eyes. The Focus couldn’t show the majority of them to her either, however, and though her star charts grew more sophisticated and digitally archived with its help, a vague sense of dissatisfaction grew, a desire to know more.

Meanwhile, both the exploding of the mountain and the sudden onset of illness during a time of celebration were seen as omens, a view that was further reinforced over the next decades as the machines grew hostile, as new machines began to appear, as the already unpredictable seasonal patterns of Plainsong became much more so, and as the Red Raids swept across the land.

In 3032, four years into the Red Raids, when the edges of Plainsong had already been attacked by the Carja and gifts of grain had not appeased the raiders, tragedy struck the Northland clan. A group of raiders hit the village in the middle of the night, killed some clan members, and took others. Among those killed was Yara’s mother, and among those taken were two of Yara’s cousins, and an aunt and uncle.

Fifteen-year-old Yara, however, was not there. As was habit, she’d snuck out of the village as night fell to work on her star charts and stargaze to her heart’s content. She was far enough away that she didn’t hear the attack, but she saw the fires that the raiders left in their wake and raced back far too slow and too late.

Wracked with grief and survivor’s guilt and bitterly angry, Yara realized that her Focus would give her an advantage that others didn’t have and tried to convince the leaders of the clan to pursue the raiders, whom she could easily track. However, the Utaru were peaceful and ill-suited for war, and the clan had lost many that night, both to death and to kidnap. No collective decision was made to go after their taken kin, and so no one wanted to go.

Furious, Yara struck out on her own. Her Focus helped her to track the raiders and find food and game and water along the way; however, her leg slowed her down, and she was only able to catch up with a group of raiders that had parted ways with those returning to the Sundom with their captives. The group was heading northwest towards the Cut when Yara caught up with them.

She was right; the Focus gave her an advantage that seemed almost supernatural without context, and she killed three Carja raiders before they even knew what hit them. However, Yara was a teenage girl with a bad leg, and the other raiders regrouped and turned the tide. Yara found herself fleeing their vengeance. She stumbled through a forested area sheltered by mountain ranges – once known as Medicine Bow National Forest – and she was only able to avoid the clutches of the raiders because of her Focus.

There, a strange signal drew her in – a tallneck wreathed in a deep blue-purple glow, circling a lake in front of the lone mountain jutting out of the center of the area, known to the Old Ones as Libby Lake and Sugarloaf Mountain. From it, a voice spoke, unlike anything Yara had ever heard. It was strangely formal, limited in vocabulary, and difficult to understand, but it seemed excited to encounter a human with a Focus.

Yara asked the voice for help, and it acquiesced. The tallneck broke its circuit and moved to a place where Yara could climb up. With her bad leg, she could only make it to the top of the machine’s back, but even that was high enough to avoid the eyes of approaching raiders.

However, Yara was still hungry for retribution, and though it might have been safer to wait silently and let the raiders pass, she rained down arrows from above, killing three more before what was left of them figured out where she was. The last few were no match for a colossal machine, and even as they sought to return fire, the tallneck itself stepped in, crushing most of them, and the last raider fell with Yara’s arrow in his neck.

Afterwards, Yara felt empty and drained and small. Though she was glad that some of the ruthless Carja were dead and could hurt no one else, the act of vengeance brought her no happiness. Her mother was still dead, and her other family members were well on their way to the Sundom, out of Yara’s reach now that she was exhausted and already so slow. Her childish thoughts of rescuing her still-living family members were gone, drowned in a horrible sadness.

However, the voice pulled her out of her miserable thoughts. It introduced itself as MINERVA, an artificial intelligence, and though MINERVA was secretive about where she came from and why she was there, it was apparent that she felt lonely and without purpose. She was eager to learn from Yara, as much as Yara was eager to learn from her.

But Yara’s missing family members still weighed on her mind, until MINERVA offered to help her find them. And so began a lasting partnership.

Yara learned that MINERVA could take control of machines, something called override, though machines that weren’t tallnecks would begin to break down and eventually stop working when she did. Yara and MINERVA trekked through the Longroam and past the Sacred Land, wearing out overridden machines and avoiding contact with humans. With MINERVA’s abilities, tracking was even easier, and they made their way into the Sundom, towards Meridian, where MINERVA said that she would be able to scan the city through their Spire, a powerful tool that was actually hers.

However, in the time that it took to reach Meridian undetected and disguised, it was too late. The rest of Yara’s taken family members had died in Sun-Ring days before she and MINERVA arrived, and the bodies of the Sun-Ring’s victims were burned, erasing even Yara’s hopes of burying them.

Despondent, Yara wondered what path to take from there. She considered vengeance, perhaps even against the highest of the Carja, but she was tired physically and emotionally, and though MINERVA’s abilities and existence were a marvel, they were only two people in a land not their own. She considered returning to Plainsong and to her clan, but she found herself with little desire to.

In the time that she and MINERVA had spent together, they’d learned a little about each other – as much as MINERVA was willing to disclose on her part, at least. Knowing that Yara loved the sky and the stars, MINERVA suggested a place for her to visit, a place that MINERVA had found not too long ago – something called an observatory, built by the Old Ones to study everything beyond the borders of the planet, one of the few still standing in the area.

Yara agreed, and as they left to make their way back the way they had come, they stumbled across two Banuk escaping Meridian. Yara did not make contact with them, but - seized by the desire to help - she and MINERVA shadowed them quietly. Yara killed three Carja in pursuit before the escaping Banuk were even aware of the danger, and MINERVA was able to keep machines off of their backs, all the way back up to the Longroam and beyond.

There, Yara realized what she could do. This area, she had learned from what she and MINERVA had overheard in the Sundom, was a common route for Carja seeking to reach the Banuk and Plainsong, a way to circumvent the fierce Nora and the Claim. And out here, without the protection of their land and their army, the Carja were vulnerable.

First, Yara let MINERVA take her to the observatory, a place once known as the Wyoming Infrared Observatory, atop a mountain a little southeast of where she’d met MINERVA, well southeast of the Cut, and north of the Longroam. It was dilapidated and crumbling, but MINERVA believed that with time and effort, enough of it could be restored to bring its system back online and make use of it. Yara asked if it was possible for MINERVA to monitor the Longroam and the area north and south of it as she had monitored Meridian through the Spire. It was possible, MINERVA told her, but only with the proper tools.

So began a years-long effort to restore the observatory and patrol the Longroam. Under MINERVA’s guidance, Yara learned quickly about programming and transmission, and it didn’t take long for her to set up a makeshift monitoring system throughout the area with MINERVA’s help and some recommissioned machine parts and tallneck apparatuses.

Yara was a little more hesitant about the observatory, feeling a deep survivor’s guilt about being far away stargazing when the Carja attacked, but with MINERVA’s insistence and coaxing, the observatory was eventually back up and running, as much as was possible. The night sky opened up for Yara as it never had before, and she was able to discover stars and deep sky objects revealed by infrared imaging and spectroscopy. Her star charts became a study of space, as much of it as she and MINERVA could understand on their own, from bits of data gathered from old sources.

For six years, until 3038, there were rumors about the Longroam and the surrounding area. Some said it was a machine that stalked any Carja who ventured near. Some said it was a spirit, some a person. But many raiders who set foot in that area were killed, either by arrow or strange machines, so much that the Longroam had a reputation for safe passage for anyone fleeing the Carja. Travelers and those who escaped the Sundom would often find themselves unknowingly shielded and watched over by vigilant eyes.

Yara and MINERVA together were known primarily as the Ghost of the Longroam, though some Carja called the mysterious entity who haunted the place the Devil or Shadow of the Longroam, and some from other tribes called it the Guardian or the Shield of the Longroam.

Yara, with MINERVA’s help, made sure that she was rarely seen, and no raider who came looking for the mysterious killer in the Longroam ever found her. She made little effort to reach out to anyone else in the meantime. She made only one trip back to Plainsong, to tell her clan that she was alive and that the others were dead. Although they entreated her to stay, she refused. She was content with MINERVA’s company, with the stars, with her makeshift home in her mountain observatory.

However, the Sundom changed. With the death of the old king and the ascension of the new, there was no longer a need to patrol the Longroam.

So Yara turned her attention wholly to her work with MINERVA, mapping the sky together. There they remained for the next two years, undisturbed, until MINERVA, more alarmed than Yara had ever seen her, registered an unauthorized use of the Spire – a call that was raising ancient machines. It was soon quieted, however, and though MINERVA had remained secretive about her origins over the years, she broke her silence for the first time – mentioning Project Zero Dawn and insisting on the urgency of finding its Alpha Prime, whose existence MINERVA had only just become aware of.

Though Yara was reluctant to leave the peace of her home, she trusted and loved MINERVA more than she loved their solitude, and she agreed to help MINERVA with a new task: tracking down whoever this Alpha Prime was.

[encomiium]

Five Thoughts an Archangel Has Throughout His Day 6 July 2020 Quintus

i. Promise you’ll be there to see it?

The thought echoed on the end of a dream. A tall boy with curly black hair smiled sadly, either endeared or pitiful, Quintus would never really know. He opened his mouth to answer, but his words were eclipsed by the blaring honk of an airhorn bellowing in repetitive staccato. 

Quin fought to open his eyes through the fog of a sweet dream, staring at the phone on his nightstand screeching repeatedly for a few moments before rallying the fortitude to tap the big orange snooze button. Nine minutes--enough time, he thought, to fall back into such a sweet dream. He focused on flashes of golden lamplight frozen in droplets, clinging to bronze skin, heavy-lidded eyes framed with long, feathery lashes, a laugh like far-away thunder. 

Although he made a valiant effort, his eyes opened again before his second alarm sounded. He didn’t dream very often anymore, but the little glimpses into memories he’d thought had long been lost to the haze of time were welcome surprises, albeit jarring and disorienting at times. Dreaming was among the few human habits Quintus actually liked about his fleshly vessel, along with napping and food. Others, he wished he could have gone without when he was chosen for earthly tasks. It’d be nice not to feel sadness or anger--or anything at all--like his brothers who had only ever known the heavenly void. 

He stood and, although his body would be preserved in pristine condition for the foreseeable and increasingly uncertain future, everything felt metaphorically heavy. Emotional aging could be as painful as physical aging, if any of the poets had lived long enough to describe it. He pressed his palms to the ceiling, stretching high as he yawned into an orange sunrise peeking through long silver buildings and stretching out over criss-crossing roads already crowding with traffic. 

He recalled the dream, once more, only to soothe the ache of his painfully quiet apartment, if just for a little while.

ii. Don’t.

Quin knew it wasn’t fair, but he did think of Isaac. Often. He wondered if he was alright, if he was eating enough, if he was still reading that silly romance book or if he had finished it already. He replayed their last night together over and over in his head, wondering endlessly how any man could be so kind, so generous. He didn’t deserve Isaac’s grace or forgiveness--he didn’t deserve Isaac at all. He worried his lip, knowing that no amount of blessings whispered into Isaac’s skin or clothes could ever be penance enough for the pain he caused. 

Quin stared at his phone, a short “How are you?” sitting over his keyboard. With a few taps, he deleted it and closed the app, deciding that it would be unkind--cruel--to force Isaac into shouldering the emotional load of making Quin feel better. He was a selfish prince whose entire existence could be boiled down to endless broken promises. He could at least make a vague effort to keep his promise to Isaac, that when he was ready, Quin would be there. 

Wiping his hand over his face, he glanced at the clock hanging over the large bookshelf stuffed with unorganized copies of ancient classics and bins of papers he really needed to get rid of. Ten minutes was just enough time to abuse the faculty keurig in the department office for the third time that morning. 

“That tall body needs a lot of caffeine to get started huh?”

Renee, the department secretary, made some variation of that same joke at least twice a week, three years running. At first, Quin thought she was passive-aggressively warning him to stop using up all the K-cups, but he stopped caring shortly after. He didn’t get paid nearly enough to care about his students and the office supply of shitty Starbucks French Roast. Renee would have to pick one or the other. 

He gave her a half-hearted smile and a hollow laugh before grabbing his grey hydroflask thermos from under the Keurig. 

iii. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the--

“Sorry, Jaxson, but I thought you were writing about the, uh--” Quintus frantically rifled through papers strewn over his desk, all of the students practically boring holes in him with their stare as he interrupted a student’s presentation. After a few moments, his heart beating against his fucking forehead, Quin pulled out his list of student thesis proposals and read from it,  “--the ‘Evolution of Queerness Over Different Translations of the Patroclus myth?’”

Jaxson looked surprised, swallowing a nervous lump as he turned towards Quin, “I was, but then I started researching further into potential historical origins for the Achilles and Patroclus story and I really couldn’t find anything--”

“So--” Quin tried to interrupt, panicking.

“Until,” Jaxson continued, his eyes lit up, like they always did when he stumbled upon something marvelous or had a great idea he would hurriedly jot down in his tiny pink moleskine. Some days, Quintus wished all his students had Jaxson’s passion and drive. Today was not one of those days. 

Jaxson’s voice filled the room as he confidently sent Quintus into an out-of-body fugue state, “Until I found this really obscure story about a real Roman prince and his lover, dated more than a thousand years before the first recordings of the Achilles and Patroclus story--with striking resemblances--and I decided to write a piece arguing that this historical event could definitely have inspired an iconic myth!” Jaxson looked like he’d just won grand prize at the Putnam County fucking Spelling Bee, before softening just a bit, “I just--couldn’t find any academic papers already written on this topic and wanted to write something original. Is that okay?”

Quintus drew in a breath, wildly calculating some bullshit way to invalidate a proposal that was better than most--if not all--of the class’s work. He looked out over the students, all of whom were suddenly riveted by Jax’s research, and he knew there was no way he could get away with pulling the you-didn’t-clear-this-with-me routine. One girl with pink hair and baby bangs practically dared Quin to say anything that could even be remotely interpreted as homophobic.

With a quiet sigh, Quin threw on his best poker-face and relaxed back into his chair, though his stomach churned and threatened to expel all of Renee’s shitty keurig coffee with a vengeance if he listened to a moment of this presentation. “Sorry, sounds like a great topic,” he fluttered, attempting to sound as encouraging and chipper as humanly possible, “Please continue.”

Jaxson went on to weave a beautiful--and surprisingly accurate--tale about the tragedy of Quintus Aurelius and his lover, Antonius. Truth be told, he had always wondered if Achilles and Patroclus were only coincidentally adjacent to his own story, and Jaxson made a convincing argument in refute, but as stunning as Jaxson was in front of his slideshow, Quin couldn’t stop himself from flickering his attention to his class, watching their reactions to his life, to his story. 

Many of the women sighed wistfully, even as Jaxson spared no gory detail, a few of the men watched in earnest, truly amazed that in their many years of study (please), they hadn’t come across this particular story. Quintus had always been thankful for the anonymity, but Jaxson, bless him and his big ol’ brain, seemed hellbent on making sure everyone knew about the day that sentenced two souls to an eternity in purgatory. 

Quintus felt ill, his entire body was cold and wracked with shivers every time Jaxson so much as mentioned Antonius. He really did think he might puke. “He was a dedicated and loyal soldier, and even moreso as a lover,” Jaxson mused, flipping through slides with busts and pottery images of the two of them. Quintus couldn’t look at them, instead focusing on swallowing down the bile that kept creeping up his throat, trying desperately to tune out Jaxson and focus on the very interesting grain in the wood of his desk.

“The battle on the Danube with the Marcomanni was supposed to be pretty routine; a defense rally against Germanic invaders to protect Roman colonies,” Jaxson continued, his eyes trained on a rudimentary map of the area. Quintus grit his teeth and swallowed, eyeing the door for an escape, wondering if it would be rude, wondering if he cared at all, but Jaxson was relentless. 

“Quintus and Antonius, as his Captain, overpowered the Germans with relative ease,” he switched slides to one of the many paintings of Achilles mourning Patroclus’s death. This one, however, was horrifically and eerily familiar. “Quintus met with the German general to accept surrender, which usually included their beheading, but Quintus is recorded to have been a remarkably kind and merciful leader.”

“Fuck,” Quin breathed, the word sharp and hot on his lips as he leaned forward on his knees, praying with everything he had for someone to draw him out of his body, out of his shame.

“Quintus did not behead the German general, and chose to spare his life, taking his sword as a trophy instead. Just as he turned to order for the man’s arrest, the German grabbed a nearby sword from one of his fallen soldiers and drove it through Quintus’s heart.”

The class fell silent. Quintus was silent. To the class, it looked like their professor took a moment to scratch his beard on his shoulder. Most didn’t even see it. None would see the wetness he left on his button-down shirt. 

Jaxson finished his presentation with ease, detailing Antonius’s long life alone on the cliffs. Questions rolled in from the students about why they were left out of history, about the validity of his sources, and maybe more that Quintus wasn’t listening to. He’d completely phased out of the class, staring at his desk, fixated on the memory of watching Antonius sob in his tiny cottage over the sea when he tried to reach out to him and tell him it was okay to move on. 

The sound of the class laughing snapped Quin back to attention, looking around for some clue about what was so funny. Maybe if he joined in on the joke, this would all go away. 

“I said,” said one of the boys in the back, wearing a faded blue beanie and a shirt that said Why was Oedipus against profanity? Because he kisses his mother with that mouth. “That guy kinda looks like Professor Reilly.” Quin looked up at the last slide in Jaxson’s presentation, which pictured a bust of the late Quintus Aurelius. Quin didn’t have the slightest idea of when that could have been carved. 

He laughed along, a little too enthusiastically, because in that moment, he realized he’d always just be Quin Reilly, Professor of Classics to these regrettably short lives. 

He stood up, adjusting his pants to sit higher on his waist and shrugging, “Curse of being a white guy, huh? You end up looking like all the other white guys.” The class laughed menially before Quin motioned for Jax to take a seat, “Nice job, Jax, thank you. I’m excited to read your paper,” he lied.

iv. I need a fucking drink.

A very clear and loud thought that occured while he collapsed into his office chair. He turned to look out of his obnoxiously large windows across the quad, watching students filter in and out of the massive antique gothic building--one of the oldest on campus and ironically housing Classics and English. At least his windows were pretty.

He read the same page from a freshman Intro to Classics paper over and over, trying to decipher what this poor child could possibly want to tell him, almost making a game of it in his head as he agonized through the final minutes of his office hours. He just wanted to abandon the facade of a normal human being, flap his wings, and fall into his bed. He deserved it, heavenly duties be damned for just one day.

And then his phone vibrated.

Anything could be more interesting than this probably plagiarized drivel parading as an essay on Homer, so Quin picked up his phone and almost immediately leapt out of his chair with a sudden rush of adrenaline when he read the notification.

“Would you like to go on a walk together?”

He hadn’t even gathered the strength to name the contact yet, but he spent enough time staring at the number to know exactly who it was from. He paced around his office, stopping in the mirror once to look himself over before tapping a quick reply, “Yeah, now?” He deleted that quickly before trying again, “Where should I meet you?” He almost threw his phone against the wall.

“Absolutely.” He hit send before he could second guess himself and amended quickly with a follow-up message, “Any time, just let me know when.” 

He stared at the screen for what felt like hours as his pulse hammered in his ears. When he saw the three dots pop up from the other side of the screen, he already started rifling through his office closet for a nicer shirt and his extra bottle of cologne.

v. Kiss him. 

The thought was loud and violent and Quintus almost flinched from the sheer force of it. Their walk had been so beautiful, anything with Fér was hauntingly beautiful. Quin found it surprisingly easy to call his Antonius by a new name; from the moment he saw him in that museum, looking around with the eyes of a child, still, Quintus knew he would love this man just as he is. Exactly who he is. 

They had settled on the lakeshore together, in the sand, watching the sunset, on a blanket Quin pulled out of thin air. He didn’t do it to show off--maybe a little--but he did want to acclimate Fér to the reality that none of this is normal. Maybe, in a small way, Quin was trying to assure Fér that it was okay to feel a little freakish right now, that it was okay for none of this to make sense, as long as they were doing it together, after so long. 

Quin couldn’t help the doubts. He had always been such a thorough thinker, marking his moves a thousand feet in front of him, analyzing every possibility at every turn, so he worried, as he did so often for everyone he was responsible for. He worried most, however, that Fér might not love him in this life. That, despite the memories flooding back in the most catastrophic way, Fér might even hate Quin for everything that’s happened, for everything he caused.

But then Fér looked up at him and smiled gently, the pinks of the sunset catching the silver flecks at his temple, and he breathed, “This is really nice.”

Kiss him.

Quintus forced himself to duck his head and swallow. The sheer want for it was enough to burn at his lashes, a pit forming deep in his gut. He cleared his throat and smiled, nodding, “It is really nice, thank you for this.” And he really meant it. He took a moment to look at Fér and really took in his features. Fér looked the way Quin dreamed of when he was small, when he created tiny hopes in the secret places in his chest, that when all the work was done, he might be able to just stare at his Antonius for a moment, and for the rest of his life. 

He remembered that he was thankful, as he breathed his last breath, that the last thing he ever saw were those pretty brown eyes, the color of charcoal stained into fingertips.

“Can I walk you home?” Quin asked, the ferocious heat of his thought dissipating as the Chicago cold began biting with the threat of the setting sun. Almost as if on cue, the two of them irrevocably linked by some cosmic force Johnny might have a sweet chuckle at, Fér shivered.

Standing, Quintus held out a hand to easily lift Fér onto his feet. He hesitated, for a moment, before slipping his hand out of Fér’s, grieving the loss of it and trembling at how incredibly right it felt, how easy and perfect. Instead, he slipped out of his coat and placed it over Fér’s shoulders, barely giving him the opportunity to protest. “You should have worn something warmer if you didn’t want me to fuss over you,” he said with a grin, trying to provoke a laugh, a smile, anything more than awkwardness and overt effort in what they were trying to build. 

And Fér did smile. He did accept the coat, with what seemed like a bit of embarrassed resignation. Quintus made another promise that moment, one that he really hoped he would keep. A promise that he wouldn’t stop until Fér believed that Quintus could make him happy, if he had to burn the world down to do it. 

[lalunaunita]

Miraculous Birthday One Shot #1

Hey there! It’s my birthday! And the gifts are for you!

I felt like writing a couple of shorts to share because I love my birthday ever so much. This one popped into my head because Adrien’s such a good dancer.

So this is for @livinglittlelie, @thecrazydragonlady, and @seasonofthegeek who have all had a hard time this summer in one way or another.

It’s also for the @miraculousbigbang mods, who are doing so much work and are so deserving of all the love. Thank you guys.

Of all the lessons Adrien’s parents had forced on him, dance was the one he’d hated most. He sat on his bed, looking down at a picture frame he’d snagged off a bookshelf earlier in the evening. Adrien didn’t remember ever noticing the photograph before. His mother was laughing, eyes bright as she looked at her gawky preteen. Adrien was staring at his feet in the picture, one hand awkwardly placed at his mother’s waist and the other clasping hers, forcing their arms straight out to one side.

Adrien pulled the back of the frame off and liberated the photo. First formal with Adrien, age 12, was scrawled on the back of the print in his mother’s looping hand. His throat constricted as he turned it back over and inspected the picture more closely. He remembered that day.

“Adrien, just take the lead,” his mother said, sailing around the room with him, seeming lighter than air and sidestepping his every attempt to crush her toes.

“Maman, this is boring,” Adrien grumbled.

Her silvery laugh echoed off the tile floor and sparkling windows. “It’ll get you all the girls, though,” she confided. “Your father is an excellent dancer.”

Adrien sniffed and cleared his throat, carefully placing the picture in the drawer of his nightstand. His phone buzzed at the same moment and he checked the alert; an akuma sighted outside the Louvre.

“Time to go, Plagg!” he called, jumping off the bed and clenching one fist. “Claws out!”

The akuma cleansed, Chat Noir and Ladybug had agreed to meet back in an hour for evening patrol. Adrien had spent the time feeding his kwami in a park, the evening shadows covering Plagg as he wolfed down cheese with abandon. Now Chat Noir waited restlessly on a rooftop for his partner to arrive.

He could hear faint music from an apartment somewhere. It was vaguely familiar and he found he had a hard time keeping still. His feet sketched a beat against the roof - a quiet one; he didn’t want to disturb anyone below. Sometimes Chat Noir wished his father hadn’t let his dance lessons lapse.

“Your mother wanted you to learn dancing. As long as you continue with fencing, I see no need. You’ll get exercise and agility training there. Do you want the lessons or not?” Adrien’s father peered at him over the rim of his glasses.

Adrien shook his head, thinking honestly that he didn’t. He’d danced to please his mother, not himself. There was no point in wasting the time or money. And it would free up two hours a week in a schedule already low on spare time.

Chat Noir dropped his head and stared at his feet. He wished he had continued his lessons.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, partner, is something bothering you?” He turned and his heart thumped heavily as he studied Ladybug’s earnest eyes and sweet smile.

Strains of a classical waltz floated up via an open balcony door in the apartment building below; someone’s fancy dinner party was underway, with well-dressed couples making stately turns in the cool evening air. Their long shadows glided gracefully back and forth, melting into warm candlelight that issued from the open doorway and adjacent windows on either side.

“I can’t remember the last time I danced with someone,” Chat Noir replied, which was a lie. Excepting a 30 second interlude with Chloe on his birthday, his last dance had been with his mother, in the den, listening to her giggle at her gawky teenage son as his father looked fondly on. Ladybug glanced down at the twinkling lights below, then took her partner’s hands and faced him.

“I don’t really know how… like this?” She put one of his hands on her waist and swung the other straight out, striking a hard pose like she intended to march them off the other end of the roof.

Chat Noir laughed. “No, Ladybug. It’s more like this. I think the hardest part will be letting me lead.” He relaxed his outstretched arm and she followed suit, a little gasp escaping her lips when he drew her in close.

“I’ll step on your feet,” she protested, but he didn’t let go.

“Steel paws. Just listen and follow. One, two, three, one, two, three…” he pulled her into the steps, confidently correcting when she faltered, until the two of them moved with the same harmony they showed in battle.

On the next beat, Chat Noir dared to spin her and was rewarded with Ladybug’s delighted laugh. The faintest glow of city light revealed a curious curved smile and wondrous eyes that had Chat Noir sending silent thanks to his mother. He waited for the familiar pain and pressure in his chest at the thought of her, but it felt less intense than it had moments earlier. Chat Noir took a deep breath and released it as he led Ladybug through another turn, then brought her back close to his chest. She smiled up at him, despite their proximity, and didn’t push him away. Their movements became more natural until they were feeling the beat, not counting it, as his instructors had always coached.

“Maman always said, with a confident lead, any woman can dance,” Chat Noir opined.

“I think Maman was right. In my case, at least,” Ladybug stilled as the music stopped and the pair could hear applause for the party’s musicians below. She slid her gloved hand down Chat Noir’s arm, but didn’t quite let go. “We should probably start patrol,” she said, sounding only half convinced.

“After you, Milady,” Chat Noir stepped back and offered a formal bow. When he straightened, he saw her yo-yo in one hand. He pulled his baton from his back and they started off into the night.

[egosimagines]

Important story!

Please read if you want backstory and set up for this blog. It gives a little taste of characters and story. 
“Welcome, welcome one and all! I am Bim Trimmer, your host, here to give you the full tour of the mansion!” A man in a crisp suit said as he swept the brown haired girl past the doorway. She took a minute to assess the man. He was handsome, definitely. His dark hair fit perfectly with his friendly brown eyes, slightly enlarged by the small square glasses on his face. A dazzling smile lit up his face. “I’m Just Another Writer, but you can call me Corri.” She said smiling warmly. “Well no time to waste! C'mon. So much to see so little time!” He said walking briskly into the mansion. Corri jogged to catch up to Bim. She looked around the marble foyer as her boots echoed softly in the huge room. She tightened the green flannel around her waist before following Bim up the elegant staircase. He flashed her another award winning smile as she hustled to keep up with him. “I’m taking you to the residential area of the mansion. This is where we all live.” He explained as the pair reached the top of the gently winding staircase. “You guys seem to have spared no expense. But no elevator?” Corri asked raising a brow as the turned the corner. She found herself in a hallway very similar to a hotel Except each door was spread far apart. The doors lined each side of the hallway and were spaced about twenty feet apart from each other. A quick count told her there were fourteen in all. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why are there fourteen rooms? I thought there were only twelve of you?” She asked. Bim rubbed the back of his head, letting out a nervous chuckle. “We’ll save that for your conversation with Dark.” He said, eyes not quite meeting hers. “Anyways, here we have Jack and Mark’s rooms.” He said gesturing to two adjacent doors. She nodded, noting his change of subjects. “They are two of three humans living here, both kind men. Next we have Wilford Warfstache, he is… interesting to say the least. And across is my room. Then we have Bing and Google. They are both androids, just don’t ask about Google’s primary objective. Next is Dr. Iplier and The Host. The doctor won’t give you any problems and neither will the Host as long as you remain on his good side!” At this vaguely threatening statement Bim let out a hearty laugh. “Here is Mr. Chase Brody and Dr. Schneeplestien. And finally Antisepticeye and Darkiplier.” With a grand flourish of his arms at the end of the hallway. “But whose rooms are those?” She asked pointing to the two Bim turned to face her only to jump backwards in obvious fear. Corri turned to follow his gaze. Just to her right, where she was sure was void of life just seconds before, stood a man with bright green hair. He grinned at her lopsidedly, leaning with his arms crossed against the doorframe. “What’s this you brought me Bimmy? Fresh meat?” He asked, voice echoing strangely. With a look at Bim’s horrified face he began laughing madly. “Oh I’m only jokin’” he said. Pushing off the door to take a step towards the girl. “Though she is pretty.” He said taking a strand of her hair and running it between his thumb and finger. “Thank you? I think…” She said causing another giggle to bubble up from the man. “Anti, what did I say about touching guests?” A deep, melodious voice immediately drew all attention to the owner. Dark. He stepped down from a dark, wooden staircase that remained unseen until now. Anti sighed dramatically and with a roll of his eyes he dropped the strand of her hair. “You always ruin my fun.” He muttered and turned, disappearing into his room. “I’ll take it from here Bim, thank you.” He said graciously. He regarded her then and took in her full appearance with sweeping glances. “Hello, Corrina.” He said. His voice seemed to have the same echoey quality as Anti, but instead of ringing with a lilt of mischief, his only held darkness. It was quiet, yet commanded attention. “Please, follow me.” He said turning around and leading you up a much more modest but no less tasteful set of stairs. The dark mahogany wood steps winding upwards seemed a perfect fit for the man leading you up them. She took a moment to examine Dark. He resembled Bim in almost every way, physically at least. His suit however seemed darker than possible, like it was woven from the night itself, impossibly black. He had a strange glow around him, like an old 3D movie. Blues and reds jumped out of his form. And of course his aura. Anyone, let alone someone with her perception, could see this was a very dangerous man. No, not a man. Something darker. They reached the top of the stairs as she came to this conclusion. He pushed open a heavy looking door with ease, holding it open for her with an easygoing smile. “Please, take a seat.” He said nodding to a seat near the back of the room. It faced a large wooden desk and chair which Dark took and sat in accordingly. Corri followed suit and scooted the chair a little closer to the desk. “You know, I presume, who I am and exactly what is going on here.” He asked. She nodded. “You are all very real, but you came from the imagination of the original. In your case, Mark. However, once you became a reality, you needed his permission, per say, to become a separate entity.” She spoke quickly and animatedly, too caught in in her words to realize the affect they were having on Dark. “You might decide it’s best to hold your tongue.” His voice remained calm, though the friendliness was gone. It carried a warning. The darkness in his eyes deepened and the glow around him sharpened. She snapped her mouth closed at his warning and he calmed. “Better.” He said with a smirk at her obedience. “Now I’m sure you have questions.” He invited. She nodded carefully. “There are two rooms not filled with any of your’s or Jack’s egos. Whose are they?” She asked with a tilt of her head. “One of them belongs to (y/n). The egos are fond of her, particularly one of them. She is cared for and protected here.” He answered. “And the other?” Corri asked. “Let me ask you something first, what exactly is your purpose here, Corrina?” He asked leaning forward, elbows pressed into the desk and hands folded over his lips. “I’m here to write about all of you. To learn and experience. How you would react, take questions from my readers for you, imagine you in different scenarios.” She said, hoping to sound sane. He nodded. “And how do you expect to do that with one visit? I’m inviting you to live in the unused room. Would you care to accept?” He asked, framed by the dying embers of a fireplace behind him. “Yes! Yes of course.” She responded eagerly. Dark smirked and answered in a deep voice. “Good.”

[fragranceofdarkness]

Good Riddance

Notes: Thank you so much for 600 followers!! You guys are so amazing and I wouldn't be here, doing this, without your support!!

TW // Underage Drinking, Implied Underage Sex, Violence, General Angst, Coarse Language, Slight Character Bashing.

Word Count: 2.1k

Ships: Reddie, (mentioned) Stenbrough, (mentioned) Steddie

read it on ao3

The one thing I could always rely on was Richie Tozier’s infamous “school's out” party. His parties were always much too wild for me, with people doing everything from hooking up in the back rooms to snorting crack off of his kitchen counter. Out of all the people you'd expect to see at one of Richie’s parties, I was at the bottom of the list. I suppose that's why he was so shocked to find me standing on his front porch at 3 in the morning.

“Eds? What are you doing up this late?” I shrugged, ignoring the urge to tell him everything. After all, why should he care?

“Don't call me Eds, Richie. You know I don't like it.” I pushed my way past him as he spluttered indignantly, slipping into the horde of people gathered inside. The lights were off, leaving only the glow from the TV to illuminate the room. Someone had brought a beatbox and was playing music, which buzzed in my ears as I delved deeper. A half-full can of beer was shoved into my hand, and before I could think about what germs could be contained inside, I took a swig. The flavor of it stung my mouth as I swallowed it, leaving a bitter after taste. I took another drink, and this time, it was sweeter. Maybe I'll forget about him.

I had a few more drinks before falling onto the couch, next to a pretty girl with curly dark hair. Before I knew what was happening, our lips were crashing together in a frenzy. I ran my hands up and down her back, her long fingers running through my hair as we pulled apart for a breath.

“Eddie, I thought you-” She stops, her already red face flushing even more. “-didn’t like girls,” she finished awkwardly. I raised my eyebrows.

“If I ‘didn't like girls’, would I do this?” I leaned in, my lips brushing against her neck. She giggled softly, her laughter like music to my ears.

“Edward Kaspbrak!” I pulled myself away from the girl, who seemed upset about the interruption. “What do you think you're doing?” Richie stood against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. His face was red and his eyes were filled with disgust.

“Go away, Richie.” I turned back to the girl, who had climbed onto my lap. I leaned towards her as she straddled me, trying to get another kiss, but before I could, Richie pulled me away. “We’ll continue this later,” I winked at the girl, who suddenly didn't seem all that upset at our abrupt departure. I turned my focus to Richie, who was dragging me upstairs.

“Whaddya want, Richie? I was kinda busy,” I grumbled. Richie sighed and yanked me into his room. I fell sloppily onto his bed as he shut the door, dampening the sounds of the party below. He sat at his desk chair in reverse, his arms resting on the back of the chair.

“Eddie… What's gotten into you, bud?” His voice was filled with disappointment as he waited for a response.

“Nothing's 'gotten into me’, Richie. Maybe you should mind your business while I go find…” I trailed off. I didn't even know her name, and I'm pretty sure she didn't know mine until Richie had shown up. “It doesn't matter. You're not my mom, and you can't tell me what to do.” I stood up shakily, headed towards the door. Richie followed me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“Eds, I-” Angrily, I turned around, brushing his arm off me. Blood pulsed through my veins as I slapped him, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Richie stepped away, stray tears forming in the corner of his eyes. His glasses had fallen off, leaving the scared face of the scrawny boy I had known for so long. I spat at him, still furious, before turning back to the door. I opened it forcefully, my fingers slipping on the cold doorknob. As I started out the door, I turned to face Richie, who had a swollen red patch in the vague shape of a hand on the side of his face.

“Don't touch me, Richie.” I slammed the door shut behind me and wobbled down the stairs, where I found the girl waiting.

“C'mon, let's go somewhere a bit more private, shall we?” She giggled and took my hand as I headed purposefully towards an empty room.

I awoke to the sun shining through the pale curtains, leaving a soft glow on my bare chest. I turned my head towards the girl, who was lying with her back facing me. My head was pounding unnaturally, and I nearly fell as I climbed off the mattress. Everything spun around me as I pulled open the door and staggered out, leaving my crumpled shirt on the floor.

I headed towards the kitchen, looking for something to relieve my headache. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I turned towards the sink and began to fill it up.

“Hi, Eddie.” I turned my head towards the voice shakily.

Richie was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, watching me with interest. His face had a reddish tinge, and there was a faint shadow of a bruise dancing on his cheek. He had a chipped coffee mug in his hand, which he raised to his lips and took a silent drink of whatever was inside.

“Hey, Richie. Fun party last night, right?” I asked. He didn't answer.

“Is she still here?”

“Yeah, she's-”

“Tell her to leave.” I tried to think of a reasonable excuse, but came up with nothing. I nodded dejectedly and downed the glass of water before heading back up the stairway.

“Hey,” I opened the door gently. She had woken, her long hair messy. Her eyes blinked sleepily as she gazed at me.

“Oh, hi, Eddie. That was something last night, wasn't it?” She grinned dreamily as she stood, her long pale arms wrapping me into a hug. I held my breath until she backed away. I grabbed my shirt and slipped it on to stall as I tried to hurry and think of a reason for her to leave. As I opened my mouth to stammer out a feeble excuse, she glanced at the alarm clock perched atop the dresser, which read 11:18 in glaring red numbers that seemed to burn into my eyes.

“Shit. I was supposed to be at work at 10:45!” She scrambled to pick up her scattered belongings before dashing out the door, stopping only to give me a quick peck on the cheek. Her lips left an uncomfortable tingle on my skin.

I followed her down the stairs once again and watched as she slipped out the door. After staring at the closed door for a good twenty seconds, I returned to the kitchen.

Richie gestured for me to take a seat adjacent to him. I pulled the wooden chair away from the table, wincing as it squeaked across the floor. Richie watched me as I sat, avoiding his gaze.

“Eddie…” Richie began. I focused my gaze onto the grain of his table, hoping his interrogation wouldn't last long. I snuck a glance up at him. His brow was furrowed, and there was anger in his dark eyes.

“Goddamnit Eddie!” His fists slammed onto the table, startling me. I recoiled in shock as the sound echoed through the empty house. He stood up, his chair screeching along the floor as he grabbed me by the shoulders, shanking me roughly. “What the hell happened with you two? Did you sleep with her? Tell me, goddamnit!”

His fingers dug into my shoulders, burning into my skin. My eyes began to water as I held his gaze, biting my lip to keep myself from crying out in pain. He glared at me for a moment before releasing his grasp on me. I cringed backwards into the chair, the tears falling now, leaving dark spots on my jeans where they landed and absorbed into the fabric.

“Oh, god, Eds, did I hurt you? I'm so fucking sorry. I'm just so confused right now. What about Stan? I thought you and him-”

“For the love of Christ, do not remind me of him right now.” I laughed bitterly, wiping the tears from my eyes. “He's a lying, cheating whore.”

“Stan?” The shock in his voice was evident. “I didn't… I wouldn't have…”

“It doesn't matter Richie, it's done and over with.”

“Who?” Richie's voice was barely a whisper, yet for some reason I didn't revel in the fact that I silenced the unsilenceable.

“My best friend, S-stuttering B-bill.” Mocking my former best friend stung, almost as if I knew it was wrong, as if I knew we were friends, and friends don't mock their friends. “Although I suppose friends don't fuck their best friend's boyfriend, right?”

Richie winced, before sighing. “Eds, I'm so sorry-”

“Don't be. I'm glad he's out of my life. Both of them. They obviously didn't care about me.” My voice cracked as I spoke, and I drew my gaze to the floor. “I mean, let's face it. I'm nothing special. I should be used to it, right? Being second best to everyone?”

“Eddie, you're not second best to me-”

“Oh yeah, another joke from Trashmouth. Ha ha.”

“No, Eddie, I'm serious. I-”

“You what? You love me? Because that's what Stan told me less than an hour before I found him bent over our bed. Before I heard him moaning his name. Before-” This time, I couldn't hold back the flood of tears as they began to sweep down my face.

“Eddie, babe, please don't cry over him. He didn't deserve someone as sweet, someone as beautiful as you…” Richie lifted my head with one hand, and ran his thumb along my cheekbone, wiping away the stray tears. The other arm wrapped around me in a hug. He was so close to me, I could smell the sweet aroma of the sugary coffee on his breath.

“Eds, I… I…” As he struggled to find the right words, I tipped my head sideways and lifted my lips up to his. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't resist.

After a few seconds, I pulled away and took a deep breath. God, that felt so right.

“Eddie…” Richie began.

“I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-” I stammered, my face flushing.

“-I love you.” The pounding in my ears stopped, and for a second, I thought I was going to faint. Richie watched me, waiting for my reaction.

“Richie, you… what?”

“I, Richie Tozier, love you, Eddie Kaspbrak. And I always have, since we were younger, at least.” Richie was quieter than I had ever heard him before.

“Why didn't you ever say anything?” He chuckled dryly.

“Because anyone with eyes could see how much you loved Stan, and I wanted you to be happy.” He turned his gaze away from me, and I could see his face darkening.

“Richie… I can't believe you-”

He looked up quickly. “I know, I know, it was stupid to tell you this. You've just gotten out of a relationship, and I'm-”

“Richie, do you know why I started dating Stan?” I interrupted him. He thought for a few seconds before responding.

“... Because he's a smart and respectable guy? Or, at least, he was.”

“No, it's because there was another guy that I liked, but I figured he was straight, and wouldn't go for a guy like me.”

“Shit, you had a thing for Ben? I mean, sure, he's pretty fine, but-” I couldn't help but laugh at him.

“No, airhead, it was you.” Richie stared at me for a moment, before grinning.

"Really?" He whispered eagerly. I nodded.. “Of course it was, Eds! Everyone knows that I'm the finest man in all of Derry!” He stepped back and gestured downwards. “I mean, nobody could get enough of this!” I rolled my eyes as I stood. Richie nudged his glasses a bit and bit his lip.

“I know it might be a little quick, but do you think that maybe we could-”

“Go out? I like how you think, Tozier.” A shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“That's not the only thing you like about me, Eds!”

“I swear to God, Richie, if you make a dick joke right now I'll make this the shortest relationship you've ever had.” Richie stopped mid sentence, but left his mouth open comically. I laughed again.

“So, what should we do now? As boyfriends?” Richie paused for a second. “Damn, I've been wanting to say that since junior high.”

“Well, for starters, you could kiss me again.” Richie smirked.

“Gladly.”

[keepherkingsjane]

I’ve been thinking about this comic a lot lately. For the first time I publicly share it and vague statements about an abuser within my academic community.

I was in London at a speaking event. Afterwards everyone moved to a pub. I was new and trying to make friends and it was my first time out at a pub and I kept up with the rounds but then I was very drunk and had missed the last train home. A friend, I thought, someone within my academic community and who I knew from Twitter lived nearby and he said I could crash on his couch if I wanted. I took him up on the offer. I don’t remember getting there. I do remember walking into his flat and it feeling like it was all one big, dark hallway. What I remember next is realizing we were having sex. I remember asking myself, what is happening? how did this happen? I don’t remember anything in between arriving and coming to. I don’t know if he took off my trousers or if I took them off and collapsed into bed. I wear dresses 99% of the time and find trousers to be uncomfortable and I could see myself removing them in one quick move before collapsing onto a bed. I’ve done this other times. Mostly when alone. But once with someone. He didn’t touch me. Did I imply to this person I wanted to have sex with him? By taking off trousers to sleep? I had a crush on him. The way I have a crush on nearly any remotely attractive scientist who is within 10 years of my age. But at this point, at 23, I had never slept with someone the night I had met them. The fastest I ever slept with someone was 5 days - the guy I met on the plane from Pisa to London, who I got into a relationship with 14 hours later, who was already convinced he was in love with me, and he flew back to Italy to see me again 5 days later. That’s who I am. I had only had drunk sex twice during the college. The first was with someone I already was dating, already had sex with. He thew frequent parties. It wasn’t a hookup. Then there were times that Alex made us margaritas and we fumbled in bed together, but it was that drunk where you feel softer and giggle and you are so aware. There was almost a time between these two men. A boy in my art history class who liked me. We were working on a project together and I was craving breakfast, so we made breakfast and drank and I kissed him and before we had sex I asked him to stop, and he did. He left me in his bed and slept on the couch. I’m grateful for his kindness and decency. But this isn’t what happened in London. I’m not sure if I flirted. I’m not sure if I said yes or no. Maybe I said nothing. What I do know is I had never been that drunk before or been that drunk since. I couldn’t legally consent. This small part of me wonders if it was all just alcohol. I accepted an offer from someone I thought was trustworthy to crash on their couch instead of pay for an expensive cab ride across the city. The next morning when I left I saw that there was no couch in that flat. Not one. Nowhere. Many flats in London have their living rooms converted to bedrooms. There was never a couch. I was never meant to sleep on a couch. He offered a lie.

It has taken me a couple years to process it. At the time I convinced myself that I was just drunk, I must have said yes. I went home hungover for the very first time, showered, went to school, and accepted his LinkedIn request that came later that week. I later found out he had a girlfriend. He flew to Argentina the afternoon after with her to a conference, with scratches from my fingernails on his back. I haven’t scratched up a back since the first person I had sex with. We were 16 and fumbling around to do things right and I was being performative. I thought that is what you did when you were having exciting sex. I’ve learned a lot since. I’ve dug nails slightly into backs, I’ve left a scratch or two, but not dozens. The morning after he had dozens. I drew blood even. I don’t remember that. Was I just that drunk that I regressed to some very heavy, performative fucking? Or was I trying to hurt him to get off me? I don’t remember. I’ve never had that large of gap of no memory.

What I hate myself most for is what I did afterwards, how I interacted with him. How I flirted with him at the next event, because I wanted it to be OK. I wanted to have wanted it. Girls don’t flirt with their rapists. Over the years I kept him within my professional network. We spoke on Twitter. I saw him at conferences. I interviewed him for my MSc dissertation and his interview formed a very crucial part of my thesis. I once asked him to participate on a project. People don’t collaborate with their rapists. He was cruel and nice to me during all these times. He is a popular person in my academic community. I knew if I created a problem for him, it would have a ripple effect. So, when he was cruel to me, when he yelled at me over my feedback and ideas, I just froze and cried and tried to hide. I said thank you softlywhen he messaged me to inform me months that he had chlamydia. I went to the doctor, got tested, and was negative. They still gave me antibiotics that affected me so greatly I passed out within 30 minutes. It is only now that I’m trying to remember if he used a condom but I have no memory to tell. But what I hate about myself the most is I slept with him again months later. As if I could undo it. I wanted it to be OK. I want to vomit every time I think about it now.

I never told anyone about that night until almost two years later when a female colleague, a friend I deeply trust and had known for years and had offered my Very Real and comfy couch to crash on during a local conference, was talking to me in my new Texas home. I told her about the project, with him and 4 others, that failed to get selected. She told me things she had heard over the years about him. Varying degrees of harassment and abuse. And for the first time, I told someone. I’ve had a few similar conversations with other women since. They reported various types of abuse. The inappropriate statements he made. I slowly started to think I didn’t do something wrong that night. I watched in awe when two of his ex-girlfriends publicly called him out for his mentally abusive behavior, his cruelty and gaslighting, and watched it not matter when he publicly dismissed them. I watched him still get accepted to speak at conferences. I watch him get scholarships and awards I had applied to and didn’t get. I dealt with him bringing up sex with me to a colleague at a conference. I am a loud person. I yell and argue and don’t back down. But he makes me feel small. I am quiet around him. And I hate it.

This year I was on a scholarship committee for a conference. His name was there. He was the highest rated applicant. I asked if we could make comments on applicants, particularly because some that are not high rated could benefit greatly from attending and I wanted to highlight that. And I wanted to comment on him. So, I did. I said it would be my strong recommendation to not provide him a scholarship because there have been numerous reports on abusive behavior from him to members of the community. I’m not sure if he was given it or not. A few days ago someone suggested him as a speaker for a webinar. I responded simply it would be my strong recommendation not to have him speak. Someone followed up for details. I said first that the webinar is for this field and he is adjacent and we should be giving speaking opportunities to the early career folks in our exact field, but then also shared his abuse. It made me feel sick. It affected the rest of my day and I kept crying. She agreed with the decision. He won’t be speaking. She didn’t know. I thought it would make me feel powerful to have some control, to prevent him from having more power. It doesn’t. I feel sick and scared every time I do it. But I want so desperately to prevent other women he could harm or has harmed from seeing him further succeed, to having to encounter him at another conference he is speaking at or was given a scholarship to attend.

A couple weeks ago a good collaborator and friend was visiting. He was crashing on my couch while we were both attending a conference that was nearby to my. I’ve known him for years. He has hosted me before. He has given me a couch to sleep on for a week when I was kicked out of my first London apartment. He has arranged a guest room for me when I came to London for graduation and he was living in a communal living situation for tech folks. He is kind and trustworthy and I am so thankful to know him. I didn’t mean to tell him. We were driving home and somehow that night got brought up, specifically the speakers we were there for, and then I let my story slip out. I was offered a couch. There was no couch. I don’t really remember it. It was the first time I breathed a word of it to a man. And he didn’t argue with me. He didn’t say I drank to much. He said he was sorry and that he has learned in recent years that this man shows a systematic pattern of abuse. I’m not the only one.

I vaguely talked about this struggle the other day after having to send an email off to a relative stranger to prevent him from speaking on the call. I wanted to vomit. A few very close colleagues messaged to ask that if I was comfortable telling them, they’d like to know so they can speak up whenever they see his name. I told them. My situation is grey and confusing. I haven’t named it because I’m not sure. I almost wish I was all alone so that I could believe it was OK, but all the stories I have heard from other women about this man who displayed varying degrees of abuse toward them shows that he is an abuser. He has hurt women and there is plenty of evidence to show that he would continue to. And I’m not going to be alone in speaking up when his name is in consideration anymore.

[pi-cat000]

Random Charlotte

Anime leaves a lot to be desired. I did like the concept of someone having different abilities with different rules and functions. So…

Summery: Yu wakes up without his memory and still in possession of all his abilities. Set at the end of the anime.

He came to consciousness slowly, pulled from the soothing darkness by his alert ability which told him how many people were in a room. One. Next came the swell of disjointed thought as he registered every mind within a kilometre radius. That would be mind reader. He grimaced internally, forcing the disjointed mess to the back of his mind. 

People didn’t think in ordered or coherent sentences unless they were focused and even then thoughts tended to jump around from one disconnected image to the next. Unfortunately, he had yet to figure out a way to disable it. Slowly, the rest of his active abilities made themselves known. One by one he either disabled them or forced them into a more inert state.

Finally, he felt coherent enough to try opening his eyes. Slowly, he cracked open his one good eye. He was briefly distracted by x-ray, aura reading and heat seeker which turned the stale white ceiling into a confusing mess of lines, pattern and colour. These ocular based abilities had the annoying tendency of activating without his consent.  He deactivated them and the smooth, white squares of the ceiling snapped into focus. With that dealt with he turned his head, wincing at the stiffness of his neck. He must have been lying still for quite a while. The one other person in the room didn’t notice his minute movement focused on the book in her lap.

Snow white hair, petite, she was sitting in a chair adjacent to his bed. He examined her smaller figure, trying to place the sudden sensation of familiarity her presence inspired. Quickly, he cycled through several abilities, checking for hidden weapons, malicious intent, activating skill finder, which gave him an overview of a person’s talents. Analysis and Insight, it informed him, which could be dangerous if utilised correctly.  He focused in on her thoughts, which were half concentrated on the book in her lap and half on his own condition. She knew him. Knew who he was. He was sure, if he were to deactivate emotion erase, he would feel her concern and maybe worry. He rarely deactivated emotion erase.  

Unable to pinpoint any significant threat he waited. Heal and revitalise, which he had activated the moment he woke, would have his body back in top form within the hour. He couldn’t remember what had brought him here his memories of the last few days were confused and muddled. A hospital, he concluded after scanning the people in the building. Though there was not a lot of information on where the hospital was.  It wasn’t the first time he had woken in a unknown location. Another one of his blackouts was the most likely cause.

The girl glanced up, intent on checking his condition, and blinked when she met his eyes. Her thoughts went form rather linear and smooth to disjointed and jumpy. A reel of images and associations slipped by to quickly to be of any use.

“Yu,” the girl said, giving him a gentle smile. Her thoughts settled on himself, showing and comparing him to another version of himself. A younger version. So she knew him from before. Yu. That was his name. He grasped at the word, turning it over in his head. It felt right. More so than Reaper.

“Yu? How are you feeling?” she was asking. He didn’t answer, content to just stare, trying to piece together as much as he could from her thoughts. Interest swirled in his gut. If he could he would most certainly feel excited.

“Yu?” She asked again, uncertainty overtaking her more enthusiastic thoughts. He had been silent for too long it seemed.

“Where am I?”

Surprise.

“You’re at the facility,”

She had made the statement deliberately vague, testing his coherency. He made a non-comital sound, pulling out a vague notion of their location form her head. A city scape. A school. Student council.  Nothing concrete enough to make any real estimates.

“Which country?”

That question was a mistake. Her eyes widened and, instead of focusing on their location like he wanted, she immediately began categorising everything wrong with his demeanour, comparing it to the construction in her head. Apparently, they had been friends. Good friends. He wasn’t conforming to what she knew of him. Understandable as all he remembered from his past was the vague notion that he needed to continue acquiring abilities and then go ‘back.’ Where exactly ‘back’ was had long eluded him.

Maybe she would know. Actually, he was almost certain that she would know. 

“Who are you?”  He whispered. More to himself than her. She heard him nonetheless. Her thoughts froze in distress.  The book fell from her lap and hit the ground with soft thunk. He winced. For some reason her pain left him restless and discontented.

“I’m sorry,” he added, hoping to elevate her distress. It had the opposite effect. Maybe he should leave. All he had to do was activate teleport, and he could go anywhere. If could picture it in his mind and had been there previously he could be there in an instant. He didn’t move, held back by curiosity and an odd sensation of obligation.

“No, No. It’s OK,” she tried to dismiss, composing herself. Apparently, they- the doctors maybe?- had warned her that there might be side effects. Side effects of plundering so may abilities.

“This is … you’ve been unconscious for two days…”

That explained the stiffness.

Any further interaction was put on hold by the entrance of several doctors one of which was carrying a walking stick. He stared. Blind. Not a doctor then. Strategy and persistence. What sort of special skill was persistence? The doctors when straight to examining the readouts on the monitors hooked up to various parts of his body. Their surprise echoed around his mind. Apparently, he was in far better condition than he should be considering he had be shot through the lung with an arrow. Huh. Whoever had shot his was probably trying to get around shield, which stopped high velocity objects. Slightly disconcerting. As interesting as their musings where it was the thoughts of the blind guy that drew his interest. Like the girl this guy was thinking of a past version of himself.