#Let's kill off a suicidal abuse victim who finally found a home!! What a great message

[gutz-radio]

Man I'm back in the Billy Hargrove trenches with this ofmd "finale" huh

[emialawliet]

The mysteries of Wonder Egg Priority and some interesting things I found in it

Oh hi Acca. Wait is that a crack on your right lens?

One of the great things about WEP is that it is an original anime wherein we do not have any source material to check on its story thus we do not have a clue on what’s gonna happen next besides the things that happen in each episode. These are one of those animes which are fun to observe.

Plot Summary: Ai scores a “Wonder Egg” from a gachapon machine at a deserted arcade. But now when Ai falls asleep a girl emerges from her Wonder Egg, the worlds of dreams and reality begin to collide. And it’s all connected.

From the first episode, we have been given a huge amount of symbolism. Aside from the main subject of bullying and Ai’s guilt by pretending not to see it that cost her bestfriend’s life, there are a lot of other things that I noticed that seem to have a deeper meaning behind them or could be a hint to something. I’ll list these things one by one from the first 2 episodes..

This post is going to be quite a long one, so I’ll keep it minimal enough to just tickle your thoughts. And believe me, things got clearer to me as I am making this post.

The anime starts in a sort of a dream world.. or is it?

1) The firefly

In some cultures firefly may not have a positive reputation. But in Japan, where they are called "hotaru," they are beloved – a metaphor for passionate love in poetry since Man'you-shu (the 8th century anthology). -Namiko Abe @ thoughtco.com

Ai can be seen looking at a dead firefly. She seems caring for it and she even gave it a proper burial. Could this symbolize someone dear to her? Now let’s proceed..

2) person in the car

Is this a clue? I’ll remember that hair for some reason..

3) Ai’s conversation with the firefly and the Special Gacha Machine

firefly: What are you doing in a place like this?

Ai: Walking.

F: This late at night?

After burying the firefly, it suddenly came out the soil and spoke to Ai with a male voice. Their conversation seems to me like a suspicious man talking to an innocent girl in a place where a young one like her isn’t supposed to be..

F: The first time’s free. Next time bring your wallet.

This is one of the things commonly used to convince someone to try something they are usually not willing to for the first time. Like a free trial..

..and was then led somewhere underground where the “Special Gacha Machine” is located.

That’s a lotta eggs. What could this underground facility be? And here’s the Gacha Machine:

So that’s the thing in the poster.

Weird huh? But the next morning, Ai wakes up with the egg beside her..

4) The dream

..Or is it not entirely a dream? I mean the egg appearing beside her is one thing although it could be that the egg is just in her mind. But the thing that complicates things is the injuries she gets in real life, to the point where she and even Neiru needs to get hospitalized.

Ai asked why this (the whole dream she’s in) is happening to her and this is what Kurumi said:

“Nothing costs more than a free gift huh?” Indeed, life is priceless. But in this story, it is only free the first time. The second night, Ai paid a huge price. Could those injuries mean this?

“This is a dream to you, but to me it is reality.” -Kurumi Saijo

Ai will not die in this dream, as long as her eyes and heart are okay.

Did she really sneak at night twice? Since getting the Wonder Egg to saving Kurumi? In this scene we also see the teacher in full for the first time and I dunno about you guys but I think that hair is familiar..

The firefly even asked her this. We’ve seen Ai sneaking out at night but the things that follow are strange enough to happen in real life. Is it possible that what we're seeing is a mixture of Ai’s imagination and reality?

Something caused these injuries. Or is it Ai herself? Let us find out..

After saving Kurumi, a mysterious male voice said “Too bad, you only get saved. But you have to cheer up if you want your bestfriend back.”

She then asked this:

..but got no clear response. Of course we know the answer, Koito is not going back to life. but why does the voice demand her to do that? Not even the firefly could answer her clearly. But she continued to believe that this will get her bestfriend back. 

“If you can’t protect them, you won’t make it either.” -Firefly

“There’s no point going to save someone if she gets herself killed.” -Ura-Acca

Does they mean the guilt might kill her too? Does this imply suicide? Could this be a hint where Ai gets her injuries?

And Neiru asked her who she is fighting for.. Ai firmly said it was for Koito.

“You don’t like yourself now, so you go. You want to change the self you hate.” Well this could also be true for herself despite saying it’s for her sister whom she let die. How? We’ll soon know more about this I guess.. At the moment, we know that Neiru loves her current self. 

Ai hates herself for betraying her bestfriend. The first friend she ever had.

Koito probably asked her to film the bullying as evidence, but Ai was too scared of being left out. She wasn’t able to get a good shot, but Koito only smiled at her and knew she did her best.

5) The egg

From the title itself, the egg is a very prominent object in this anime. We still do not have a clear answer as to what it really represents, but according to the speaking firefly and Kurumi, it contains what a person wants the most, and in Ai’s case, it is a friend. She denies this to both of them but they both know it is the truth.

The eggs appear in different colors, with letters, numbers and symbols printed on them. Once cracked, it reveals a person. This is where we can relate the egg’s symbolism of life and creation. 

A mysterious male voice angrily told Ai to break the egg, and this is what he said afterwards:

Ai is “good” at it, huh. What could he probably mean I wonder..

It was later revealed that Kurumi is another sculpture, a “captured maiden” in a different world like Ai’s bestfriend Koito. This confirms that Kurumi is also dead, which leads me to think that the eggs are the souls of those who died from suicide or abuse. 

They couldn’t pass on unless the guilt of their friends stop holding them back. And this I think is also what’s happening to our MC Ai and Koito’s soul.

6) Kurumi Saijo

She wears a different uniform than Ai’s. A victim of bullying by 3 girls.

Like Ai, she also said she did not have any friends, just superficial ones.

And this could be hinting at the reason why she was bullied by those girls. She does have the looks. But these looks might be the reason why she had no real friends. And a boyfriend of this fake friend probably liked her and broke up with her fake friend which started the bullying. I smell jealousy.

In this dream, she found her resolve while saving Kurumi.

I gotta say though, the animation is impressive from start to finish. That button popping off has me goin “whoa they even thought of adding that bit.” And the explosion that followed.. oof.

After being saved by Ai, she asked Ai to not forget her and disappeared into dust. Was Kurumi able to finally pass on?

) Minami Suzuhara

Seriously, in this anime, adorable girls have no friends.

Damn her “trauma” is a ridiculous boob monster. 

She could have died due to over fatigue and stress from her coach’s verbal abuse.

Ai had another injury the following day.

) Ai’s enemies

The Seenoevils, a disorderly mob. In real life, they are the ones that pretend not to see the bullying, letting it happen and thus contribute to the damage being dealt to thee victim. And the form of the egg’s “traumas”, the Wonder Killer, which are the main cause who led the victims to their deaths. In the dream world, they do not attack Ai. But they can damage her, only for the effects to appear outside the dream.

Ai uses Kurumi’s pen as her first weapon, and Minami’s ribbon wand as the second.

Like Kurumi, after she was saved she also asked Ai to remember her before disappearing into dust.

) The teacher

Ai’s teacher seems really nice, going as far as to visit her and deliver the week’s print outs to their home. Ai must not be attending school for weeks..

We now know that Ai’s location is nearby their teacher’s home. Could he be the guy in the car then? We don’t have enough evidence of that as of yet.

In the second episode, Ai’s teacher visited again.

Now we see his face. He’s got a mole huh.

But why this question teach? 

So that’s his name. And why the special treatment?

Here we see him walk behind Koito and she follows..

) Acca & Ura-Akka

The most intriguing thing I found in the first ep..

After discovering the truth about Kurumi, Ai was led to the end of the underground tunnel and found these two strange dolls playing Go, a japanese traditional board game. One looks like a professional, and the other just casual. They introduced themselves as Acca and Ura-Acca.

Judging by that definition, these two dolls could be the same person. Let’s watch out for that.. Who could this person be? And what is his connection to Ai?

“Haste makes waste.” These two are worried about Neiru. They strongly advise on taking the process slow or else she might die. Is this person a therapist?

) Neiru Aonuma

Did I read that right.. VICE PRESIDENT?? I get the feeling her sister died caused by neglect from their parents because they were more focused on this Neiru who “loves herself”. She also seems to me like a foreigner. She speaks english quite well and we see the mom with a nice cute afro.

She was too greedy to get multiple eggs at once. She could have fought through an intense battle. Probably why she was put in the intensive care unit. 

She also does not know the fun of being in a friendship. But then she agrees on being friends with AI :) I am glad how Ai is starting to change too.

I am looking forward for these two’s friendship <3

And that’s about all the curious things I’ve gathered in the first 2 episodes.

I am definitely going to continue watching this series and witness the truth unfold. Until the next egg time!

[qm-vox]

So You Want To Play A Darkling

(Sketch of Vickie Reeds, the Arrayer of Distant Thunder, provided by Sylverthorne. Character by me; catch her in New Avalon.)

Previous Articles: So You Want To Play A Beast, So You Want To Play A Wizened, So You Want To Play An Elemental & So You Want To Play An Ogre

“You don’t want to know.”

It’s a simple statement. We hear it, or its famous variants - “don’t even ask about,” and “how badly do you want to know?” and “don’t even get me started,” and more - all the time, and we brush them off. Of course we want to know! We asked, didn’t we? Why would we ask if we don’t want to know? And most of the time it’s something small, or our conversation partner was exaggerating for effect, and we learn just fine.

And other times what you hear, in a low and painful voice, spoken without eye contact and without pride or glory, is something you really did not want to know. Something you should not have asked. And now it is in you, rattling about in your mind, ready to stalk your dreams and worry away at your hope and joy.

Darklings are those Lost who know the things you should not, and their peers ask careful questions indeed around the children of Darkness. There are times in every Freehold’s life when push comes to shove and someone should have the hollow lore which bleeds, breaks, and scrapes. Someone has to know.

How badly do you want to?

This article draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost, as well as Winter Masques and Swords at Dawn. Other sources, when used, will be cited. It requires Content Warnings for depictions of torture, maiming, abuse, cannibalism, forced transformation, suicidal thoughts & ideation, stalking, and murder.

A Nightmare With No Waking - Darkling Overview

Darkling is the second Seeming presented in Changeling: the Lost; it joins Ogre in being one of the two Seemings most defined by violence, and Fairest in being a Seeming that is both highly socially adept and whose mere identity distorts their social relationships both to their fellow Lost and to mortals. Darkling is a striking and highly popular Seeming, represented strongly both in the community and in published NPCs, with many excellent examples to draw from and strong bones in with folklore and urban legend.

Like their cousins the Ogres, Darklings have a relationship to violence that may not be voluntary on their part. But where Ogres learn to fight, to roar, to hit back and intimidate until they are left in peace, Darklings learn the subtle shades of fear. Darklings hide, lie, cheat, and sneak. Keenly aware of the consequences of violence, Darklings adapt to murderous abuse by outwitting and outlasting it. When they are finally driven to strike against an enemy hunting them, a Darkling does not fight: they survive. If that means becoming a murderer, a cur, a monster, so be it: their enemies can hate them from the grave.

Up From The Gutter - Homecoming As A Darkling

Darklings are among those Lost who remember Arcadia with the least clarity and certainty (even as Wyrd rises), rivaling Fairest for ‘memories’ which may just be heady blends of fear and adaptation warped into a form they can live with. For many, their Durance is a blur of instincts and ‘rules’, behaviors adapted either to survive a lethal environment or the lethal attentions of a master which went out of its way to hate them. But for all that specific events are obscured in darkness, transmuted to sensory impressions fogged with rage and terror to rival the most frenzied nightmares of Beasts, most Darklings understand that they lost something important in the Fairest of Lands. All Lost carry scars of their survival, of course; it is far from unheard of for an Ogre to emerge missing an arm, or a Wizened to claw her way out without the eyes in her head. It is not the act of scarring in itself that creates a Darkling.

The loss that makes a Darkling is one that is replaced with Nothing. Not one which is not replaced; eyes gouged from their living skulls, warmth robbed from their veins, shards of soul-stuff cleaved from the whole to be nibbled on like candied glass by things whose voices are torn paper and guttering candles. The Nothing which replaces this loss, and which turns a mortal into a Darkling rather than any other Seeming, is an active absence, a hollowness, a yawning gulf inside of them which resists being filled and creates space around itself. It is here that Darkness dwells, and it is the Nothing that makes the Darkling wretched and wrong.

The exact loss and its methods vary. In the Castle of Diamonds, so high in the sky that sunlight cannot reach, the shivering slaves of its Lady rip out their human compassion so they can emulate her hunger and escape a pathetic, frozen death; when they escape into lands that know light and warmth, the hunger remains. The master of the Labyrinth, the Warden of Rats, steals mortals to persecute his verminous prisoners and plucks their fingers out one by one when they fail to meet their quotas; when they find the hidden cracks in the walls and go screaming into the Hedge, they can still turn their spectral prosthesis into blades, just as Master taught them. A Tunnelgrub mining for crystal blood in the corpse of a great giant hears the bones whispering to her; when she takes pity on their dreams of the open sky and trades her memories of it to them, they throw her into the Hedge with a new-found case of agoraphobia. Whatever the case, the Nothing - the Darkness - becomes part of the Darkling’s Wyrd, bound forever into their essence.

A Darkling’s Durance may have been wild or industrious; they may have served as librarians, murderers, spies, guards, or even cleaning staff, or they may have performed an initial escape early on only to transform when they got lost in the Arcadian wilderness. What they all have in common is danger. For almost every second of their captivity, the Darkling was under threat; from a Master which hated them and would harm them if it noticed the Darkling, from fellow slaves desperate for food or warmth or life’s blood, from haunted forests and ancient curses, from things seeking to swallow the Darkling’s shadow. Darklings learned to live in constant fear, to hide, lie, and cheat, and, if violence was inevitable, to be the first to resort to it.

These two truths form the first and greatest obstacles to a Darkling’s escape: first they must convince themselves that the mortal world, which is now strange and frightening to them, is still safer than their captivity, and second they must convince themselves that they deserve to go back. Darklings struggle with self-image problems that would stagger most of their friends if the children of night ever expressed them; many, staring at their inhuman shadows or at the collections of diseased, blunted knives that are now their fingers, think of themselves as monsters to be put down rather than victims who deserve compassion and healing. For those who cannot overcome this self-doubt, the darkness of Arcadia waits to swallow them whole. But if they can focus through the pain, the doubt, the horror, Darklings are well-suited to finding the hidden paths into the Hedge, past guards and demons and terror, and slipping oh-so-quietly back into the Iron Lands where they were once born.

Darklings are often drawn home by memories now alien to their new environment; warmth, love, laughter, and light factor heavily into a Darkling’s recollections of the Iron Lands. Despite their otherwise obsessive interest in their physical, environmental safety, it’s people the Darkling comes home to protect - to kill for, if necessary. Of course, all too many collapse to the soil of Earth and, once they find their breath, conclude that the people they love are better off without such a monster in their life. It is during the resulting patterns of stalking and distant observation that the local Freehold generally finds the youngblood Darkling and attempts to coax them into meeting their peers.

Mountebanks and Murderers - Darkling Kiths

Though the listed weakness of Darklings as a Seeming is both fairly obvious and straightforward - they suffer a penalty to all attempts to work magic during the day, which worsens in direct sunlight - this is not the curse which stalks their life and wends its way through their relationships with all of their peers. No; Darklings are unique amongst Seemings in that their magical strength is their magical weakness. Darklings have an incredible talent for stealth, deception, robbery, murder, stalking, and disguise; a Darkling twisting the truth is as skilled as a Fairest. These tools, refined in Arcadia, are among the first the Darkling reaches for when confronted with stress or with trouble, and they are all too keenly aware that these things are, not to put too fine a point on it, wrong. At the end of every day the Darkling has to look at herself in the mirror and see a person who thinks to lie before she thinks to tell the truth, who knows where the old injuries that weaken her friends and would let her kill them are, who forgets sometimes why we knock on front doors or pay for goods and services.

It’s exhausting. It isn’t just the self-recrimination, though that rough beast stalks almost every Darkling under Earth’s starry skies. It’s that humans and post-humans are naturally predisposed to enjoy things we’re good at, and what Darklings are good at are con jobs, cheating, betraying trust, and bloody murder.

It doesn’t help that Freeholds tend to know it too. Though all Lost have trust problems, it’s Darklings who get the worst reputation for wriggling their way out of Pledges or for being liars and thieves. Their peers can often tread lightly around them, further increasing feelings of frustrating alienation from their own communities. Sometimes, but not all the time, strong community leaders make efforts to bridge this gap and create cultures of acceptance, but in the absence of such mighty compassion Darklings can often feel as if they’ve been forced into a second, smaller community which has unspoken rules it must obey. Given how strongly that situation can remind them of their Durance, there are many Darklings the world over who are more than a little prickly, more than a little standoffish, whose hair-trigger tempers are concealed beneath a silent facade that acts like a spider’s trapdoor. The bursts of violence that can result only worsen the problem.

How do Darklings cope with being liars and killers? Poorly, in the main. Some lean in, drifting towards Summer and Autumn where a reputation for violence can service them well. Such Darklings learn to tell the truth tactically, almost as a method of deception in itself; they become scouts, Hedge Rangers, spies, and sorcerers. While this reduces the day-to-day stress of simply Being A Darkling, it does tend to arrest the Darkling’s recovery. Though there are very good reasons for them to learn and practice the skills they gained in their Durance, building an identity around these ultimately maladaptive coping mechanisms means not confronting the problems that created them in the first place.

Other Darklings, often those who wind up in Spring or Winter, go the opposite route: they go out of their way to prove they’re trustworthy, lovable, and no threat at all. They throw themselves into social events and social roles and go out of their way to make themselves available; some go so far as to start taking strictly diurnal schedules so others can contact them more easily and as a show of great trust and strength. Such efforts often work! People come to trust and approach these Darklings, and they flourish in the social roles they seek out, but beneath the sunny smiles and bright words is often a Lost riding the edge of a fucking killing spree. The cost of this approach is quite often a constant feeling of doubt and threat, of unsafety, and rather than attaining healing such Darklings succeed in making themselves unhappy on purpose.

All too often, regardless of the initial approach they attempt to take, a given Darkling can only really start to heal when driven to do so by an outside source. Having a friend close enough to call them out on their shit and actually get listened to is an important milestone in a Darkling’s journey, especially when their fellows can all-too-easily mistake stability for recovery when the two are not the same.

Darkling Kiths embody fears; they are the things waiting in the dark, the secrets you try to avoid, the anxieties behind your flickering smiles. Though some relationship exists between a Darkling’s Kith and their fae labors, the dangers into which the Darkling was placed and the adaptations they made to survive those dangers are equally important - if not more so. All other things being equal, Darklings are somewhat more likely to manifests Kiths and therefore Miens which reflect more ‘modern’ stories than other Seemings are; Bloody Mary, the Candyman, and Jason Vorhees are as germane to their nature as red caps, Baba Yaga, and goblins are, maybe even more so, for the fears of the modern era yet live.

Thoughts on individual Darkling Kiths follow:

Antiquarian - Antiquarians are spoken of in Winter Masques as embodying the fear of old age, and they can fit this mold fine enough as witches, unsettling librarians, or the dead-eyed tender of a dive bar you realize you should not be in, but given their powerful ability to know things (embodied in 9-again on Academics and Investigation and in the power to spend Glamour to know answers to questions even when they don’t) that’s hardly the full breadth of this Kith’s potential. Antiquarians can easily be the smiling police detective who has entered your life for reasons you do not understand, the sinister school psychiatrist using her authority to make your life hell, or even the intimidating priest you know will some day ask you to do something...ungodly. This is strong and thematic Kith, easily worth considering for any concept that revolves around knowledge or investigation; pair it with Cleareyes via Dual Kith for a nearly psychic level of perception.

Gravewight - Does your chronicle revolve around ghosts? Then close the book and go play Geist, which actually works for them. For all intents and purposes neither this Kith nor Contracts of Shade and Spirit actually exist.

Leechfinger - Do you like vampires, breath-stealing cats, kumiho, and other life-eaters? Then keep looking because Leechfinger sorta fucking sucks. Which is a shame, honestly; Leechfinger may well be Darkling at its most pure, representing the fundamental way in which lies and theft take shards from the lives of others which they will never get back. But its Blessing is incredibly lackluster, and while ordinarily it would be valuable for short-cutting nWoD’s long recovery times from violent confrontation...goblin fruit exist. Give this one a pass.

Mirrorskin - Embodying the fear of losing one’s identity - as well as the fear of strangers, of false faces that hide malicious intent - Mirrorskin is the single strongest Kith in its niche and so centralizing that in many ways it’s a better investment for disguise and shapeshifting than Contracts of Mirror, which are, you know, for disguise and shapeshifting. Mirrorskin is worth considering for any concept that wants to invest in infiltration, regardless of your Seeming, and easily worth even the three dots needed to snag it with an out-of-house Dual Kith.

Tunnelgrub - Burglars, snakes, goblins, and sewer mutants, Tunnelgrubs embody the fear of intrusion, robbery, and the suspicion that your safe home is anything but. Mechanically, they’re, well, they’re functional. Their Blessing lets them slip in and through spaces that would normally require powerful Contracts (Separation 3 or Elements 5, depending), and that’s definitely not nothing, but one does need to ask oneself how often you’re going to slither down someone’s chimney.

Lurkglider - Lurkgliders embody gargoyles and predators such as harpies or the Mothman, but they also have bones in with fear of, and fascination with, cat burglars, rooftop men, and so-called ‘superspies’. Their Blessing is, like Tunnelgrub, unmatched in its niche but still incredibly niche for all of that. If your group is already full of Windwings and Steepscramblers, consider Lurkglider so you can jump naked off of skyscrapers like an absolute madman; otherwise, maybe give this one a pass.

Moonborn - I want the head of whatever jackass greenlit this. Skipping over the ableist horse shit that is this Kith, which we should not but skipping over it, Moonborn is a volatile and risky Kith whose usefulness depends entirely on how your group runs Derangements, which in themselves never should have been written the way they got written in the first place. White out this section of your copy of Winter Masques and put this far from your mind.

Nightsinger - Nightsinger is another one that is Okay. Thematically it’s a bit confusing; it does not directly relate to many kinds of legendry or fear, and the ones it does relate to taste more like Wizened than Darkling. Mechanically, Nightsinger has powerful social support tools which help your group’s face land their social rolls, and if that idea is appealing to you then I’m happy to suggest Nightsinger, but given Lost’s lack of mechanical tools to follow up on the musical theming and the fact that Playmate exists I can’t wholly endorse this Kith.

Palewraith - Palewraiths are a sort of stealth replacement for Gravewight; they embody the fear of fading away, of becoming a helpless ghost, of being a secondary character in your own life. Their Blessing is...bad, and worse, it’s boring. Give it a pass.

Razorhand - Razorhands are killers, thugs, organleggers, and ghouls; they embody the fear of slashers, of violence in the dark, of having yourself carved up by something which sees you only as a resource to be exploited. Their Blessing is incompetently worded; the most common reading lets them spend 1 Glamour to turn their unarmed attacks into a 1L weapon and gives them (Knives) as a Weaponry specialty, and on those terms Razorhand is one of the premier close-combat Kiths. If Leechfinger being shit let you down, consider Razorhand as one of the most quintessentially Darkling Kiths.

Whisperwisp - Darkling Does Fairest. Whisperwisps are spies, turncoats, and double agents. Their Blessing resolves to 8-again on rolls to lie in conversation, and that’s before the thing where they can murmur in your ear from across the room. If you’re considering a social-focused Darkling concept,Whisperwisp is your first and probably only stop.

A Cause Worth Killing For - Darklings in the Courts

Though Darklings don’t necessarily immediately fit into obvious roles in a Freehold the way that Ogres and Wizened so often do, chances are that their new community is going to eventually ask them to break shit, kill people, and steal things. Thankfully even the most urban Freehold doesn’t necessarily need people killed all that often, so during the ‘off season’ a classically retained Darkling is likely to slot into mid-tier social roles in their Court; they flourish as assistants, administrators, Arrayers of Distant Thunder, Armigers, and the like. For those who finally get a handle on their shit, even more illustrious roles might follow - a Darkling with a level head makes an ideal Searce, Twilit Page, or Thane, for instance. Ironically, this makes Darklings among the more visible Seemings in the power structures of a Court, rivaling Fairest and Beasts for de jure and de facto power.

How a Darkling reacts to eventually being asked to perform underhanded deeds for her new society will become a defining moment in her journey towards healing. Some have an easier time than others. A Razorhand approached by Summer and asked to serve as a scout has the chance to bring military pride to an otherwise shameful skill set and make peace with the terrible things she’s learned to do to survive, while a young Lurkglider who attracts the attention of one of Winter’s Archers gets to see the real, tangible lives saved by the information he brings home and the enemies he tracks through the terrible Hedge. In contrast, an Antiquarian asked to find blueprints for a Spring heist or disable a security system ahead of Autumn’s assassins faces a much more difficult choice - one they have to live with every day of their life thereafter. Playing the ‘you aren’t paid to ask questions’ game with Darklings rarely ends well; the children of night are more inclined to respect the secrecy of even the most vile enterprise if you’ll just play straight with them, while lies can taint noble intentions forever in their eyes. It is difficult for their leaders to gain the trust of Darkling vassals, and oh so very easy to lose it.

Darklings are among those Lost who yearn to embrace high ideals in their Courts, though both their inclinations and their anxieties lead them to see quite a bit of a Court’s realpolitik either way. More than anything, they want honesty out of a Court they choose to embrace; if you walk your talk, a Darkling is a lot more willing to see how those cynical political needs stem from, and feed back into, the high ideals that are on the recruitment poster. Tell a would-be Darkling knight that Summer needs ammo to defend the weak, and ammo costs money, and they’ll agree - but if those bullets start getting aimed at the ones you’re supposed to protect, you don’t get to act surprised when the Darkling shoots you in the back in turn. Of course, there can be those Darklings who live down to their worst selves, but their peers often invest quite a bit of energy in hauling them out of such pits - or burying them in it. The children of night don’t have a lot of trust to go around, and errant brothers who piss on the Freehold’s goodwill don’t get tolerated for long.

Spring - Though Darklings are good at Spring’s social games, they do not often join the Emerald Court. Openly admitting to their Desires, putting their wants and needs out where others can see them, is terrifying for most Darklings. Spring’s chaotic culture also makes it difficult to predict and adapt to, and for a Darkling this combination of factors is often as appealing as having a rabid weasel stapled to the inside of their thighs. Those who do take the comparatively extreme step of joining Spring are often looking to make equally extreme changes in their lives; they may be driven by self-loathing, trying to reject the guilt they feel over a particularly violent Durance, or hoping to hide from enemies (real or imagined) behind the flash and thunder of Spring in its full flower. The Emerald Court can often be good for Darklings who do join it, though such worthies face one of the hardest tests Spring can ask of them: to accept and love themselves as they are, and not as they ‘should’ be.

Summer - It’s easy for those outside of the ranks of the raging to assume that Summer is disinterested in Darklings and that Darklings in turn are not interested in Summer, but the Iron Spear is a fairly popular destination for them. Some join up early, realizing that the feral murder they learned in Arcadia won’t fly against trained opponents, and gain discipline and brotherhood for their troubles. Others are sought out for their skills as scouts or sorcerers, and because the cautious perspective of Darklings provides invaluable additions to Summer’s battle plans. Summer can be a very stable community from which a Darkling can grow, provided they keep the trust of their brothers in arms, and the promise of being able to bring good out of the evil done to them is an appealing one.

Autumn - Ask a given non-Darkling about what Court all the Darklings end up in and chances are they’ll say Autumn. It’s an answer born, appropriately enough, of fear; Darklings can be intimidating, dreaded, mistrusted, and so of course they ‘naturally’ end up amongst the Leaden Mirror, no? The reality is rarely so cut-and-dried. Many Darklings yearn to be more than what their Keeper made them, and signing on with Autumn feels a lot like resigning themselves to evil. Those who do join are often those who believe magic is a way they can bring wonder back into the world to ‘make up’ for the horror they commit, or those whose personal terrors are so extreme that they turn to Autumn for any relief from their misery. For those Darklings that do join with Autumn, that Court is well-positioned to help them. They take well to Autumn’s essentially two-faced nature, especially with a patient mentor who can explain why it exists and that it is not, in itself, a form of deception - and, of course, when it comes to stalking, terrifying, and haunting, few are a Darkling’s equal.

Winter - The actual most popular Court for Darklings, who emerge from Arcadia already speaking the languages of caution, humility, stealth, and silence. Winter often invests quite a bit of resources in courting youngblood Darklings and persuading them of the promise of Winter; Darklings, in turn, often feel deep guilt and sorrow over what they’ve become, and the power to build a new life with no questions asked can be an incredibly attractive offer. From this initial mutual attraction can blossom wildly successful careers as Winter Courtiers. Darklings understand the ideology of stealth and the importance of information control without having to be taught it; Winter understands that being honest with its Darklings will motivate them just as much as the promise of payment and favors. The ‘trouble’, such as it is, is that at times the Coldest Court can succeed its way right out of owning a valuable operator; as their Darklings stabilize and learn to trust and love others in their guarded way, sometimes they pack up and leave. It’s never anything personal. It’s just that in becoming the sort of person with whom others feel safe sharing their Sorrows, these Darklings realize that maybe they don’t have to feel guilt over their victimization, and like frost in a sunbeam the ties that bind them to Winter melt. Those who reach this point and choose to stay are those Darklings who see value and beauty in the promise of Winter; such Courtiers quite often ramp up how active they are in their local community, becoming invested in the lives of the Flowing Pages and even members of other Courts whose lives might be bettered by the cleansing power of Sorrow and a quiet hand to hold through the dark times.

The Children Of Noose And Razor - Darkling And Changeling’s Themes

As mentioned in So You Want To Play An Ogre, Darklings are one of the two Seemings that reflect victimization by the prison-industrial complex. Where Ogres learned the language of overt violence, Darklings got by on their wits and cunning, killing in secret and smuggling goods or drugs to make money on the side. Mastering a corrupt system corrupts the Darklings in turn, and when they escape, they take that corruption with them.

More broadly, however, Darklings represent those whose violent abuse has rendered them an imperfect victim; someone who, despite being as scared of you as you are of them, is infinitely more dangerous than you are. Darklings are primed to represent the consequences of growing up amidst gang violence, being raised into a mob family, or being pressured as a young professional into criminal enterprises. The recent med school graduate who learns that her great job offer is a front for organlegging might be a Darkling if she gets out alive; so, too, might a child whose father presses a .32 into his hands and bids him to make his first kill ‘for the family’. Anywhere that violent abuse encourages its victims to hide their thoughts and feelings, and to become complicit in order to feel safe, you will find Darklings.

Such unfortunates are rarely ‘perfect’ victims, and their coping mechanisms may not be healthy or acceptable to conventional society. It is the second cruelty; having first been victimized, the people whose trauma Darklings represent are then made to feel dirty, unworthy, or even monstrous for what their pain has turned them into. One drinks to be able to sleep through her nightmares; another fucks his way through bed after bed, never quite developing meaningful relationships because he fears closeness as much as he craves it. Many have hair-trigger tempers or put up emotional walls to keep friends and family away; more than a few hurt people to feel powerful. Some of the most tragic cases involve attempted suicide. All are, too often, abandoned by the very people who should be making extra strides to help them.

Thematically, Darkling has an unusual relationship to gender - in particular, femininity-  that is worth talking about. Society expects traumatized women to be delicate, virtuous things, to play the part of the perfect victim and to perform femininity in order to deserve help. This is rarely the case, and when it inevitably turns out that a woman victimized by violence is not an angel garbed in human flesh this is used as an excuse to belittle her, doubt her, or even persecute her. Survivors who, like many Darklings, turn to knives and shotguns to feel safe again find their pain used against them by a society that demands they continue to perform for it. In this sense, the trauma Darkling women experience can radically change their relationship to gender expression or even gender identity, potentially alienating them from their former communities and leaving them with the daunting task of attempting to trust and connect with new ones. That so many end up becoming angry loners is rarely because they want to be.

Though a Darkling is inclined to keep their desires and preferences secret, resist the temptation to literally make them love nothing. Just as an Ogre is not wholly defined by violence and an Elemental is not wholly defined by magic, a Darkling wholly defined by her trauma is a badly-written Darkling. What does your Darkling do to relax? What sorts of secret collections do they keep in their home and why do they love those things? What is their idea of a ‘good’ life? Do they live that life? Why or why not? Darklings get beaten down harder and deeper into the gutter than almost any other Lost, but that does not make the gutter their home; indeed, often it only deepens their lust for sunlight and song.

My Roommate, Mister Twelve-Gauge - Coping As A Darkling

Much like Ogres and Wizened, Darklings have a great concern with their physical, environmental safety. Where Wizened crave a controlled space in which to enact daily rituals that help ground them, though, Darklings need options; varied routes to get to and from favorite haunts, multiple entrances to their homes, even multiple homes if they can find a way to swing it (or at least a secure bolt-hole to run to). In the numerous cases where a Darkling can’t live in an isolated cabin with clear sightlines in every direction, they tend to favor spaces which are either temporary or can be made temporary; apartments, hotels, and squats are all commonly chosen by Darklings specifically so that they can be abandoned with a minimum of long-term attachments. As the Darkling begins to heal and considers group home ideas such as moving in with her Motley or with a girlfriend, she’s likely to continue to rent a second space on the side as income permits so that she can have solitude on demand.

A Darkling’s home reveals a lot about herself in a way she’s unlikely to in conversation. If she collects things, they’ll be on display here. If she’s into something - a specific band, videogames, history - then paraphernalia related to that thing will be all over the place. Few valuables as such are likely to be present (Darklings have a habit of stashing those in safes, deposit boxes, or even dead drops) as such, but for a Darkling whose passions run in the right direction objects of value like high-quality cooking utensils, powerful electronics, or collectors’ items might be present. The resulting clutter might seem to work against the Darkling obsession with physical safety, but it generally conceals the other feature of Darkling homes: traps. Unwelcome guests may find that tripwires connect to noisemakers which wake the Darkling from her slumber, or that an unwisely-opened door was tied to a loaded shotgun. Darklings might scatter caltrops in their hallways, rig fatal pit traps that drop people to hard basement floors, and conceal weapons throughout their home. They know it’s insane, but most do it anyway: the extra ritual needed to avoid their own traps is worth the feeling of raw security they provide. While an Ogre trusts in clear sightlines to put any intruder into their own two hands, Darklings put their faith in the secrets of their homes that they know and their enemies do not.

A given Darkling likely denies knowing about or caring for any of her neighbors. Certainly she knows her neighborhood very well, especially all routes into and out of it (the recent rise in the popularity of parkour has been a godsend for Darklings the world over), and if you can catch her off her guard the Darkling may well speak glowingly of the architecture, her favorite stores or hangouts, the local parks. Those who mistake the Darkling’s guarded heart for apathy are in for a rude awakening when they fuck with those under her protection. Darklings do not practice performative violence and they tend to be bad at giving second chances; the first warning that you’ve managed to anger one is generally when they’re feeding your hand into a garbage disposal or the DEA breaks down your front door looking for 20 kilos of cocaine you don’t remember owning but which is, would you look at that, definitely in your house. Older, calmer Darklings learn to issue threats or warnings, but even then you only really get one.

Darklings have a big obvious problem - to wit, Being Darklings - that defines the arc of their recovery, but being able to understand their bullshit and being able to solve it are two very different things to ask of them. Confronting that their coping mechanisms are, to an extent, maladaptive can be the patient work of years; trying to decide how much is healthy to hold onto and how much needs to be excised can take even longer. Darklings often seek out the company of Wizened and Ogres, with whom they share commonalities that don’t have to be spoken aloud to be understood; conversely, Darkling rivalries with Fairest can be the stuff of legends, as can the side bets on when they’re going to just fuck already everyone else can see you’re in love you idiots. Though they rarely gain the acclaim of their peers and society, Darklings make for steadfast friends who really will help you bury a body, and for many that quiet acceptance and unconditional love is the pinnacle of years of struggle to feel deserving of that love.

Example Darkling - Detective Pomander (”Melpomene”), Winter Antiquarian

Everyone in the run-down East Side knows about the Detective. No one’s exactly sure what her name is. She turns up after sketchy shit goes down, in her long coat with that smile on her face, and she asks questions. No. No, not asks questions. She makes statements; she says things about you that she shouldn’t know. She brings up connections to people you yourself might have forgotten about. She’s fucking creepy, is what she is, and by the time she’s done explaining the situation you’re telling her everything just so she’ll go away. The worst parts are when someone disappears. You think they moved away? That a gang got ‘em, or the mob they owed that drug money to? The Detective doesn’t. The Detective wants to know everything you’ve ever known about them.

Melissa Pomander - known to the Lost as Melpomene - isn’t a cop, but everyone thinks she is. Even people who know that “Detective” Pomander isn’t with the police forget sometimes; she radiates an aura of lawful authority that puts people ill at their ease and suggests in subtle ways that failure to please her will introduce you to worlds of suffering beyond your comprehension. It was this knack that first drew the attention of the Lord of the Inhospitable Chamber; it was his training that made Melpomene his replacement when he gave his life relaying vital information back to the Freehold. Detective Pomander knows people have good reason to be scared of her, but she works tirelessly on their behalf nonetheless. A bright young thing from Spring with a thing for cop roleplaying in bed says she saw the size of Melissa’s pay packets once. Detective Pomander rakes in enough cash to live in a plush mansion staffed with sexy maids. So why’s she live in a studio apartment and only get drunk enough to fuck on the nights of the new moon?

Next up: Fairest

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you know of any fics where John and Sherlock are married and captured and tortured/hurt?

Hi Nonny!

Oh gosh you know, I don’t really recall if any of the fics I have with this premise is of them being married. Perhaps some of my Lovelies will be able to refresh my memory? Otherwise I do have a small number of fics with torture tagged in them, so I’ll give them to you in the meantime

CAPTURE AND TORTURE

See also:

Kidnapping, Hostage, & Stalking

Kidnapping, Hostage, & Stalking Pt. 2

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w, 1 Ch.. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn’t play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

Nightfall by CKLizzy (T, 8,001 w., 4 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Nightmares, Depictions of Violence/Torture/Injuries, Bed Sharing) – Awoken by nightmares, John and Sherlock seek each other’s company at night. They find more than either of them knew they were missing. Part 1 of Solace

We are all together alone by Mildredandbobbin (M, 10,461 w., 18 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Implied Torture, PTSD, Child Loss, Post-S3) – John is back at 221B but his relationship with Sherlock is not what it used to be.

White Blank Page by SarahCat1717 (M, 11,936 w., 7 Ch. || Post-TRF, Clever John, Reunion Fic, Pining Sherlock, Letters, Fantasies) – Post-fall, Sherlock is off eliminating Moriarty’s crime web. He finds he misses John. He can’t divulge that he still lives, but he placates his need to communicate with John and still feel a connection with him by sending him blank letters. But over time, this writing exercise lends itself to Sherlock exploring his feelings for his friend. What will happen when Sherlock returns to London and the man he has been “writing” to regularly for the past two years? NOT S3 compliant. Mary who?

When to Let Go by KendylGirl (M, 22,109 w, 8 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Reverse Reichenbach, Sacrifice, Forgiveness, Angst, Love, Implied Drug Use) – What if it were John who had to die to thwart Moriarty’s plans? John’s supposed death shatters Sherlock, and when he returns, it will challenge the pair to forge a path of forgiveness, to peace, and to find a way back to each other. Part 1 of When to Let Go

26 Pieces by Lanning (E, 28,236 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Torture, First Time, Happy Ending, Schmoop, Past Abuse) – Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn’t simple.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Bloody But Unbowed by BeautifulFiction (E, 43,211 w., 8 Ch. || Abduction, John Whump, Mild Torture, Background Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort) – When a familiar argument threatens to destroy the last remnants of John and Sherlock’s failing friendship, both men are left questioning their worth to one another. Before either of them has the chance to make amends, circumstance intervenes. John is left at the mercy of his abductors, and this time, he’s not sure Sherlock will bother coming to his rescue.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn’t Sherlock, he couldn’t work miracles. All he’d ever been able to do was write about them.

Lost Without My Blogger by starrysummernights (E, 52,155 w., 25 Ch. || Rev. Reich, PTSD, Hurt / Comfort, Fluff / Angst, Psychological Torture, Reunion Fic, Friends to Lovers) – John is abducted and declared dead. How will Sherlock cope without his blogger? How will he react when John comes back from the “dead?” Drama and angst with a healthy dose of romance. Part 1 of I’d Be Lost Without My Blogger

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn’t have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more. 

THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF JOHN WATSON by skyefullofstars (T, 110,758 w., 24 Ch. || H/C, Kidnapping, Angst, Violence, Whump, Nightmares, Murder, Drug Addiction, Torture) – While Sherlock grapples with his new-found feelings for John Watson, he faces a very real threat: John’s kidnapping and shooting at the hands of James Moriarty. And the knowledge that the love of his life is being used to test an addictive drug - at the risk of John’s sanity and life. Prequel to THE BOYS OF BAKER STREET. Part 1 of THERE BUT FOR THE GRACE OF JOHN WATSON

The Swan Triad Series by Pennin_Ink (T, 121,660 w. across 3 works || Swan Lake AU || Magical / Fairy Tale AU, Romance, Falling in Love, Pining, Psychological Torture, Transformation) – Sherlock and John grow up spending every summer together. Their mothers’ attempts to play matchmaker only fuel their mutual resentment and scorn. But then, one summer.

Ten Days by Engazed (E, 137,208 w., 31 Ch. || Rape/Non-Con, Post-TRF, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Case Fic) – Sherlock Holmes has been dead for forty months, and John is at last beginning to live his life again. But just when he believes he might be happy, his world crashes back down around him. John is named a missing person. Someone is pointing DI Lestrade in the wrong direction. And as the days pass, his situation only grows more dire. It seems like the disappearance of his best friend is the only thing that can bring Sherlock Holmes back from the dead. Part 1 of The Fallen

[transgalthoughts]

What if it was only going to be a phase, until everything else happened.

In primary school I was extensively bullied. Physically and verbally. I often ended up crying. The issue is no one gave a shit. The verbal bullying was mostly from girls, and the physical from boys. I remember once saying something back to one of the girls who frequently made me cry that made her cry, and I got chastised heavily for it by the teacher. The teacher never cared when she or any of the other girls or boys made me cry.

I was also attacked quite a lot by my brother at home who was 3 and a half years older than me. He would really beat the shit out of me sometimes, and I'd be scared for my life. I remember one time lying on my back on the floor with him pinning my arms down with his arms and his knee on my neck, my eyes slowly closing involuntarily before he decided to get off me. This all happened with other adults around and sometimes in the same room my Mum, my Dad, family friends etc. "Boys will be boys". I would sometimes beg them to help and scream that I was so scared he was gonna kill me this time but they would never care enough to do anything more than leave the room.

So I was abused extensively as a teenager by my Mum, with my Mother consistently reminding me that no one would ever believe I was an abuse victim because I was male. This was proven absolutely correct when she once got drunk and called the police on me when I was 15 because I refused to come out of my room. They arrived, asked her what was going on and she said I was abusing her. They came into my room and told me that I might be a child now but if I hit my mum when I reached 16 they would arrest me and I would have a criminal record for the rest of my life. I said I have never once hit her ever, but I have photos of injuries that she has inflicted upon me and witnesses of this happening. She clarified to them that I had been "emotionally abusing" her by refusing to come out of my room, not even for meals, and never talking to her. I told them again that I have photos of injuries she has inflicted upon me and witnesses to this happening and I got the images up on my phone to show them. They waved their hands dismissively at me and said "it's fine we're not going to press any charges against you for the moment, but you need to be nicer to your Mum" then left my room. And then came back in and said "btw your Mum told us that at one point you tried to run away, I think you should be aware that if you do then you will be deemed to have made yourself intentionally homeless and will therefore be unable to receive any government support, look we get a lot of calls about teenage boys in your position being like this so just don't" and then they left.

So despite me knowing my rights, being completely unconvinced by her trying to convince me it was my fault, and knowing I didn't deserve this. I was stuck being extensively domestically abused for 5 years (13-18) because I was a guy. The police were very explicit about the fact that it was because I was a guy. And I know that would absolutely not have happened to me if I was a 15 year old girl and my Dad was physically abusing me and I had evidence and witnesses to it

I had friends though, people I could reach out to that I was close with. And I did, and they were supportive, and then they just got kinda bored. Everyone was going through puberty, there was an overabundance of people feeling sorry for themselves. The guys would rather support girls because it gave them that white knight feeling, and the girls would rather support girls because it was something they could relate to more and it made them uncomfortable to hear a) about just how shit my situation was and b) the fact I was suggesting that this particular individual circumstance that I faced was worse because I was a guy than this exact situation would have been for me if I was a girl was "a bit anti-feminist" so there went all my support for that. I was still my female friend's go to for whenever they had a problem but they wouldn't let me talk about mine anymore.

Then I got a girlfriend, we'd both had a crush on each other for 5 years, but they'd rejected me initially cos they thought I deserved someone better and then they confessed that they had liked me the whole time and asked me out. And it was great, to begin with, and then they started getting sexually explicit texts from other guys that they personally knew and at first I was nothing but sympathetic but then I found out this wasn't people messaging her out of the blue this was people she engaged in regular conversation with coming onto her and her not telling them to stop. I asked her if she could tell them to stop but she never did, it just continued for the whole of our relationship.

We'd been doing everything except penetrative sex for a while and we were both comfortable with that and then she told me that she wanted to have sex soon and I said I was happy to if she was, then she said that she couldn't wait to tell her friends because so far only one person in her friendship group was having sex and it would be great to have some stories of her own. This made me really uncomfortable and I said I didn't want to have sex if she was gonna tell her friends about it the second we did. After a month she finally agreed she wouldn't tell her friends and we had sex the next week. Then the very next day she told her friends "by accident".

Then she started getting bored of me. Apparently I was "too nice" but she said it was mainly that she wanted to be more adventurous with other people. So she broke up with me, then got back with me, about 5 times. After the 3rd time she asked me in frustration why I didn't fight for her when she broke up with me.

Then I went to uni. I ended up making friends with a group of people who seemed really nice and were by themselves, but as the only white guy in the group, the butt of everyone's jokes about how I probably didn't deserve my place here, my life was so much easier than everyone else's etc. All of these people knew about my past extensively. They just didn't care. I was a guy, so my life was easy.

Then I got a girlfriend at uni, she was the one to ask me out. She knew everything about me and my past, all the things detailed previously before we went out. Things were great initially, then she asked me to initiate more cos it apparently made her feel shit that I didn't initiate as often. So I did. She also asked me if it was okay for her to call me sir in bed sometimes and I said yeah sure I mean whatever gets people off. After a few months she started to get more distant after sex and said that sometimes she just feels weird and kinda sensory overloady after sex. Then it progressed to her not wanting to hold hands or touch any time we weren't having sex. And eventually to her recoiling when I accidentally touched her. She then told me she had been groped by her teacher at school and had just started thinking about it again. She didn't mention the fact she called me sir in bed but I could put two and two together and work out that she'd been using me to fulfill an abuse fantasy. So I just started saying no to sex whenever she initiated it. She was also the clearest example of explicitly telling me to not talk about my problems please after she'd spent the entire first half of our relationship talking about how suicidal she was and how she once attempted suicide. This applied to her male friends as well, one of whom attempted suicide while we were together and her primary reaction was *oh for fuck sake, he's such a moron*, but not her female friends who she always had time for even if the problem was just that they'd been overthinking a bad conversation with their parents.

When we finally had the conversation that culminated in us breaking up I asked her if she could initiate more, cos at the beginning she had initiated all the time and asked me to initiate more, and I'd done that but now she had stopped initiating and I was the only one that did. And she said she prefers relationships where only the guy initiates.

My friends who were friends with my girlfriend (both school and uni) never stopped being friends with them. Even after finding out everything they had done and how they had treated me, and ditching guys who had done the same or equivalent to their girlfriends without a second glance, even if they were only friends with the original guy and not the girlfriend.

I just can't handle being a guy. My life has been such shit and I have been treated so badly by people. And I know that isn't unique or even rare but what is rare is that not one of my friends has even thought to question their relationship with others who have treated me like shit when I have seen them drop guys who treat girls like that almost instantaneously.

I hate that my suffering is viewed as inherently less worthwhile or meaningful because I am a guy, that my emotions are somehow less valid, that I can't be a real victim, that I'm always either a neutral party or a perpetrator. Even going clubbing, and trying to get past a group, or going on a walk at night pre-covid, people would stare at me like I'm a rapist and cross to the other side of the street to avoid me. I can never be unhappy in a group situation with people I don't know because if I end up in a corner not really talking much people look at me like I'm a creep waiting for my chance to spring out of the shadows and rape someone when I'm really just too insecure to strike up a conversation, and no one initiates conversations with guys at parties anyway. Girls want to talk to girls and guys want to talk to girls.

And I know the only chance of escaping all of this shit and make sure it doesn't just endlessly repeat until I die is if I transition and people start seeing me as a woman.

And maybe it won't be enough, maybe it could have been if I'd started earlier but now I will still always have an imposing or threatening frame. But I have nothing to lose at this point. The way friends family teachers and all other authority figures have treated me as a guy is not worth trying to live with or figure out. I either need to change how society perceives me (ie switching to a gender where you aren't immediately deemed as entirely worthless if you don't have confidence) or die.

[glowwormsmith]

I wanna know ALL the angst questions for Iris, my latest fascination, because I’m always a slut for Eden’s Gate ocs and her playlist is full of BOPS seriously you have excellent taste in music 👌💕

asdfds thank you!!💗 I’m glad you like the playlist for her, I worked hard on it. It’s half sad, soft girl who loves her flower girlfriend, half horror movie villain lol. I also really like talking about Iris, since she’s an unrepentant follower of Faith and Joseph and I can make a complex villain. Let’s get into the angst.

oc angst questions here for reference!

(cw for child abuse/domestic abuse/mental illness/sexual trauma mentions/self-harm/suicidal thoughts and idealization below the cut. Let me know if you need anything else tagged.) 

💙 If Iris were dying near Faith or Joseph, her final words would be nothing but gratitude and love for saving her, accepting her into their family and giving her purpose. With Faith, she would tell her she was the only person she ever loved and promises she’ll wait for her in the afterlife, even if she doesn’t truly believe in such deep down. If she is dying in the presence of her enemies, she will curse their names and go down like a bitch: taunting and spitting poison at them, defiant to the end. 

In my story, Iris survives the Collapse and the events of “New Dawn;” she’ll most likely die of natural causes down the road, which the Deputy and Iris’s other victims find unfair.

💧 The worst physical pain she was in was when her father brutalized and locked her up in the basement for three days when she was fourteen because she was hanging out with a girl after-school and they came across her giving the girl a kiss; she doesn’t remember much about her past that was rife with abuse, but this moment has stuck in her mind due to the fact that this was the first instance of severe abuse and when she became a prisoner within her own family.

The worst pain she was in mentally was when Faith died. She had mainly healed from her past thanks to being with Faith and the Project; even when the Project was under siege by the Resistance, it was fine because she had Faith. When she came across Faith’s body in the river, Iris had a complete mental shutdown, simply holding Faith’s body in her arms and sitting on the river bank, talking to her as if she were alive. Only Joseph was able to pull Iris away from Faith and Iris needed time alone/with Joseph to process her grief.

🔷 While Iris does not regret leaving her dysfunctional and abusive family, she notes that it was a great leap of faith that culminated in more abuse while on the road; the only reason she never tried to go back was because she could not bear to be locked up again under the grip of her cruel and sadistic father, uncaring and cold older sister, and an awful uncle, aunt and cousins who helped in the abuse.

She was abandoned by her birth mother when she was ten, who had been her only source of comfort. Her mother’s abandonment gave Iris both a feeling of low self-worth but also a desire to be as brave as that woman to leave her prison one day, even if it was into an unknown and uncaring world.

🔵 Her home life was never pleasant and it grew worse when her mother ran off when Iris was ten. She became a captive within her own family at fourteen and she developed severe depression, anxiety, severe anger problems, suicidal idealization, and even sadistic tendencies as a result. She was able to escape after killing her sister in a fit of rage, though it didn’t get better as Iris became homeless and was further exploited on the road.

It is all a blur to her and she prefers it that way, with only a few key memories standing out in her mind. She had to overcome a lot of sexual trauma to show physical affection for Joseph and Faith, and even then they are the only two she allows to touch her. She has an inherent distrust of law enforcement (her aunt was a detective that helped to keep any suspicious people away) and has developed a fear of men, dogs, sex-repulsed, sharp objects, confined spaces and loud voices. She also wonders, in her moments of self-reflection, if she would have been a better person without her dysfunctional family, or if she was always this cruel and vindictive.

❄️ She regrets having to turn to prostitution, thievery and even murder while she was homeless. While she knows it wasn’t her fault that her family treated her awfully, she feels shame and disgust over what she had to do on the road, to the point where she wonders if she should have just died instead of kept going. Faith and Joseph have to continuously remind her that no, she’s not “dirty” or “bad” for having to survive and that if she chose to die, then they would never have gotten the chance to know her. While it makes her feel better to hear this from the two people she loves, the negative intrusive thoughts refuse to go away, so she copes by projecting onto others, becoming a bully and tormentor herself.

💦 She tended to self-harm before Eden’s Gate and she still tends to do it at her lowest of lows or if no one’s around. She also has the urge to be a huge asshole to others, as a way to get her pent-up frustration and bitterness and negative emotions out. This unfortunate habit is supported by EG because, even though Joseph wants to save as many people as possible, he allows his followers to fight the Resistance and she takes the opportunity to be cruel to “sinners.” 

She has become somewhat reliant on the Bliss, since being in the Bliss makes all the bad thoughts go away.

🌊 Iris is a pretty mean-spirited and petty person, but she can hide it well to put up a sympathetic and sincere front. When she’s hit her low, she drops the facade and goes hard; pray you aren’t on the receiving end of her anger or if you’re dealing with her during an episode.

If she becomes triggered or has a panic attack, she’ll dissociate and find a quiet place out in the woods to curl up and wait to settle her mind. She’ll look to Joseph or Faith for comfort and reassurance she is fine, that they won’t leave her or let anyone harm her.

☄️ She does, though it has gotten better due to healing from Joseph and Faith. She only opens up to these two, though she has enough emotional intelligence (probably due to healing from them) to understand that they are the only two she can even genuinely love at this point.  She is complex: on first glance, you’d think she wasn’t affected by her past at all, but more time and learning about her history that her experience has shaped Iris into her current personality and behaviors, even if she suppresses much of her memory.  By the time of “New Dawn,” she has completely forgotten her past and only knows Eden’s Gate; the only trace memory of her past life is that “monsters made me a monster.”

🔹 She has scars on her arms and thighs from both self-harm and the abuse from her family. Her family were more careful not to leave evidence of the abuse, so most of the scars from them are mental. She hates looking at the scars because she sees them as her weakness and impurity, so she covers them up when she can.  Iris has gotten so good at burying her past that most of the Resistance or even regular EG members simply believe she is an asshole or monster, without realizing that her past has made her this way.

To quote Daenerys Targaryen, “If I look back, I am lost.” Iris refuses to dwell on the past, purely seeing them as monsters she had to face before she found her true family, her true father who loves and protects her, and her true love of her life.  By refusing to give thought to her birth family and life on the road, she both allows herself to bury the abuse and let the trauma and hurt manifest itself in her personality, relationships with others, and behavior.  It’s both good and bad, and just like the Seed family, she really needs proper counseling but will never truly get it so she copes in different, sometimes even unhealthy, ways.

📘 Theme: Meet-Cute (have an angsty drabble with a happy/hopeful ending lol)

I want to die.  I don’t want to, but I do. It hurts too much to keep going, but I’m too scared to end it.

It was funny how Iris realized the folly of her desire to both live and not live, how beautiful it would be to lie down in the field of white bell-shaped flowers, close her eyes and stop breathing, rotting back into the soil and letting her bones become home to the flowers and weeds and worms. 

Before she was taken out of school, her English class had read Hamlet and she had been idealizing Ophelia since, a beautiful death, and she had looked at any river she passed with a longing to enter it and not come out. But then she remembered her mother, the ghost of a woman whose only true strength came in her running away into the unknown, and any attempt to end her life was half-hearted and abandoned, with the next thought turning to how she would get her next meal, with only three dollars in her pocket.

It doesn’t matter now. Food, shelter, dying by my own hand. They’re found me. Iris had seen them when she wandered into that small town, putting up pictures of her at sixteen near a dive bar and speaking to the town’s preacher. She had frozen only briefly before he slunk back into the shadows of the forest line and kept wandering. They had been searching for her the whole time since she killed the Bitch and left the Cage; the Monsters that had the nerve to call her blood. She allowed a small, bitter chuckle that it took two years to cross her path; she always knew she was the smart one among them...And then a hysteric sob burst out as she fell to her knees, her tongue tasting iron as her lip broke. She would die easy by their hands; they probably wouldn’t even kill her as they dragged her back “home.”  The memories were coming back, no matter how she tried to push them down into the darkness: the Beast’s hands and voice and evil laughter, being dragged into the Dark Room again, feeling the pangs of hunger....Iris stopped her sobs, only letting the tears form but never cry.

No. She would not let herself be drawn back there. Not after escaping, not after putting herself through cruelty on the world just for the sake of freedom. Only she had the right to her body and mind and thoughts; no one, especially those Monsters, were going to take it away. Only she would be the decider of her fate.

Just as Iris was about to reach into her pocket to pull out the switchblade and steel herself to fight against her survival instinct, she heard singing. It was soft at first as Iris looked up and around the field of bell flowers.

“H-Hello?” she called out, voice hoarse. Perhaps I’m already dead. She then stood up and walked towards it, both curious and more of her survival instinct keeping her alive as long as possible.

The singing became clearer as Iris spotted a figure twirling in the field. It was a pretty sound, but there was no lyrics, just melodious humming and chiming.

The singing belonged to a beautiful young woman and Iris felt any unease at meeting a strange ease; she only had fear and mistrust of men, and this girl...was an angel. She was clad in a pure white dress, her dirty blonde hair hanging loosely to her shoulders and she was holding a flower as she danced without a care in the field. Even her bare feet looked untouched and mildly muddied, which only endeared Iris to this wood nymph.

She then took note of Iris, who was conscious of how dirty and plain she looked compared to the lovely girl’s pristine appearance, with matted red hair, grimy face, stench and tattered clothes she pulled from Goodwill and hardly replaced. Rather than look surprise or disgusted, the angelic girl smiled kindly.

“Hello, friend. Do you need help?”

“I...” Iris was unaccustomed to speaking to anyone in such a pleasant manner since her time on the road, let alone anyone asking her for help so kindly and without any secondary motivation. She blinked in confusion then looked behind her, afraid her family would suddenly appear with their horrid faces and harsh words to drag her away. She must have looked panicked when the girl’s brow furrowed in concern, though the sweet smile was still on her face.

Iris saw the girl open her hands towards her and she feared she would be touched so she drew back, but the girl kept her hands open, waiting for Iris to take them herself. Iris felt her hands fold together and began picking her skin with her nails, her eyes drawn towards the soft, clean hands. She had no right to touch them with her own dirty ones.

“I can take you to my home. We have warm food, showers and a place to rest. You seem to have been traveling for awhile. There’s no need to be afraid of me. My name is Faith; what’s your name?”

“...I-Iris. Umm...” God, she’s so pretty and kind. Like a real angel. Can someone like me be so lucky to be in her presence?

“That’s a beautiful name. Iris, would you like to come home with me?” Faith asked. “You’ll be safe there.”

Iris felt her mouth twist into a scowl. “Nowhere’s ever safe.” She cringed and thought that Faith would turn away from her now that she showed her ugliness, but Faith nodded and gave a quiet hum in agreement.

“I know all too well how unsafe this world and people can be. But there’s no where quite as safe as Eden’s Gate,” Faith said. “I know I’m a stranger to you, but all friends start as strangers, and if you come with me, you’ll finally feel the safest you’ll ever be.”

Iris looked to Faith and noticed her brown eyes, like a doe’s. All the barriers she put up with people melted away as she looked at the open, beautiful face, the soft lips curved in a smile. Iris gulped. Who knows how long the Monsters will be in this area for. “Alright. I’ll...I’ll take a leap of faith.”

Faith let out a chuckle at that, which sounded wonderful to Iris’s ears, and the girl took Faith’s hands into her own, was lead out of the field and into a new life.

[salaciouscrumpet]

Whumptober Day 22

Whumptober Day 22 Prompt: “Hallucination”

As is becoming my norm I had a few different ideas to take this prompt in, but I ended up deciding that one of those ideas is big enough to be put in one of my future books, so I’m holding on to that one. Instead I decided to use this prompt to share a little backstory.

Introducing yet another new character who, for reasons that will immediately become obvious, won’t be featuring too heavily in the actual series.

CW: suicide (not a main character), suicidal ideation, complicated feelings about suicide, non-graphic references to childhood sexual abuse, victim blaming, homophobia, implied alcohol abuse, foul language

I don’t think it’s a particularly dark ficlet, even for Whumptober, but given the triggering nature of these issues I thought it important to caution for them.

Characters: Luke, Danny 

Once upon a time the rocky outcropping on the north end of the island had been Luke’s refuge. It was far enough away from the house that his parents couldn’t be bothered to come find him there unless he was in real trouble, and his younger sister Alice didn’t like the cold breeze that always seemed to come in off the lake. Milena was too young to wander off on her own, so she was easy enough to escape. The only person who looked for Luke there was Danny, and that was okay, Luke idolized Danny. 

Luke had idolized Danny. 

“You’re dead,” Luke said, facing out towards the water as his brother joined him along the rocks. The lake was especially choppy, dark waves topped with whitecaps. The water would be cold if he were to wade into it, and the air would be even colder when he got out. 

“Yup,” Danny agreed, sounding ridiculously complacent about it. He also sounded … young. 

After a moment of silence Luke turned and faced his brother, sucking in a startled breath when he saw him. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting – something gruesome, maybe, given that Daniel Kandarian Jr. had been dead for twenty years – but it wasn’t the young-looking person beside him. Danny had been three years older than Luke, and in his mind Luke always thought of his brother as being perpetually older than him, even as his memories of what his brother had looked like remained untouched by the years. Danny had died at sixteen, however, and while that had seemed so much older to thirteen-year-old Luke, thirty-four-year-old Luke recognized him as the child he’d been. And yet, still, Danny somehow seemed older than Luke. 

“This isn’t real,” Luke said, turning away again. He was glad Danny didn’t look the way he should look after being buried for two decades, but at the same time it cut something deep inside to see him there, that face so familiar and yet so painfully young. Sixteen had been too young to die; even twenty years later, Luke wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. 

“Nope,” Danny agreed, still cheerful. He’d always been a little shit; he’d just seemed cooler to the younger brother who had idolized him. He gestured vaguely out towards the water, and for a brief moment Luke thought he saw … something … out beyond the horizon. Glimpses of a hospital room, machines with too many wires and flashing lights, and a set of anxious faces bowed over the bed. Then it was gone, and there was nothing but the waves and the skyline, dark and forbidding. 

“Something’s wrong with me.” Luke frowned out at the water, trying to remember. There had been a patrol, he recalled that much. He’d been with Kate and Gin and … one of the new recruits, a young man whose name eluded him at the moment. Carter? Kerry? Carson? Something like that. They had stumbled across a nest of fledgling demons and then … Nothing. It was all blank. His body ached, though, all through his joints and muscles, and there was a sharper pain in his side. He felt cold and sore and unbelievably tired. He glanced at Danny out of the corner of his eye and saw his brother watching him intently. “Am I dead? Dying?” 

Danny shrugged. “Beats the hell outta me, dude. This is your dream.” 

“Right.” Luke sighed. “Great.” 

He turned away from the water, unsettled by the vague glimpses of an outside world that he kept getting beyond the waves. In the opposite direction there was nothing but trees, although he knew that if he were to walk further in he would soon come to his parents’ house near the middle of the island. He hadn’t been ‘home’ in over a decade, not since his father had disavowed him. He imagined not much had changed; his parents had never been big on changing. He’d learned that at a young age, and both he and Danny had paid the price for it in their own ways. 

“I never really forgave you, you know,” Luke said softly. He shifted restlessly, one foot to the other, and the fact that he could hear the wind through the trees but not the sounds of his booted feet scraping against rock reminded him that he was dreaming, or maybe hallucinating. It seemed his brain could only fabricate so much of the world around him; anything more, and the details just weren’t there. 

“Yeah, I know,” Danny replied, his own voice just as soft. He didn’t sound apologetic, exactly, but that might have just been because he, too, was a fabrication of Luke’s mind, and Luke didn’t have many memories of his older brother sounding genuinely sorry about anything. 

“For a long time I thought maybe they’d done it. I know Dad had the coroner’s report changed so that your death was ruled an accident, but I thought … maybe it wasn’t you. That it hadn’t been you who’d done it to yourself.” 

Danny let out a startled laugh. “That’s fucked up, dude. You’d rather think Mom and Dad killed me, than I killed myself?” 

Luke nodded once, jerkily. It was fucked up, but as a devastated thirteen-year-old he couldn’t understand why his older brother would have done something so selfish. How Danny, who he adored and worshiped, could just leave him like that. It wasn’t that it had been easier to believe their parents had killed him – or had had him killed – it was just that it was impossible to imagine Danny had done it to himself. It was only years later, as an adult, that Luke could look back on the situation and realize that although he hadn’t seen it at the time, his brother had been profoundly sad and troubled as a teenager. What had made it particularly confusing for Luke at the time was that in the days leading up to his suicide, Danny had suddenly started seeming happy and hopeful. Up until the moment that Danny was found hanging from a belt in his bedroom, Luke had thought he was finally, finally getting his big brother back after months of Danny being distant and cold. Adult-Luke recognized that brief period of hopefulness and happiness as a sign that his brother had made the decision to kill himself; child-Luke had had no idea. 

“They didn’t kill me,” Danny said. His tone was still unbelievably soft and gentle. “You know that, right, bud? I killed myself.” 

“Yeah,” Luke acknowledged. He did know, now. 

He wanted to ask why. Why had his older brother ended his own life? But the reality was, this wasn’t really his older brother standing here, and any answer this version of Danny could have given him would have to come from Luke’s own mind. And while Luke wanted to pretend that he didn’t know, the truth of the matter was that he suspected a number of things had played a factor in his brother’s decision to end his own life, and he would never truly know which reason was the real reason. Maybe they all were. 

Was it because their parents had put too much pressure on him, the same as they had done to Luke – to all of their children, really, except for Sam, who had been born six years after Danny’s death. Sam had been born and was instantly the golden child who could do no wrong, and even after Luke’s disavowal from the Order he had remained mercifully untouched by their parents’ abuse. Danny had been the Heir, the Kandarian who would go on to join the Knighthood and continue bringing glory and honour to the family name. He would marry well, and he and his wife would produce strong Incarnate children who would also carry on their legacy. 

Only Luke suspected that his older brother had been gay and trying to hide it, knowing full well that it wasn’t accepted within the more conservative members of the Order – including their parents. That knowledge had prompted Luke to hide his own interest in boys later on – that, and a persistent fear that Sleswick had made him be that way – and focus instead on his equal interest in girls. He had been able to hide that he was bisexual, but he didn’t think Danny had been able to successfully hide his homosexuality. Luke remembered the camp their parents had sent his brother to as a teenager, the camp he’d hated that had seemed nothing at all like the summer camp Luke had gone to with Ben and Adam. He would never be able to prove it, but he suspected that ‘camp’ had actually been a gay ‘conversion therapy’ camp, and that their parents had known about Danny and had tried to change him. 

Danny had come home from camp and a week later he’d been found hanging in his bedroom. He’d strangled himself with his belt, had tied himself up from the rafters. He hadn’t died right away, but had lingered on in the hospital for three days before his parents had agreed to let the doctors pull the plug and harvest his organs. Luke had never been able to step foot inside Danny’s bedroom again. 

At the time Luke had been so hurt and angry and confused. He had wanted to believe their parents had had something to do with it – and perhaps, in a way, they had, at least by contributing to the psychological factors that had led to Danny’s suicide. Luke had been working up the nerve to tell his older brother about Martin Sleswick, secure in the knowledge that even though everyone else might have thought Luke was just making it all up, Danny would have believed him. Danny would have known how to make the abuse stop. Danny wouldn’t have blamed Luke for it, said that he asked for it, said that he knew Luke had wanted it and had enjoyed himself. (All the things Sleswick had told Luke, when Luke had asked – begged – for him to stop and to leave him alone. It was Luke’s fault for leading him on. Luke’s mouth might have been saying no, but it had been obvious his body had wanted it. Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself, of me. We don’t want anyone to find out about this, do we? To know what a disgusting slut you are?) 

“He was an asshole, you know that, right?” Danny’s voice caught Luke by surprise, and he sucked in a sharp breath, looking at his brother in shock. “None of what he did to you was your fault.” 

“How did you …? How …?” 

“This is a dream, dummy, remember?” Danny grinned at him, but there was kindness and sympathy in his eyes. Luke realized, in that moment, that he and Danny had the same eyes. Was that a trick of memory, that he was simply seeing himself in his older brother, or had they always looked so similar to one another? “I know what you know, dude.” 

“Then you know I don’t really believe that,” Luke replied, stung. 

Danny let out an indignant snort. “I just said it, didn’t I? So that must mean at least a little part of you believes what I said.” 

Luke supposed that made a kind of sense, even if most of the rest of him still privately believed what Sleswick had told him decades ago had been true. He knew, intellectually, that Martin Sleswick had been grooming him almost from the moment he had arrived on the scene, and that his parents’ abuse and frequent absences made him a perfect target for a predator like him. Luke had been isolated and lonely and scared, and he’d been raised to shoulder more than his fair share of the responsibility – so why not the burden of initiating a sexual relationship with a man thirty years his senior? If he could be responsible for killing monsters and protecting humanity, then why not also be responsible for seducing an older man (even though at nine, when the abuse had begun, he’d had only the most fleeting notion of what sex even was, and no idea at all about the concept of seduction – or sexual grooming. He’d just been grateful that this kind, friendly man who everyone else respected and admired was paying attention to boring little him). 

If there was a part of him that knew not to blame himself for Sleswick’s abuse, then that part surely came in the form of Charlie and Kate. He’d gone through a period in his teens when he’d slept with every girl and woman that expressed interest in him in an effort to prove to himself that he wasn’t gay and that what he’d done with Sleswick hadn’t damaged him. Then, when he’d gone to university in Toronto – far away from his parents, his family’s fucking legacy, and a small town where everyone knew everyone – he’d gone all-out to demonstrate to himself that he could enjoy sex in spite of everything, in all its forms. Exposed to anonymous hookup culture for the first time and far away from anyone who could judge him, Luke had spent almost his entire four years of university drinking and sleeping his way through life. If someone so much as batted their eyes at him or offered to buy him a drink he’d go home with them – hell, some nights he’d just disappeared into the nearest washroom or out into the back alley, only to pop out again later in search of his next fix. Partying and sleeping around hadn’t made him feel much better about himself, his sexuality or his past, but it was the first real time he had ever rebelled against his parents and his upbringing, and while he’d thought he was sticking it to his mother and father what he was really doing was trying to destroy himself. Then he’d run into a mouthy redheaded bartender who didn’t care what his last name and who didn’t put up with any of his shit, but who liked him for who he was, not what he could do for her or to her or for the connections he had. (The fact that Kate was half-demon only served to entice him further, and in the beginning being with her had been a way of thumbing his nose at his parents.) And Kate didn’t really give a crap if he got his business degree or went on to become a famous politician, but she did care that he was throwing his life away, and so with her support he had just … stopped. Stopped fucking around, stopped partying, stopped drinking, stopped trying to self-destruct. He had graduated – by the skin of his teeth, but it still counted – and, stupid degree he’d never wanted in hand, followed Kate around Toronto like the lost puppy he’d been. She’d quit her job bartending because he’d made the decision to stop drinking and she didn’t want to risk his sobriety, they’d both found work, they’d found a place together, and for the first time in twenty years Luke was his own person. 

Then the Scions of Unforgiven had found him, the Knights of Oberon had kicked him out, and he’d joined the Alliance. And the hot Asian guy who’d always just been Kate’s best friend saved his arm for him and things had … sort of fallen into place. Kate had been the first step towards reclaiming himself, but Charlie – who’d grown up with an abundance of love and support, and who seemed determined to spread that wholesomeness around – had been the one to really spur Luke’s recovery and self-acceptance on. Kate had always had only a very marginal interest at best in sex, but Charlie had been raised in a very sex- and body-positive manner, and it had been eye-opening to see his approach to life and love. There was no slut-shaming in Charlie’s world, no kink-shaming, no doubts about his sexuality or whether or not it was right or wrong. Kate had taught Luke that sex didn’t have to be the big deal he thought it was; Charlie had made him appreciate that it was like any other pleasurable thing, something that could be enjoyed in a healthy manner, rather than an all or nothing deal. Kate had been like the first drops of rain after a lengthy drought; Charlie was like sunshine after a long and dreary winter. Both very vital and necessary to Luke’s growth, but in very different ways. 

“They’ve been good for you,” Danny commented, spurring Luke out of his thoughts. Well, maybe not exactly out of his thoughts, since Danny was just a figment of his imagination too, but still. 

“Yeah,” Luke agreed, turning back out to the water. The sun seemed to be coming up on the horizon – which made no sense, because his craggy refuge had been at the north end of the island, not the east – and he could see that faint … something … that was off in the distance more clearly. There was a beeping sound that didn’t belong out on the rocky shoreline of a small island, and the gentle murmur of familiar voices. 

He glanced back at Danny, who was standing by the water, his hands shoved in his pockets. The longer he looked at his brother the younger he seemed, and it brought to mind just how young Danny had been when he’d died. Sixteen. He’d had his whole life before him and yet he’d chosen to end it. Luke had gone there himself, more than a few times; he’d come really, really close, and even without necessarily meaning to there had been moments while out on patrol or in the midst of a skirmish where he’d thought about how easy it would be to just not fight. It wouldn’t even really be suicide, then, if he’d just let the monsters kill him. He could stop, and his family could rest easy in the knowledge that he’d gone out like a Knight of Oberon, falling in battle to an enemy. 

And then he’d snapped out of it, and fought harder, because he remembered what it had felt like to lose Danny, and he wasn’t doing that to anyone else – not even himself. 

“You don’t think it’s weird?” he asked, after a moment. “Me and Charlie and Kate?” 

“No, man.” Danny shrugged, grinning broadly. It made him look even younger, and Luke realized that had more to do with the fact that he primarily remembered Danny smiling like that when he had been younger. Danny, in the last few years of his life, hadn’t had much cause to smile. “I’m inside your head. You don’t think it’s weird, so I don’t think it’s weird.” 

“Huh. Makes sense, I guess.” Most people who found out he was in a polyamorous triad with Charlie and Kate wanted to know the details of how it worked. Don’t you get jealous? How do you make it work? Do they take turns? Most other people just wanted to make sure he knew they were doing it wrong, that it was supposed to be one man and one woman – or, grudgingly, two men together, but absolutely not three people, that was just wrong. There had only been a few people in his life – almost all of them other members of the Alliance – who simply took his relationship with Kate and Charlie as normal and none of their business. There had been some growing pains in the early stages of their relationship, just as there would have been with any relationship, but for the three of them it just worked. 

Danny snorted again, laughing quietly to himself. He faced the water, peering intently at the sun breaking across the waves. The skies were clearing and the water was growing calmer, even though that stretch of the lake was never calm. 

“You should go back,” Danny said, speaking out to the water. “They’re waiting for you to wake up.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Luke shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a woman’s voice, and thought it sounded like Ardyn, low and calm and reassuring. He looked at his brother again. “I kinda wanna stay here with you, though. I miss you, Danny.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Danny echoed him. “But Luke, dude … You know I’m not real. They are. And they’re waiting for you.” 

Luke opened his mouth to reply, to say something about how it had been twenty years and he still thought about his brother every day, but when he turned to face Danny his brother was gone. The air was still and the sun was out in full force, glistening over the waters he’d known since he was a little child, the lake he’d grown up on. His body ached and his heart was sore, but the incredible exhaustion that had seeped into him seemed to be dissipating. The noises around him were shifting, changing from waves lapping up against the rocks and wind blowing through the leaves to the beeping of medical equipment and the whispering of voices around him. 

Luke gazed out at the water one last time, then opened his eyes.

[jollyreginaldrancher]

Subtle changes that would have saved certain shitty story arcs in Pretty Little Liars

Not gonna lie, this show isn’t great and shittiness is true to its form, and while the A reveals are -at the very least- memorable, there was a lot of crap writing in between that just ruined certain hold-over storylines that were supposed to pretty much be filler until the next big thing. Here’s some subtle changes that would have vastly improved some of those storylines.

1. Talia: Talia swooped in when Emily was extremely vulnerable after the dissolution of her longest running, and most serious relationship. She had the potential to help poor Emily but instead just left her more damaged. And honestly we have seen enough of Emily getting screwed, especially in the romantic department (not that way though) and getting kicked when she was down was the last thing she needed. 

How this should’ve gone: Emily needed an Obi Wan, not an Ezra. In a brief span she lost swimming, Paige and Stanford. She was directionless and had no ambition. Talia (or maybe one of the moms. Ideally her own) should have taken her under her wing and helped her find a new passion. Through her tutelage, Emily should have finished her college arc and gotten into her dream school in California and for the first time in this goddamn show, had a relationship with a female character that didn’t eventually devolve into a romance. 

2. Hanna returning to Caleb after he came back from Ravenswood. It was cringy and fanservicey and just horrible regression on Hanna’s part. She had a great guy (Travis) who didn’t deserve to just get tossed like that, and as a slap in the face, insta-replaced by her ex, who just ditched her and left town for a while and moved on with his soulmate or whatever the heck, and just aloofly enabled her rebellious streak when he came back.

What should’ve happened: Her identity crisis should’ve ended with her realizing she was regressing to the ideals Alison instilled in her in order to control her, (ie that self worth was tied to how much people wanted you and needing to have a boyfriend and be wanted in order to feel validated) and that being near her was messing with her head so she should have cut ties with her, in the interest of self care, even if it meant cutting ties with the other girls as well. and she should’ve picked Lucas and Mona over Alison and low-key sided with them in the fifth season’s MonAlison war.

3. Spoby: What should have happened with them is a slow burn romance that was cut short in the third season with the reveal that he was on the A team. Spencer is cautious and finds it extremely hard to trust people so she shouldn’t have jumped into a relationship with him so quickly, especially considering she spent half of season one accusing him of murder. There’s no way she would get so deep with him in like, half a season alone, let alone have that on and off relationship and yet act like they were together all along in season three. It was just a mess. What should have happened is a really slow burn with them not really coming together until season three, just before the betrayal, in order to make it sting that much more.

And ultimately, she should’ve been left jaded by his betrayal and not been so quick to trust him or anyone else, and take him back. She’s Spencer, for god’s sake, not Aria! As it stands, all he did was sook a bit in order to win her back. Dude should have grovelled for a chance with her and ultimately worked up a tentative friendship with her by the end of the show, by being consistently loyal. Show should have left off in an optimistic ‘maybe they will get back together, maybe not’ manner and not straight up "yeah, I know my twin raped him but we’re banging again and I think we might be back together”.

4. Ezria. Just Ezria. There is no way that should have lasted after HIS betrayal. Not even sorry. He should have followed them to NY, got shot, and while trying to help him, the girls should have found a notepad, pen, and a voice recorder on his person. Livid, Aria should have written a message telling him never to contact her again, and not to even think about writing that book on them, otherwise she’ll go to the police and accuse him of rape, and then crushed his recording device, and starting out a dark!Aria arc. Cut to Ezra reading the message in a hospital room and angrily chucking it across the room before a familiar figure approaches (A) and draws his attention.

5. There should have been more focus on mental health, especially after critical meltdown points for the characters. Instead of just “Yup, went to the doctor and I’m fine now” they should have delved deeper into these traumas. Emily KILLED a person. Spencer blacked out in the woods out of grief. Paige was clearly suicidal! Mona’s mental state is so vague and someone should have diagnosed Alison with narcissism at the very least, years ago. The dollhouse should essentially have been followed up by at least half a season where they’re desperately trying to recover but failing because they’re rushing or just not dealing with what’s wrong up there. Radley should have played a more prominent role then, and maybe some or all girls should have been moved there for their own protection from that point on.

6. Alex Drake should not have been Spencer’s twin. At the very least it should’ve been Alison’s twin. Maybe passed it off as Spencer after extensive surgery OR by utilising those damn masks that have been showing up since about season three or four for no goddamn reason.

7. Alison trying to whitewash her story and play the victim, and Sara Harvey trying to do the same should’ve sent alarm bells shooting off in Emily’s head. She honestly should not have trusted her, and especially after all the crap she pulled, she should NOT have trusted Alison. It should have been a clue that she was A all along because her having feelings for Emily was just never on the table and they did not do the groundwork to set up an Emishit endgame at all. Alison wasn’t a love interest and she wasn’t a liar and she wasn’t a relative or a friend either so the only reason to show her as much as they did was if she was A herself, so they HAD to go that way OR kill her off. That’s literally the only way to rule her out at this point because of how they handled her in general.

8. Ezra should have come back as a villain who’s mad he didn’t get to finish his story, and not stayed on as Aria’s romantic interest indefinitely. That was ridiculous. He should’ve teamed up and provided surveilance and become obsessed with Aria and the girls and finding ways to cross them and ultimately he should have been killed off in an ironic way that involves a lot of cameras or something along those lines.

9. There were too many creeps and too many cops and too many creepy cops in Rosewood and honestly Garrett was just pretty superfluous. And the whole ‘Spencer should not make assumptions and jump the gun all the time’ message they tried to send with Ian being killed off didn’t really stick because of his involvement in the NAT club so I think instead someone else should have been responsible for those tapes like Jason perhaps, or Garret, and Ian’s name should’ve been cleared when he died, because it rings differently when an innocent man dies because of a misunderstanding than when a creep does. A lot of people tried to justify it with “yeah but he kissed Spencer” and maybe if he had an excuse like that he was blackmailed or threatened by Alison then his death would have been more dramatic. Jason for example, kept showing up but being a red herring and being generally irrelevant for the most part and this would have tied him in a bit better. It could have been a revenge thing or a ‘expose the town’s evil’ thing. He was an angry, disenfranchised young man who had substance abuse issues. It’s less of a stretch honestly for him to try to do a project where he tries to name and shame people around town for looking down on him for being a stoner, especially his sister. And he had those creepy ass pictures of Aria which hint at him stalking her, which he tried to explain away as Alison’s doing. It could be that he took them as well as the video of the girls changing, because he had the hots for her and just didn’t have the guts to tell her because she was younger and his sister’s friend.

10. Nate St Germain. Killing Maya off was bad enough but hinting at it being tied to the rest of the mystery through “Maya knew” and then coping out of it was just terrible. Maya should’ve just taken the greyhound out of town after waiting for Emily, and leaving her a ‘goodbye’ note that subtly revealed she was being stalked but didn’t leave enough information to find her or her stalker, and Nate should’ve come to town pretending he’s her cousin, and looking for her BEFORE her ‘death’. In fact her death should’ve alltogether been avoided, with Emily eventually managing to get in touch with her and finding out she’s hiding in that lighthouse and bringing Paige and Nate with her to find her and bring her home, but being led there by A in a failed attempt to get her away from him in order to warn her, by pretending to be Maya and that she wants to talk to her alone. Her recklessness should’ve caused Paige to get stabbed defending her and Nate being taken out by a cop while Maya thanked her and Paige and apologised for getting them involved, and explained that her family was moving back home and she was going with them, and her and Emily cutting things off but remaining friends, while Emily realises what a champ Paige is and how low her self esteem that she would take a knife for her, and forcing her to promise to never do anything like that again. Paige and Emily should have been trying their best at being friends at this point and working overtime to deny their chemistry, and with this scene where Maya and Emily finally end things for good, should have given Emily the closure she needed and finally enabled her to be honest and open with Paige and start something new again with her. 

More will probably follow.

[kasunex]

You know; up to this point I’ve done my best to only defend myself against my ex’s accusations. I didn’t want to stoop to her level by making any of my own. But you know what? Maybe that’s what it’ll take for her to finally get over herself. I’m sick of being the “bigger person” and hiding her misdeeds.

Of course she’d never mention that she was calling me a “rapist, abusive monster” for months before we broke up. 

Or that she would freak out (and sometimes get angry) whenever I didn’t respond quick enough, but would go out of contact for hours without telling me.

Or that she threatened to kill herself if I ever left her. 

Or that anytime she was in a bad mood and couldn’t think of a reason to get angry with me, she’d just bring up some argument we had months if not years ago and yell at me for it. 

Or that she yelled at me regularly whilst condemning me for ever yelling at her. 

Or that she told my cousin that I was an abusive rapist. 

Or that she yelled at me when I went to visit my relatives to the point I’d have to make excuses as to why I was constantly leaving to go outside or to the bathroom to cry.

Or that she forbade me from having political beliefs she disliked and said she’d leave me if I didn’t agree with her.

Or that she regularly insulted me, made fun of me, and said I was “overreacting”.

Or that, when my Mom was threatening to cut off my student loan money (in no small part because of my ex’s constant antagonizing of me leading to fights between me and my Mom), my ex said she’d leave me and commit suicide if I had to drop out. 

Or that, because I once suggested her sexual pains might be due to her being a virgin, she forever accused me of having an “it’s supposed to hurt” mentality. (Oh and yes, I literally suggested it ONCE) 

Or that she accused me of rape over a year after the fact; because the sex she consented to (and I stopped when she seemed uncomfortable) she supposedly secretly felt pressured over; which she never told me. 

Or that she cut off her friends despite my advising against it; then blamed me when she regretted it. 

Or that I bought her a $20 gift and she spent the rest of the day complaining about it because she was in a bad mood.

Or that she called her ex abusive and cyber-bullied her for venting about their relationship on tumblr.

Or that she yelled at me all day during my family’s big get-together, causing me to spend most of the day crying outside; hiding from my family. 

Or that she made fun of my Grandma for dying of cancer mere weeks after the fact. 

Or that she would tell me she was OK with something I wanted, only to suddenly change her mind and accuse me of intimidation. 

Or that I once said “oh hang on, one more thing” when we were saying goodbye, and she yelled at me all day for it.

Or that she said horrible things about my family without having even met them.

Or that I spent over a thousand dollars on her; whereas she only once gave me anything she bought with her own money. 

Or that she agreed and help plan a visit of mine to her house for the summer; only to commit herself and then dump me out of nowhere. 

Or that she then dumped me AGAIN after taking me back, and took me back again, just to threaten to leave me again if I did anything with any of the girls in the Philippines. 

Or that she accused her family of abusing her and “destroying who she is” simply because her brother would yell at video games and her mother didn’t stop it. She said that gave her PTSD, until she changed her mind and starting blaming me. 

Or that she repeatedly ordered me to cancel one of our visits; the only chance we would have to see each other for another four months...once I had ALREADY bought non-refundable tickets. 

Or that she demanded I buy her things (in one great example being a sex toy, because her step-dad found it and got angry with me).

Or that she repeatedly insisted she was happy in the relationship; gas-lighting me by saying I was calling her a liar if I pushed at all; only to suddenly explode on me one day. 

Or that she yelled at me until I cried because I didn’t like the sound effects in a video game she showed me. 

Or that she accused me of trivializing her mental problems as “daddy issues”, because I suggested that her depression could have been because of her poor relationship with him (as mine was in part because of my relationship with my Mother).

Or that she yelled at me for over an hour on Christmas Day because of something my sister said about her. 

Or that she constantly, constantly, constantly, brought up her BPD to get off the hook, but rarely gave me sympathy for my diagnosed GAD/SAD/PTSD/AS(?). 

Or that she repeatedly took issues I didn’t care about (how long we talked, whether or not she was a virgin, who she was attracted to, etc) and would lie about them and blame me, often despite my initial indifference if not outright protest.

Or that she yelled at me and accused me of cheating all day when I told her I was going to visit my old friend; the stress of which caused me to get into a fight with my Mom. My ex then refused to move past it until I agreed to cut off my friend.

Or that I had to walk on eggshells to avoid upsetting her, and even then failed often.

Or that she threatened to leave me and/or commit suicide every single time we fought so that she would “win”. 

Or that she yelled at me and threatened to leave me, forcing me to stay home from a Halloween Event I was looking forward to.

Or that she accused me of “aiding in her abuse” anytime I spoke with her mother.  

Or that she punched me three times. 

Or that she’d get angry with me and call me “whiny” and “pathetic” anytime I cried or begged her to stop something; while calling me “abusive” if I just didn’t immediately give her what she wanted when she begged/cried. 

Or that she’d get angry with me and ignore my texts/calls. Even if we were in the middle of a talk. 

Or that she’d laugh at me whenever I fell or otherwise accidentally injure myself. 

Or that she shamed me for ever having any sexual attraction to other people. 

Or that she said I couldn’t hug my friends.

Or that she would demand I talk to her and refuse to let me go.

Or that she brought me back from the brink of leaving her by promising to accept a sexually closed relationship without threats of suicide or breakups...only to leave me the minute someone else showed interest in her. 

Or that she turned me down for a friends with benefits relationship, and then told me about her sending nudes to other guys the very next day. 

Or that she has posted horrible things about me repeatedly, this time the only provocation being that I had the audacity to say hello to her when intoxicated.

Because admitting to any of that would contradict her “abuser, victim” narrative.

I stayed with her as long as I did because I bought into her narrative and gave her all the sympathy, excuses, and benefit of the doubt in the world. I worked on myself thinking she would respond by doing the same, but she never did. I’m not saying I was perfect. I made many, many mistakes during our two years together. But I admitted to them and did my best to correct them. She never changed. 

She has achieved nothing in her life because of her mental illness. She’s clearly quite ashamed of that. But rather than taking responsibility and trying to recover, she spends her time protecting her ego by blaming others for her lack of progress. No amount of love will ever be “enough” for her.

[wordsofcleo]

“Enough”

***TRIGGER WARNING***

This is an old entry I wrote and never anticipated to share here on my blog. After a while, I decided to let it rip. So here it is. 

PS: While I still have my struggles, I am no longer in this bad of shape. I am mentally healthier. These are, however, things from my past that I still struggle with from time to time.

Trigger Warnings: (sexual abuse, trauma, family trauma, and more)

“For a long time, I have wanted to die. It isn't the kind of suicidal urge to die that everyone thinks of. It's the heaviness you carry around every day of your life. It's the deep want to not exist anymore. It doesn't mean that there is a plan, motive, or even self harm. It means that every day, a life of not wanting to exist is present. It's miserable. It hurts to my core.

I wonder what my life would have been like if I had been paid better attention to as a child. When I was found with bite mark trails upon my arms and hands, what did my grandparents think? When I would bash my head into the walls of our home, what did they think? They got onto me for being obnoxious. They got onto me for acting out. My grandparents were good people, but what about my behaviors? Did they ever once stop to think about the pain I was expressing as early as age five? What about the Barbie dolls I shook violently, instead of playing with them like normal young girls would? Shaking them released some kind of stress within me. My family thought it was strange, and even funny. They never once put the pieces together to realize that something deeper was going on. The tantrums that I would throw that resulted in time out, and me bashing my head into the walls to discipline myself; what about that? I was just acting out in their eyes. What about all of the times I was being molested at that age by the family friend? No one put two and two together? Nope. I was just a child that was acting out for no reason. What about the times I stayed up all night long wondering why I wasn't good enough for either one of my parents? What about questioning why neither one of them were in my life? My grandparents knew they were great grandparents and provided me with everything my parents couldn't give me, so they wondered why I would be unhappy. Why? Why would Savannah be unhappy? As a final resort to be understood, I revealed my depressive poetry book to my grandmother in middle school. I realized that no one would catch on themselves, so I showed her myself. The reaction was blasphemous; it was as if something was wrong with me. I got into a doctor. I was finally diagnosed with depression at age eleven after all of those years. Someone had finally caught on, and it was all because I decided to share my poetry. I shared the feelings that harbored deeply within my heart. Only then and then only was it anyone's concern. I dyed my hair black, wore all black, and continued to self harm in ways that aren't even typical in the “self harm” book. I would deprive myself of things. Beat myself up. As an effort to be loved, I would date anyone I could in school. That led to a plethora of toxic relationships. In high school, I had a boyfriend that would beat me up with his boxing gloves. Pin me onto his bed and beat me with his gloves. He was strong, and I was not as strong as I thought I was. He degraded me. He told me I was just like my father whom had lived near him in the neighborhood for some time and gotten to know him. The last night he hit me and threw my bike in a ditch so that I couldn't ride home, I called my Youth Pastor to pick me up and take me home. I never looked back. Still, the trail of toxic relationships wouldn't end there, would they? No. At only fifteen years old, I developed an interest in my father's sister's adult boyfriend. He was thirty five years old, and I was fifteen. I thought older men were cool. Was that because I had daddy issues? You tell me. What was a fifteen year old girl doing lusting after an older man? What was an older man doing hanging out with a fifteen year old girl? He cooed me. He manipulated me. We had “therapy sessions” to talk about the hate I had towards my parents. He would soothe me and help me. Dropped out of school more than once, so I was home schooling on my own. He would “tutor” me where I needed help. That led to a sexual, consensual relationship. Too bad a fifteen year old girl can't consensually have sex with a thirty five year old man. My friends warned me that he was a pedophile and taking advantage of me. I got offended when they called it “gross” and “disturbing”. I can hear them now, “Savannah, you need to do something about this. It's not right. He's a predator.” Finally, in time, I listened. I confronted my dad's sister; my aunt, and I told her what I'd done. I admitted to her as if I was all wrong. I was a child. I took the blame for her grown, perverted boyfriend. She spit in my face and demanded I get off of the property. She told me I was a liar. Cops were called. They claimed they had to conduct an investigation in which they never even investigated. To this day, the cops in this town look at me as if I'm a piece of garbage. Over the years, enough courage was formed to leave a public review of my experience with them. They talked me down. They said it didn't happen. All they used was a polygraph test on my aunt's boyfriend. He was a pathological liar. He convinced me, and he could convince anyone. To the police of Port St. Joe, that was enough. The towel in my grandmother's home that had that man's bodily fluid on it was washed immediately by me, because I didn't want to get in trouble. There was no “physical evidence” they say. A polygraph was enough, wasn't it? Sure. They say I was uncooperative. I was “uncooperative” because I was underage and my grandmother would not allow me to take the polygraph myself. Why? I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and tachycardia at the age of fourteen. I was not yet on medication for it; that came later. Why would I be set up to fail a polygraph that monitors heart rate and sweat glands? Why did the police only use a polygraph for investigation purposes? They never once questioned any of the witnesses who firsthandedly knew of and witnessed things. They didn't care to ask; not one, and not once. The police failed me. The pervert continues to walk the streets to this day. I'm the bad guy, though, right? My friends witnessed us be together. They witnessed the intoxication I was put under after being given alcohol by the man. They witnessed the hickies on my skin. They were around him and I firsthandedly. That part didn't matter to the Port St. Joe police, did it? It didn't matter that they could retrieve text messages and phone calls either, did it? It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because the man had a way of speaking in code. He did that for a reason. Don't put anything out in the open, or else they'll catch on. Yeah. I'm sure it also didn't matter to the police that I was with this man so much privately that she had to tell him to leave me alone. When she did, the man requested that we still have our “time”, but in a public place. Does that right there not speak for itself? Again, the police didn't care. Protect the children, right? Fuck you.

As always, it never stops there. In 2013, I'm fifteen, and I meet an older guy named Tyler at the Adult School I'm going to. I'm going to the Adult School because I dropped out of high school, home schooling didn't work, and I need an alternative. Enough was enough. The man flirts with me and we start hanging out as friends in public places. We grow a bit closer, even though he never speaks to me much when we're together. One day he invites me into his mysterious home. He rapes me. There are guns around me, and I know if I fight back, he will kill me. Porn DVDs scattered all over the room. I know I'm his victim. When it's over, he hurries me to leave and locks the door behind him. I call 911. He's arrested, and they take me to questioning. They want me to be questioned in the same building as him. They warn me he's about to come down the hallway and will pass by me. Seriously? Why not protect me a little more? I demand they protect me. They put me into the Chief's office and close the door. That's all they could offer. How professional, right? When they question me, they ask me to define “sexual intercourse”. I've just been sexually assaulted, and they want me to define that, to a man. They choose a male to give me my questioning and statement giving after I've been raped by, you guessed it, a male. I felt the dirtiest I had for the longest time. I wanted to vomit, but nothing could come up. My body didn't feel like my own anymore. My life was useless in that moment. I was nothing more than a limp, used rag or piece of garbage. That's how I felt. Tyler admits to the sexual assault. He goes to jail, and later changes that statement for court. I refuse to go to court to look at my rapist, so I'm offered a plea deal. I take it. Before his probation is up, he sexually assaults another woman. The deal was if he broke his probation, he would go to prison. He raped a handicapped woman, broke his probation, went to jail, and got out again. Want to know what else? Just the other day, I ran into my rapist for the first time in seven years. Why is he in public? Why did he have a child with him? Why did he have a woman with him? Why was he able to shop at a public Walmart? How is he able to be around others freely? What if he is hurting the toddler child that was with him? You know he is. He's a rapist. They will rape whoever and whatever they can. They are sick bastards. How is he able to be scotch free? I'm sickened. I was failed too many times by the system. I'm pouring tears as I write this. Why has it been this way? Why isn't the system protecting children and adults; more importantly the children? I can't seem to understand.

When my questioning was over, they called my grandparents to pick me up. I was stunned when I saw my mother of all people walk through the door. My mother. Someone who had not been in my life. “They say you have to pack your things and come stay with me,” she told me in reference to my grandparents. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I rode in my mother's car, totally emotionless to my grandparent's home. It was the place that I'd been raised. The place that I had so many memories. It was all I knew. It was home. “We warned you not to hang out with that guy, Savannah. Since you don't want to listen to us, you can stay with your mother.” It didn't matter that I'd been sexually assaulted. What mattered most to them was that I had rebelled against their intuitions. I got hurt as a result. My entire world broke apart. I thought they loved me, and that I was their child. I was wrong. I packed everything I could take, and went to my mother's house. This is where my stepfather told me that I was the Devil's child, and I was rebellious. He told me I was mentally sick. He told me a lot. When I told him to shut up, he slung his glass of liquor and ice at me. Covered and perfumed with the wretched smell of alcohol, I again gathered my belongings and hit the door. All my mother could say to him was, “Stop.” It didn't work. With my bags carried on all sides of me, I walked a couple of miles more or less to my mother's mom's house. Again, someone who wasn't in my life. I explained the situation, and I hoped that she would help me. “That's just how he is,” she said, “hopefully he will get over it.” I asked her if she could help me, and there seemed to be little that she could do for me. At that point, I was burned out. I didn't care anymore. Again, I gathered my things and took the last resort that I knew; find some familiarity. I walked many miles to find a friend from elementary school. I hoped that she still lived there. They didn't expect me to show up, but they took me right in. I told them everything. They helped me. They consoled me. A couple days later, my grandmother called. She apologized and wanted to bring me home. I didn't accept the apology, but I wanted to stop living out of bags. So, I went home. It was painful and heartbreaking. I couldn't let go of what happened. At least I had the resources to try and get my life together at my grandparent's house. I tried my hardest, and kept my door locked a lot. I stayed isolated.

In the midst of all the abuse and sexual assault, I'd found my parents chatting on Facebook. I had previously picked my father up from a psychiatric hospital because he had no one else willing to pick him up. He called me, and I'd picked him up to take him to his mother's house. That day, he'd given me his Facebook information in case something happened to him, or he couldn't get to his social media. Later on, I checked it to see him and my mother had been chatting about my life. Although neither one of them had anything to do with me, they had all the time in the world to gossip and talk down on their own daughter. They talked about how I lied on everyone that had “hurt” or “assaulted” me. They claimed it was a cry for attention. They called me mental. As if it wasn't enough that they couldn't be in my life all those years based on their very own decision, they then wanted to privately degrade me. That's okay. I finally understood how they felt about me, and for no reason at all. I took screenshots, and to this day, I have them. I'm tired of people lying and claiming they never did anything. I learned to keep evidence of wrongdoing whenever and wherever I can.

When my dad's mother died a couple of years later, I showed up to the funeral. My dad was there. My aunt was there. My aunt's perverted boyfriend who took advantage of me was there. I was aware of all of that before going. I needed to pay my respects, but not only that. For some reason deep within my soul, I wanted to give my support to my father's emotions. It's hard losing people. I was there for him despite how he'd talked about me behind my back. I was there for him despite not being in my life. It wasn't about what he had done to me, but what I could do for him. Later on as I got older, that mentality changed. I no longer care.

When my dad's brother died after his mother, I showed up to the house with my husband to help clean for an estate sale. I wanted to help with no strings attached. Families suffer during loss, and it was something I could do. They knew I wanted to help, yet they had my aunt's perverted boyfriend there doing absolutely nothing but watching. When I pulled another family member to the side to bring that to the surface, it didn't matter. “I've come here to help, and you have him here. Why?” Oh, but it was no big deal. It was as if it was totally forgotten about. “Just walk around him. Ignore him,” she said. It was that day I realized that they really did not believe me at all. They didn't care. I finished helping, and that was the end of it. Many people showed me; blood and not blood, that they did not give two fucks about me. It's okay.

2016 came around. I was going to therapy. I had been doing great. For once, I was finally on top of the world. I had saved enough money to buy a camper to turn into a tiny home. It was my dream. I wanted to move out of my grandparent's home and begin my own life. I had a good job. I met my husband, Chase. He moved from Louisiana to Florida to be with me. We lived in the camper together. Eventually, he proposed. He was amazing and I loved him with all of my heart. I said yes. We sold the camper, my grandparents graciously let us move back in with them temporarily, and we worked hard. We worked hard and saved up for a home on land. I wanted to push forward and fulfill yet another dream of mine. Eventually, I married Chase and I got the home. I worked hard on it. On my off days, I put sweat into the house. It was a long process, but what made everything even longer is that my husband kept leaving me for no reason. We had a very happy relationship, but he was always so unhappy. He never had a reason for his unhappiness. He said everything was fine, and the next thing I knew, he was disappeared. It took hearing from his family that he'd made it back to Louisiana safely. Four times he left me. Three times I took him back. The emotional turmoil was never ending. Laughing, adventuring, vacationing, and doing so many other things together and then suddenly your love is gone. They're gone with no warning, and no reason. Just because they want to, they're disappeared from your life. You know they'll come back later, so you learn to forgive it. You think that maybe they're struggling internally and trying to find themselves. However, each time he left, I lost a bit of myself. After the fourth time, I had completely lost sight of myself. I had no idea who I was. I knew if he wasn't serious about staying gone the fourth time, I would have ended up with him once more in the same old painful toxicity. He insisted divorce, and divorce it was. I didn't agree on divorce until the day I visited him at work during our separation when he told me he didn't care about anything but what he could get out of a situation and smiled at me. I turned around and felt happy that I would never have to be involved with him again, but it still broke me. I knew all of the things I'd heard about him both from observers and others were true. It suddenly all made sense. I should have listened. Each time that he left me, it broke me so hard. For weeks, I could not eat. I could not sleep. I could barely breathe. Too many times, I wanted to die. I loved the man with all of my heart and soul. I'd never loved as hard as I loved him. In December 2019, it was over officially. We were divorced. And suddenly, I realized that I'd lost so much and been done wrong, and I was sick of it. I was left with a complete and utter void.

I lost my hometown to Hurricane Michael in October 2018, and my grandfather who raised me died a month later in November. As if the tragedy of natural disaster wasn't bad enough, I did not understand how to cope with losing my grandfather. For so many years of my life, we bumped heads. When he passed away, I wondered if his spirit would hold that over me. I wondered why it couldn't have been different. To this day, I wonder. To this day, I mourn. To this day, I wonder why he continued to be friends with his friend that he knew molested me as a child. The first time, it was walked in on. Soon enough, the family friend would be coming around more and more. That meant I was being molested more and more. Why did he allow him back around me? I was like a daughter to him, right? Why did he do that, then? Did he really love me? He was such a good man, but why was he that way? Why did he get offended when I brought it up while he was still alive and refuse that it happened the way it did? Does anyone really love me? Why do the people that claim to love me let bad things happen to me?

I am truly unloved. Those who claim to love me never truly love me. People don't know love. Love is a void to everyone around me. Almost 23 years later of these feelings, and I can't take anymore. Some will never get answered, and all of them will never be brought justice. I can't stand it. I can't stand this life. Enough is enough.”

[gutz-radio]

Man I'm back in the Billy Hargrove trenches with this ofmd "finale" huh

[kagemane]

Ok so that story I just reblogged reminded me of what my rapist said the night he raped me: "You slept with all those other guys, but I can't even sit next to you?" I haven't talked much about what happened since it happened because it obviously upsets me, but I want to do so now. I will literally never forget that sentence. Later in the night, I was blackout drunk, but I remember that. I first met my rapist when my coworkers and I went out to dinner. He and his friend met us there because they had both been newly hired at the company, but hadn't started yet. They had both moved from California (this is when I lived in Colorado) and his friend knew one of my coworkers from a different job. He seemed fairly normal at first, yet very quiet. Because I am a nice person and understood how it felt to be in a new state (I'm originally from NY), I decided to talk to him and try to make him welcomed. We didn't talk again for a few weeks after that evening. His friend, whom I worked with, mentioned a show for a band I liked playing down in Denver so I asked if I could go with. Apparently, he mentioned that to rape dude and he decided to talk to me as well. It was fine texting the first few times, but I really wasn't into him. However, I continued to talk to him since I didn't really have friends besides my coworkers and sister. I made my intentions clear that I wasn't interested in anything, and he seemed to get it. However, I do have a good intuition on people (don't always listen though) and could tell he wasn't a great person. His energy felt off and a few things he said made me very uncomfortable. Also, he harassed me into calling him one time even though I mentioned how much I hated that but I wanted him to leave me alone and did so. Another time, he tried to kiss me and I wasn't cool with that. So anyways, we hung out a couple times and I knew I didn't want to be around him anymore. The last time we hung out, we went hiking and then out to dinner. Many times throughout the day (and previous times) I brought up how I didn't want to rush things and wanted things to go "very slow". I even bought my own food and drinks that night so he couldn't use that as an excuse. At dinner, he said that sentence above and I knew 100% then that I wanted nothing to do with him. I knew he wasn't a good person, so I was gonna tell him the next day that I didn't want to hang out anymore. To make it more obvious I wasn't interested in him, I told him I was bisexual (that's true) at the bar we stopped to next and blatantly chatted up the woman bartender (she was digging it and I wish I could have gotten to know her). I think at that point, he realized I had no intentions of sleeping with him so he was going to make it happen regardless of how I felt about it. By the end of the night, I was hammered. It was the only way I could tolerate him being around me. I remember bits and pieces, but not much. I do remember he had maybe three drinks that entire time which was maybe 6 or 7 hours, so he would have been sober. We left and he drove me home. When I got to my door, I said good night but he tried to come in with me. I asked him why and he said it was because he was too drunk to drive home. 1. I knew he hadn't drank much. 2. Then why the hell was he driving my car if he was drunk?? Like, call a taxi or something! I was too drunk to really fight him, so I let him in. He lived about 45 minutes away so it made sense in my drunken state. I laid down in bed and didn't remember much. I do remember flashes of him being on me and me laying there like a sack of potatoes. I was gone and couldn't do anything or call my sister for help... He left during the night and I slept for a long time. I would wake up every few hours, but didn't actually get out of bed until 4 or 5. I didn't believe that had happened, but his hoodie on my floor said otherwise. I also found a huge pocket knife which makes me wonder if he would have used it on me had I told him to stop? He kept texting me throughout the day and I finally responded with a long paragraph of how what happened wasn't cool because I was drunk. His response: "Well we started kissing so yeah..." Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm I was so drunk I didn't remember that at all. He probably kissed me and my drunk self just acted on reflex. But, that didn't make it okay! I was so gone and he knew that and he took advantage of me when he knew I couldn't do anything. I never consented and he knows that. I made it clear throughout the three or four times we hung out that I wasn't interested. There wasn't any question what I meant, and he didn't like that so he waited until I couldn't do anything. I didn't press charges because with how drunk I was, I knew the court would rip into me about it. They would blame it on me: she shouldn't have been drinking! She deserved it! To be honest, I never did blame myself. I know it wasn't my fault - he was going to take my body regardless of my state. That was his intention. He is a rapist and consent doesn't matter. Though, even though I don't blame myself, I did and still do have a lot of trauma from that. I did attempt suicide a few months after and it's the main reason why I moved back to NY. I just wanted to share this because I don't want people to keep having this image of a rapist being a scary guy waiting in a bush. Rapists are people we know more often than they are strangers. Rapists will continue to be defended as well because people have this image of them that they refuse to deviate from. When I told someone what happened, they said "are you sure? He seems like a nice guy." Well, those "nice guys" can be rapists too and we need to address that before any change can happen. If we continue to deny victims and stick up for abusers and rapists, nothing is going to change. This kind of mentality is literally killing people, but society would rather stick up for the "nice guy" over the drunk woman, or the girl wearing the short dress, or the young boy who was manipulated by an adult, and so forth. That's just dangerous.

[orangebatsanctuary]

Craving for some strong shot? Have a taste of:

Somewhere Between Life and Death

by RealmOfTan

Welcome to the dark world from RealmOfTan! Prepare your heart to enter the living hell as life never be easy for Slaine. Escape alive with our boy to the other side and sense the true beautiful soul.

click ‘Keep reading’ below.

***Please wait a while for reading on OrangeBat-Sanctuary website, due to some technical problem occurred. I could only post on Tumblr at the moment, and soon the authors will post on AO3***

Enjoy Sunday Reading!

Love,

Rosiel

 Somewhere Between Life and Death By RealmOfTan

 Rating: R18

 Characters: Slaine Troyard, Inaho Kaizuka, Trillram, Cruhteo, Yuki Kaizuka, Marito Kouichirou

 Tags: Drugs, human trafficking, rape, murder, suicide attempt, caregiving, emotional support, early stages of love

 Summary: Legally dead but still alive. It is like being a living dead, existing somewhere between life and death; being slightly more alive than dead, but not entirely alive. To Slaine, this has stopped to matter a long time ago and is living by the unwritten but absolute rules in the areas of Shinawara where communal emptiness is widespread – trying to push through one day at a time. When his situation changes for the worse and he thinks nothing can help him and despair is consuming him, someone reaches out a gentle hand and offers him help.

        Lights.

        Shadows.

        The sounds of a busy street.

        All the stimuli around him were loud enough it felt like his mind would split in two. People surrounding him moved in slow-motion and paid no heed to the young man staggering through the street with wounds beneath his messily buttoned coat. The scabs had ripped open and blood had stained the sweater on both the front and back, and a couple of blood streaks had dried on the hand hanging limply at his side while he clutched the high collar of the brown coat with the other, pulling it away to ease his breathing. He was still stiff from having lain unconscious outside, and his skin was numb from the cold.

        ‘Why?’ he thought sluggishly and swallowed down the nausea that pushed in his throat, not caring about the wounds since he was already covered with scars from previous attacks. ‘Why is it so noisy?’

        The area was not supposed to be this lively according to his memory. Not now. The district would not have come alive until night pulled its darkness around the buildings, since that was when the degraded people dared to venture out for a visit in the underworld; teens and young adults were trying to find a quick fix to get a break from their either boring or broken lives, while middle-aged men and women roamed the streets in search for a warm body to share their lonely night with. No one bothered about the price too much; desperate people were ready to sell their soul for a quick and temporary solution to their broken lives.

        Slaine leaned his back against a brick wall of a tall building for support to rest. The wall felt taller than it should and, for a second, he thought it would topple over him. He shook his head quickly to clear his muddy mind and realized it was already dark on the streets.

        ‘What time is it?’

        He raised his left arm that felt heavier than usual, and had to put great effort into raising it close enough to get a clear look of the cheap digital wristwatch.

        “01:52…” he mumbled with a groan and dropped his arm back to his side.

        It was already in the middle of the night and he realized he must have been out cold for more than…

        ‘How many hours is that?’ he thought and tried to do the math, but his mind refused to cooperate. ‘When did I leave home even?’

        Slaine realized he had no idea where he was or what he had been doing – a usual side effect of a strong anxiolytic drug used in an incorrect way. All he knew was his body hurt all over as if someone had been beating him with brass knuckles and cut his skin with a jagged pocket knife. All he could do right now was to be grateful for the aftereffect of whatever drug he had gotten into his system. It numbed him.

        Suddenly something disgusting pushed in his throat and he leaned forward out of reflex, releasing all of his stomach’s content onto the asphalt. It was nothing more than gastric acid that splashed onto the ground. Tears sprung to his eyes as he stared at the disgusting puddle in front of his feet while the acid burned in his throat. His limbs began to tremble and cold sweat broke out on his chest and face.

        ‘Where am I…?’

        Slaine had no idea what had happened to him. He had woken up in a back alley from the strong stench only a back alley in a rundown district could have. Someone had forced a drug into him – he was sure of it since he could not remember taking anything himself – and had been taken to the back alley for a beating and other unknown abuse. Once finished, they had left him there.

        ‘Nothing too unusual,’ he sighed.

        The emptiness of his stomach made him feel like vomiting again.

        He had to get home. Slaine knew it was important to get off the streets and crawl down into the safety of his bed. The nights in the rundown districts were dangerous and, even if Slaine was used to that kind of life, he was an easy victim for someone’s sadistic mind due to his livelihood. On top of that, he being a blond foreigner increased the danger on the streets of Shinawara’s red-light district, where foreigners were sold behind closed doors by both immoral and amoral pimps like some kind of exotic creatures.

        Using the wall as support, Slaine slowly began to walk. He tried to look around and see any kind of sign or street he recognized and finally set his eyes on a bright neon pink sign of a fluorescent stripper. He recognized it immediately and learned the location of where he was.

        Relief filled his being. He was not completely lost.

        Slowly and steadily, without eye contact with anyone and not saying a word to anybody, he began walking along the walls on the busy street, brushing his shoulder against them like a shy cat. Slaine made carefully sure not to catch anyone’s attention despite the sickly state he was in. If he simply was what he was, as someone recovering from a high, no one would bother with him as long as he avoided eye contact. Victims like that were not usually interesting for those who bathed in the diffuse lights of the streets, and Slaine knew that.

        A group of teenagers, all dressed in nice clothes that revealed their inexperience on these streets, walked by him and yelled and laughed about something about buying pills. If the kids who romanticized this kind of world only knew how dangerous it truly was, that this world was not an edgy place to have fun in, in any way. This world would eat them alive if they made a mistake. Just a little slip – that was all it took. Owe the wrong person a puny amount of money and they would stab you just for fun as retribution. Say a bad word to the wrong person and they would beat your face beyond recognition and give you severe brain damage simply because they could.

        There was never any logic or reasoning behind that kind of abuse – only lunacy and violent emotions that ignored the words that begged for forgiveness. The true criminals would use any excuse they could find to hurt and even kill, and naïve teenagers met that kind of fate every other day. Slaine had stopped bothering with warning new arrivals; they refused to listen anyway, and he let these kids pass and disappear into the shadow of an alley with their bag of pills – soon to be devoured by the dangerous strangers lurking in the same shadows.

        It was a collectively rundown world filled with communal melancholy, and Slaine had no choice but to survive in it. Someone else saw to it that escaping it was not an option, and he had gotten used to it and knew nothing better. His mind had been somewhat desensitized from living like this for five years, from ever since his father had committed suicide when Slaine had been fourteen years old, and, even if he wanted to stop walking the streets, he would only be snatched back by those he worked for if he tried to run.

        He found his way back to the apartment building in the sunken suburb of Shinawara. The walk had felt like an eternity due to his exhausted and wounded body. With heavy steps, he ascended the stairs to the third floor, since the elevator had been out of order for as long as he had lived here, and he reached a trembling hand to the handle of the door. It was open as usual; the keys had been lost a long time ago with no spare keys to replace them, and the landlord could not bother to change the lock. It had been like that for a couple of years now and Slaine never knew who waited behind that door; it was not too unusual to find runaway kids finding shelter in the apartment.

        “You found your way back, idiot?” a ridiculing voice said from the back of the apartment that was nearly pitch black, was it not for a couple of candles shedding a golden light in the living room behind the corner.

        Slaine did not answer and instead closed the door before continuing to take off his coat. As he steered his steps toward his room, he heard someone walk out from the living room and Trillram appeared in front of him. The man got a wide sneer on his face when he saw Slaine’s state and laughed like he had heard a funny joke.

        “I thought you would rot in that alley,” Trillram said proudly.

        ‘So you had something to do with this?’ Slaine thought and found he was not surprised at all.

        Trillram enjoyed bullying him, and leaving him passed out in an alley was something Slaine could expect from the young man a little now and then when something bothered him.

        “I’m too tired,” Slaine mumbled weakly and leaned against the wall next to the door into his room. “Not now…”

        “Trying to give me orders?” Trillram’s disgustingly amused voice asked and the man stepped closer to loom over the blond like a hungry dog.

        Slaine felt himself shrink at the spot beneath the man’s shadow – a moment of weakness which resulted in giving Trillram an impulse to exercise power over him. The man grabbed Slaine’s shoulders and slammed his back against the wall hard enough Slaine lost his breath for a short moment and dropped his coat on the floor. The blond coughed and lost strength in his muscles, and he was about to sink to the floor from the hit and pain in his wounds. Trillram did not let him, though. His strong hands kept Slaine pinned against the wall.

        “I actually got a great deal today,” the man hissed right in front of him.

        ‘What deal?’ Slaine thought and turned his face away from the other; Trillram’s breath was horrible from not having brushed his teeth for several days.

        “Sixty-thousand yen…” Trillram whispered into Slaine’s ear. A horrifying chill ran down his spine; it was a big sum, and Slaine wondered what on earth Trillram had sold to get his hands on so much money. “Some sadistic foreigners wanted to buy you. You know the sick hobbies of some rich kids, right; red rooms and stuff like that? Would have been nice, huh?; to have your guts bleeding out after a knife to the stomach just because someone paid to see it.”

        The young man tried to scare him. It was an everyday tactic for him to get a cheap laugh on Slaine’s behalf. Trillram’s threats were nothing new. Slaine had grown used to them, but, just like he had gotten used to hearing exaggerated threats from him, Slaine had also learned there was some kind of truth to them.

        The blond did not want to know what the foreigners had done, and so he did not ask; it was easier that way. All he knew was he had been beaten and had shallow cuts over his arms, chest and back. That was enough for him.

        When Slaine did not react, Trillram quickly got bored and tried to find the amusement he had lost:

        “Then of course, I didn’t sell you to the red room-scene. Instead, since I’m such a nice person, I let them play around as you were-“

        “STOP!” Slaine yelled at the top of his lungs, interrupting Trillram in midsentence, and the man let go of him immediately from surprise.

        Slaine did not want to hear it. He did not want to know. It would be better that way, gentler for his frail mind that needed protection with every means possible. If being unaware of what people had done to him was a way to cope, then so be it; there was no reason to even bother caring about it.

        “Whatever they did… I don’t want to know…” he then quietly mumbled as his mind began spinning from his sudden outburst. He was so weak the adrenaline hit him like a sledgehammer.

        Trillram stared at him in surprise for a moment as Slaine pushed himself against the wall to keep his body standing. He glared at the man from the sudden anger he had managed to summon – that disgusting excuse for a human being who toyed with whatever he got his hands on until it broke.

        Why did he have to live with him? Why could he not get an apartment that was only his? Then he remembered: Cruhteo had put Slaine beneath the same roof as Trillram because it was cheaper that way; neither of them would be able to pay him the rent of an apartment alone.

        They needed each other financially.

        Slaine knew Trillram wanted him there. He knew the man simply wanted a drug addict weaker than him accompanying him to let the frustration out on someone who could not fight back. Slaine had to admit he wanted to have Trillram there as well, since without the other man he would probably starve and freeze to death. Despite their dysfunctional and destructive living conditions, they still looked out for each other as they had no choice but to do so. Without Trillram there, Slaine would have been forced to work for easy money much harder than he did now, to pay for his living expenses.

        Slaine dared not fight him. Trillram was not kind and simple emotions propelled him. It was difficult to know when such a simple emotion would explode due to Trillram’s erratic behavior of a drug addict, making it impossible to predict the other’s actions, and Slaine was constantly at risk of being caught in the blast.

        “How dare you?” Slaine heard Trillram hiss.

        The moment Slaine heard it, he knew he should just stay put and not argue. He resigned himself to the man’s whim and made himself ready. Within the blink of an eye, he was wrestled down to the floor.

        Slaine let himself fall. Giving up was all he could bother doing since Trillram would not forgive him if he fought back. The man controlled the supply to the drug Aldnoah that both of them were addicted to. If he fought him, Trillram would cut back on the drugs and the life under the same roof would become a living hell.

        ‘Isn’t it a hell already?’ Slaine wondered as he stared at Trillram yelling something at him in a fit of anger.

        The dark-haired young man’s patience was terrible. His face was red from the power in his voice, but, no matter how loud Trillram yelled, Slaine did not hear it.

        ‘A hell…’ It sure was, but then again, the relief he got from the drugs made the hell bearable enough to keep going. ‘Go toward what?’ he thought.

        Nothing. The future was empty.

        ‘Why do I keep going?’

        Then a picture of a young woman flickered into his mind in the same manner as a dying lightbulb struggled to shed light into a darkened room. How could he have forgotten? Had he broken down enough to disremember his guardian angel watching over him in his fantasy?

        Then again, it had been three years since he had seen her. He wondered what she was up to, if she was safe and still living clueless about how vast the dark world her grandfather and late father had built was. She knew Slaine was caught in shadows, but he had been able to masterfully keep the entire truth from her in order to let her shoulders be as light as they were. She deserved better than worrying about him – the son who had been left alone in the world with his father’s debts dangling from his shoulders.

        ‘Asseylum…’

        The moment he found his happy place of seeing her in his mind, a sharp pain struck his cheek as he was hit – pulling him back to reality – and a loud voice yelled:

        “Are you listening to me, you piece of shit?!”

        “I’m listening…” Slaine lied with a sigh and closed his eyes. He turned his head away from the other and pushed the hurting cheek against the cool but dirty floor to soothe the pain, and felt the stinging feeling slowly subside. “I’m sorry,” he then mumbled despite knowing Trillram probably had forgotten what those words meant.

        Trillram went quiet for a while and Slaine waited. At first he waited patiently, but, when nothing happened, he opened his eyes and looked up at his assaulter from the corner of his eye. The man was scheming something; he wore a contemplating look as he intently stared at Slaine.

        For a moment, Slaine thought the young man was looking at him not because he hated him, but because he saw something in Slaine that made it impossible to look away. It was a look Trillram gave him now and then, as if Slaine had something he wanted.

        ‘He’s needy…’ Slaine thought and turned his face toward the man again.

        Without a word, he unbuckled his own belt and opened his pants while staring at Trillram with empty eyes, and then carefully and weakly turned around, facing the filthy floor despite his wounds hurting. Trillram was quick to grab the chance and hurriedly fumbled with his pants. Slaine inhaled tiredly, held his breath just for a short moment, and exhaled. The musky breath made the grains of dirt on the floor weakly tumble and roll away from his dry lips, and Slaine watched the floor fog over with each breath while Trillram finished fumbling with both of their worn jeans.

        “Behave…” the man murmured with silent excitement and put his hands above Slaine’s wrists to pin him against the floor, degrading the blond like Trillram always did during these occasions.

        Slaine decided to let the other play until he was satisfied, and endured the act with pained moans and gasps until the thrusting was over.

        It was quick, just like it had always been. It was uncomfortable and slightly painful, just like it always was. Slaine did not make a sound except strained, quiet breaths – bearing the humiliation since he knew there was something at the end of these disgusting roads that was worthwhile.

        This should have not been as uncomfortable as it was. Trillram was a client right now after all, who would pay for what he took from the blond. Then again, Slaine figured it was stressful since Trillram was a client he could not run away from, unlike the others he met on the streets in the red-light district and slum. He could avoid and not see his clients every day, but he lived beneath the same miserable roof as Trillram, making it impossible to build a professional distance to the man. The clients on the streets bought another kind of Slaine, but, right now, Trillram was assaulting the real Slaine; the unmasked person Slaine was when he was not selling his body to strangers.

        Right after Trillram was done, Slaine took a deep breath of relief that it was over. He felt his stiff body relax against the floor and heard Trillram rustle with the clothing while a sticky feeling dribbled down between his legs from where Trillram had released his load.

        “Turn around. Give me your arm,” he then heard a soothing voice say. It seemed like Trillram had relaxed as well and the man’s previous anger had disappeared.

        Slaine clumsily fixed his jeans without bothering to clean up between his legs, and then rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling where the paint had begun to chip off. Trillram went into the living room and then came back with a candle, sat down next to Slaine and pulled up his right sleeve. Slaine watched the man tie a tourniquet around his wounded upper arm, and then heard him open the plastic bag containing the purple gold.

        The bag Trillram opened contained a syringe and needle with a clear purple liquid inside, and Slaine felt himself grow anticipating as he watched it; the biological reward system was lighting up like fireworks during New Year’s Eve in his brain.

        Trillram lowered the needle to the enlarged artery on Slaine’s slender arm, pushed it against the skin, and then guided the needle in.

        Within seconds, a peaceful feeling spread in Slaine’s mind; everything came to a halt for a short moment. He closed his eyes and sighed from satisfaction. Finally, he got to breathe properly and get rid of all the unpleasant pain and thoughts haunting his mind. Finally, he had peace and quiet for about half an hour.

        Trillram pulled out the needle with great care. Slaine could almost describe Trillram’s practiced way of handling a syringe and needle as beautiful, was it not for the substance the man injected. The injection was clean and not painful in the slightest. He always had a gentle touch when injecting Slaine with the drug, as if it was his way to make love, and it was a comforting moment in their broken lives each time Trillram showed Slaine that kind of consideration and affection.

        ‘How warped…’ Slaine thought and chuckled absentmindedly while relief poured back into his exhausted body.

        Slowly and carefully he got up from the floor and, by the time Trillram had disappeared into the living room again without saying a word, the blond felt calm and happy, and the pain from his wounds dissipated.

        He stopped at the door to his room to throw his coat into the messy chamber, which he had not bothered to clean for several months, and then turned around and headed for the kitchen. Slaine remembered he had to eat and should do it now before the relieving and comforting effect of Aldnoah would wear off. Once that happened, he would lose his appetite entirely and probably go to bed with a growling stomach.

        To his dismay, his part of the fridge was empty. The entire compartment was bare except for a banana that lay in Trillram’s vegetable drawer. That was when he remembered he had been on his way to buy food with the little money he remembered he had in his pockets after not eating properly for several days, before he had been attacked by Trillram. He could not remember the attack itself, but he was sure Trillram had been the one to jump him.

        As he pushed his hands into the jeans pockets, he found them empty.

        With a heavy sigh, he closed the fridge door and dragged his feet to the living room where Trillram was sitting on the filthy and worn couch with dried spots from all kinds of fluids, leaning his head against the backrest with closed eyes and an awkward smile on his lips – high on Aldnoah as well.

        The blond felt for some company no matter how unproductive it was and slumped down next to Trillram and leaned his tired body against the backrest in a similar manner like his companion. The worn springs in the couch cried, protesting against his weight, but the whining was replaced with the distant sirens from police cars and people yelling and laughing on the street outside. It was just as cliché as in the movies.

        “I’ve been dead for seven years…” Trillram suddenly mumbled, and Slaine threw a glance at him. “You’ve been dead for how long? Five?”

        “Yeah… I was declared dead the same day they found my dad’s burnt corpse after he was set on fire by one of Cruhteo’s goons,” Slaine mumbled with closed eyes.

        “On what grounds?” his roommate asked.

        “I’ve told you before: I was murdered by dad,” Slaine answered. “The corpse was a body double; the burnt body of an innocent kid or something. I think he was the son to someone who couldn’t pay their debt to Cruhteo, and was murdered as punishment. It was an easy way to dispose of his corpse, I guess.” The blond took a deep breath and continued: “By the way…”

        “Hm?”

        “Where’s my money?”

        He heard Trillram raise his head, probably to look at him with agitation from being accused for stealing.

        “What’cha talking about?” the young man grunted with slurred words. “Lemme enjoy my ride of the high first before you start bitching about something…”

        So Trillram did not know about the money. He never lied when he was high and only exaggerated when sober. It was one of the few qualities the blond actually appreciated in him since he knew he could trust Trillram with nearly every answer to each question the blond asked. Of course, the dark-haired man embellished the truths and exaggerated at times, but he could be trusted nonetheless.

        Slaine understood looters had passed by to search through his pockets as he had been lying unconscious in the alley, and he would never get that money back. It meant he needed another solution for his hunger.

        “What did you do with the money you got from selling me?” he then asked, and Trillram sighed heavily. “Share some of it, will you? I did the hard part of earning those; my body aches.”

        The blond looked up at the slightly older man and watched him pull his emaciated fingers through his dark hair that had lost its styled bowl-cut shape a long time ago; it was straggly after not being cut and dirty since the electricity and warm water were turned off after they had had trouble paying the money to Cruhteo, who in turn paid their bills. It looked just like Slaine’s overgrown hair. Neither of them had showered for days since the coldness of the water had been biting at their skin like angry rats trying to chew through it each time they had tried to wash themselves.

        “I paid my week’s debt to Cruhteo,” Trillram said. “And I paid the money for our electricity and water. We should have heat and warm water by tomorrow, hopefully.”

        Trillram had been noble with the money he had gotten from an immoral act of selling a drugged Slaine to foreigners. It surprised Slaine somewhat, but he guessed their mutually desperate situation made Trillram prioritize their bills rather than buying more drugs; he had even refrained from buying food for himself in order to pay Cruhteo the money he demanded to keep their electricity going. Winter was arriving after all; their rundown apartment had already begun to grow cold during the nights.

        Slaine smiled weakly.

        “That’s good, I guess,” he murmured and sighed. “Thanks for not spending it on drugs.”

        Trillram scoffed and shook his head.

        “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he snarled. “I didn’t do it for you; I wanna shower and not get sick again.”

        “Sure…” Slaine answered with a smile from knowing Trillram looked after both of them even though he refused to admit it.

        Despite their differences and warped relationship as roommates worrying about how to live another day, they still tried to help each other even if it was through questionable means at times such as this. They had lived under these kind of conditions for so long that it mattered not in what ways they brought in the money, since neither of them had any self-value; Slaine sold himself due to his Caucasian looks while Trillram robbed and stole whatever he could to make shady business with dangerous people.

        “Say, do you want to share that banana in the fridge?” the blond then asked quietly.

        “It’s mine,” the other grumbled and looked at the blond with a grumpy and drugged glare. “Go get your own food.”

        Slaine frowned and pressed his lips together from frustration before he argued back:

        “I was on my way to do just that before you jumped me and I lost the money I was to buy dinner with. Take some responsibility and share some of what you have.”

        Trillram scoffed.

        “I gave you a high.”

        “As payment for fucking me on our doorstep,” the blond reminded him.

        Despite their ridiculous argument, Slaine did not feel the need to get agitated due to the drug calming him down and making everything seem carefree around him. Trillram’s highs were sometimes energetic and at other times he was calm and childishly grumpy, like now.

        Trillram ruffled his own hair before he sighed annoyed:

        “Fine! I guess I’m hungry anyway.” Then his hands slumped down into his lap, and he murmured: “But only if you keep me warm when I go to sleep and give me a blowjob.”

        Slaine snorted and got up from the couch to get the banana from the fridge. His body was trembling from hunger, but the drug numbed the void in his stomach.

        “No way. I can keep you warm but I won’t suck you off. You’ve already had your fun with me for today,” he argued back and disappeared into the kitchen to eagerly take the only food they had at home. He returned to the couch and let his body fall against it again, making the springs cry a second time.

        “Come on,” Trillram whined and watched Slaine peel the banana. “You’re way better at it than the girls I’ve fucked.”

        Slaine snickered quietly.

        “You get girls to have sex with you? That’s a first. Are you sure it’s not called rape what do you to them?”

        “Shut your piehole, idiot! Of course I get girls!” Trillram instantly attacked to protect his manly pride, but went quiet as he watched Slaine take the banana deep into his throat to tease him of what he was missing. The dark-haired man licked his lips. “Damn it…!”

        After Slaine pulled the banana out, he chewed his half off and then gave the rest to Trillram, who grumpily gobbled it up.

        “Tell you what,” Slaine said and leaned his head back against the backrest of the couch and looked up at the ceiling again. “If you pay me like my clients do, I will suck you deep enough to bury my nose in your pubic hair for as long as your money lasts. If you clean it first, I might give you ten extra minutes for free. How about it?”

        Trillram released an exacerbated sigh and leaned his head back as well to stare up at their crackled ceiling.

        “As if I can afford that,” he mumbled. “I couldn’t even afford keeping my soul as mine. How am I supposed to be able to buy your services? Give me a break.”

        “So you admit my services is that good?” the blond chuckled and felt Trillram smack his arm from annoyance. “Ow…!”

        “Just shut up and keep me warm throughout the night. That’s all,” the other grumbled and got up from the couch.

        He had marked how far his patience reached and warned Slaine about stepping over the invisible line, which made the blond give in to his demand and followed Trillram to his bedroom after cleaning his wounds with cold water. They lay down on the dirty futon Trillram owned – still dressed in their clothes – and curled up together to stay warm; the dark-haired young man lay behind Slaine and put an arm around his waist to hug him close, before he took a deep breath to relax.

        “Are ya seeing Cruhteo tomorrow?” Trillram asked quietly.

        “Yeah…” Slaine sighed with his cheek resting against the pillow. “I have to pay my debt, too.”

        “Lucky…” the other complained. Slaine could feel Trillram’s cold nose poke the back of his neck. “I want to have free drugs and food, too…”

        “It’s not free,” the blond corrected him and closed his eyes to get some sleep now that the effects of Aldnoah were wearing off.

        “Right, right,” the older of the two grumbled. “You just have to fuck him and then you get a full course meal and four syringes of Aldnoah. I wish I could do that too, but I don’t look like you do. Besides, he’s really into you.”

        Slaine chuckled as he tried to contain his laughter.

        “Are you saying I look better than you?” he asked, but instantly regretted it as Trillram’s hand was shoved into his jeans and grabbed his groin a little too hard. “Agh!”

        “Careful,” Trillram warned him with a poisonous hiss right next Slaine’s ear. It was not an empty threat this time: “Or I’ll rape the shit out of you just because I can, without pay.”

        “I’m sorry,” Slaine gasped and tried to pull Trillram’s hand out of his jeans. “I was just teasing you. Mmph!”

        Perhaps Slaine was a little too confident after a high of Aldnoah since he always managed to anger Trillram like this, he thought as Trillram fell asleep with his hand inside Slaine’s jeans. The palm of his hand felt warm against the other’s crotch and it sent a shiver down Slaine’s spine that made him curl his toes from how comforting such an outrageous thing could feel. The blond took a deep breath before he relaxed his body as well, and fell asleep while feeling warm and paradoxically safe in Trillram’s destructive arms.

 ∞∞

 Once noon came, he got up from bed with a body trembling from hunger. Trillram was still asleep; sleeping so silently he resembled a corpse with his inaudible breaths and eerie stillness.

        Slaine felt like he had a bottomless pit in his stomach that needed to be filled. He tried to fill it with water mixed with salt and sugar while feeling out of breath, and struggled to ignore the aching bones. When he checked his wounds, he saw they were becoming infected.

        He sighed annoyed and decided to try the shower with the hopes of the warm water being turned on, and, to his joy, he was allowed to wash himself in hot water and properly clean himself. After that, he dressed in his nicest clothes and packed his brown canvas backpack with all the money he had, gritted his teeth nervously and ventured out onto the street that now bathed in daylight.

        A bus ride later, he stood before a tall building with seventy-one floors according to the elevator display he always stared at on his way to the top. This day, he did the same thing he always did each Wednesday: He walked inside the busy office building and told the receptionist he was here to see the big boss, and got the card that would take him to the top floor once he held it in front of a panel in the elevator.

        Said and done. He stepped out of the elevator into an empty hall. Two guards stood at the door at the end of the corridor much like watchdogs glaring at him, and the blond stepped fearlessly up to them. They recognized him immediately and one of them opened the door and showed him inside the apartment.

        “The boy is here, sir,” the guard announced from next to Slaine.

        ‘A boy?’ Slaine thought bitterly. He was nineteen years old and not a child.

        And a dark voice answered from another room:

        “Have him take a shower and check the money he has with him.”

        “Yes, sir,” the guard answered and held out his hand to Slaine and waited for him to give him his backpack.

        Slaine knew he had to do as he was told even if he had already taken a shower half an hour earlier. He sighed and gave the guard his backpack, and followed him into the familiar shower he used once a week when he paid his father’s debt to the money-hungry shark controlling his life.

        Just like he did every time he made this visit, he stepped out of the shower with only a towel around him. It was big enough to envelop his entire torso and thighs, and he held it tightly closed and followed the guard who seemed to have finished calculating the money. He showed the young man into a bedroom and left him there, closing the door behind him.

        “You’re three-thousand yen short this week,” a dark voice said from the balcony, and Slaine felt his body grow cold.

        A tall man, dressed in a fine white shirt and dark brown trousers stood on the balcony while taking a smoke. He stood in ridiculously polished black shoes and his golden hair waved slowly in the soft winter wind.

        “N-no, I’m sure I had it all this time,” Slaine said nervously and stepped up to the balcony door and looked at the man’s broad back. He hugged the towel closer to protect him from the wind. “I swear I got it up to eighty-thousand even this week.”

        “Empty excuses, Slaine,” the man said and turned around to look at the blond, who took a step back from meeting the harsh glare in the other’s piercing blue eyes. “Do I need to break you in again to remind you of how to haul in the money?”

        Slaine held his breath and felt his already weak body tremble from fear as well. He shook his head after a while and said quietly:

        “I-I’ll get out onto t-the street immediately, and b-bring you three-thousand yen w-within an hour…”

        The red room. Slaine feared it more than anything. Five years ago, when his father had committed suicide, Slaine had been kidnapped from next to his father’s corpse and brought into a small and blood-red room, still crying from shock from finding his father dead after coming home from school. There, he had been told by the same man standing before him now that his father had destroyed a large portion of the drug he had been developing for a worth of three-hundred-million yen. Since Slaine had been the only member of the Troyard family left, the man had told him he would pay it back by working hard, or else he would have his organs sold on the black market. The child had agreed from fear for his life and, once the man had left the room, another stranger had stepped in.

        Slaine had been locked up in the blood-red room with strangers coming in to toy with him for so long he had fallen into some kind of psychotic episode, believing in unbelievable things that explained the womb-like room and scary shadows that hurt him. The windowless redness and the strangers had become surreal, and he had screamed and cried, fought and struggled so hard he had been restrained and drugged with his father’s drug – the drug called Aldnoah. He had been hooked after just a couple of hits, and, once he had been allowed out of the room, it had taken months for him to emotionally recover to the point where he was somewhat functional as a human being. Although he had recovered a lot since then, he knew he would never recover completely.

        “I’m already lenient with you, Slaine, because you are the son of Dr. Troyard and an acquaintance to Miss Allusia, but that doesn’t mean you are allowed to become lazy,” the man said and stepped into the room and closed the balcony door.

        “I’ll do anything! F-forgive me, Cruhteo! I won’t make this mistake again!” Slaine said desperately and took a step back. “I’ll give you three-thousand yen before this day is over! I’m so sorry! I’m not lazy and I don’t need a reminder on how to work! I’m really trying!”

        “Drop the towel,” Cruhteo commanded curtly instead, ignoring the terrified young man’s pleading promise, and stared at Slaine without reacting to anything the blond said. Slaine stared at him for a short moment before obeying with a trembling body. Cruhteo’s eyes narrowed at seeing the cuts on his commodity. “Where are those wounds from?”

        “S-some punks… They jumped me and…” Slaine tried to lie to protect Trillram, but he knew he was bad at it – especially in a frightened state like this. “I-it doesn’t matter. I already have scars anyway.”

        “And who were they?” the man asked with a hiss. His glare made Slaine feel overpowered by nervousness.

        “S-sir,” the blond stammered. “I don’t know.”

        Cruhteo’s eyes narrowed even more, piercing the blond who held his breath. Slaine felt like he was put on display in front of him; the man eyed him up and down, resting his eyes on whatever caught his interest. For a moment, Slaine thought he found the pitiful sight of the undernourished and wounded young man pleasant.

        “You are lying,” his overbearing demon said after glaring at the blond for a while. “Who is responsible for all this?”

        Cruhteo was strangely possessive of the blond and Slaine knew this. It should have not come as a surprise Cruhteo wanted to know who had tortured his commodity, but he was such a fearful man he could suffocate all emotions in a room with just a single look, and that look was drilling itself into the shivering blond.

        As Slaine did not answer, persistently protecting his roommate, Cruhteo seemed to give up interrogating Slaine and sat down on the edge of the bed and cocked his head back to order Slaine closer.

        “Forget it. Service me,” he demanded, and the blond took a deep breath and moved closer before getting down on his knees between the man’s legs and opened Cruhteo’s trousers to free his cock from the fabric. It was still soft. “I know you’re starving, but I won’t let you eat just yet. You will swallow each load I empty into your mouth for as long as I see fit, as punishment for not bringing in the right amount of cash.”

        Slaine closed his eyes and silently prayed Cruhteo’s body would give up before Slaine’s stomach did, and he did as ordered and took the man’s flesh into his mouth.

        Already, he felt sick. His stomach was so sensitive even the smell of a cock made him nauseous. He was supposed to be good at this – and he knew he was – but he gagged each time he took Cruhteo’s hardening meat deep into his throat.

        Tears sprung to his eyes and his body began trembling from nausea.

        “I c-can’t…” he whispered as he had to pull the cock out of his throat and take a breath to calm his sickness, but a ruthless slap silenced him.

        “I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” the man asked with a warning hiss, and Slaine sucked in a breath and continued with his services.

        Immediately when he swallowed Cruhteo’s first load, he vomited. His stomach was so sensitive from not being properly fed for days that it refused the bodily fluids forced into it. Despite that, he managed to keep his protests to himself throughout the rest of the day – enduring everything Cruhteo did – in order to save his own skin.

        Once evening fell, Cruhteo decided to let Slaine go. The blond stood in the elevator with his backpack filled with food and four doses of Aldnoah. The cruel man had allowed Slaine to eat dinner before he left, which made him feel much better.

        “You will pay me eighty-three-thousand next week, to cover for the shortage this week. If you repeat this mistake, I will break you in again,” Cruhteo had said right before Slaine had left.

        When he shoved his hands into his coat pockets to protect them from the cold outside, he felt a small lump of paper in the bottom of the pocket and a tired realization hit him. When he took the contents of the pocket out, he realized it was the missing three-thousand yen and one-thousand extra that he had saved yesterday to buy food. Now he remembered he had put yesterday’s earnings in his coat pocket, not in his jeans. A shaky breath was his only reaction, and he shoved the money back into his pocket and went outside.

        “Isn’t it a little late for kids to roam the streets?” he heard a scruffy male voice say the moment he stepped out through the door. He recognized that voice and continued walking determinedly, putting up the usual act whenever this man was close by. He had been following the blond for a couple of months now. “Quite rude, as always I see, still not introducing yourself.”

        “Look who’s talking. I believe the nurses at the retirement home are getting worried. You should head back,” Slaine answered without stopping.

        Steps began following him and a hint of cigarette smoke reached his nostrils.

        “Ouch, how sassy. That’s harsh,” the man chuckled with smoke spewing out from between his dry lips. “Your mommy taught you good, I guess, for not speaking to strangers, but it’s difficult to make friends if you never introduce yourself to anyone.”

        “Befriending a cop isn’t on my bucket list, Officer Marito. Stop pestering me,” the blond barked and continued walking toward the bus stop.

        “I guess that could be a little difficult for a criminal,” Marito answered amused. “Been up there whoring yourself to the boss again? Did you give his dick a nice polish and let him have a good pounding?” the man then chuckled. When the blond held his answer, Marito continued: "Any fake visas to show me this time?”

        Slaine gritted his teeth.

        “What, you’re interested?” he snarled. “Sorry but if you want a warm hole to stick your dick in, go to the nearest brothel. You should know where they are. Besides, my visa is legit so you can’t take me in for being an illegal immigrant.”

        Marito laughed. He was well aware of Slaine lying about his visa, but had no proof of that because both of them knew it was a well-made fake.

        “As stingy as always,” he said humored. “Why find a brothel when I have a whore right in front of me?” Slaine forced his steps forward, refusing to let the cop aggravate his foul mood that clung to him after Cruhteo’s punishment. “I know what you’re doing, punk. I can see it in your eyes.”

        “That’s not enough to take me in for prostitution, officer,” the young man answered and stopped to wait for the bus at the bus stop.

        He had to take another bus and then change to another in order to shake the man off him.

        “Perhaps,” Marito said and walked up next to him and leaned against the streetlight. “Want a smoke?” When Slaine kept silent and ignored his offer, Marito continued: “Well, I roamed around in the red-light district a couple of nights ago and heard this funny noise from an alley. Who do you think I saw fucking a woman?”

        “Could have been your own son for all I care,” Slaine grumbled and saw a muscle twitch in the officer’s face.

        “It was you,” Marito continued, this time with frustration. “However, the chick must have paid you before the fucking, since I didn’t see any money. Too bad, huh? I can’t take you in because of a little detail like that. You didn’t use any protection either. Have any unknown kids or an STD somewhere in a forgotten pocket?”

        Slaine sighed and was glad to finally hear the bus coming.

        “Who knows how many kinds I have – if I have any? It’s the women’s choice if they want to use a condom or not; some get a kick from playing with fire and I simply scratch their itch. Besides, the kids are probably happier without their miserable dad around,” he said and took out his bus card. “About an STD, how about I blow a load in your ass and then wait to see if you get sick?”

        “Is that how you test yourself; on your clients?” the officer asked, and the blond stepped onto the bus when it opened its door, and turned around to answer Marito with a grin:

        “What clients?”

        “You little-!” Marito exclaimed before the doors closed. Slaine showed his bus card to the machine and then sat down next to a window to wave to the angered officer, who shouted loud enough Slaine heard him through the window: “Deny it all you want. You’ll get caught one day, punk! I’ll get you before you’ve done too much harm! One day I’ll catch you without your fake visa, right in the act!”

        ‘Shut up…’ the blond thought exhaustedly; he hated the glaring man.

        When the bus drove off, Slaine slumped against his seat and took a deep breath. Today had been difficult. Cruhteo had kept him chained to the bed all day and his body was sore and numb at the same time. He could not wait to get back home.

        First, he would hand the drugs over to Trillram and share some of his food with him, since he had looked so weak this morning; he could not have him die on him. Then he would disappear into his room and go to sleep after enjoying a hit of Aldnoah.

        He opened the door into the dark apartment like usual and announced his return, but – this time – no familiar voice answered. A sweet smell drifted in the air, and Slaine got a bad feeling.

        “Trillram?” he asked and turned the lights on in the hallway, and stepped deeper into the apartment. “I brought some food. You want some?” When no one answered, Slaine began to fear the worst. Had Trillram overdosed or starved to death? “Trillram?”

        He hurried to the door to Trillram’s room and opened it to look inside. The darkness engulfed the room entirely and Slaine turned the lights on. The moment he saw what the room contained, Slaine staggered back from panic until he fell backwards onto the floor and stared at the massacre in the room.

        Trillram had been murdered. He had not even gotten the chance to get up from bed before someone had shot him. He still had the duvet over him he and Slaine had huddled beneath this morning, but it was soaked in blood. It was punctured by several bullet holes and a puddle of blood had spread around the mattress. The side of his skull had blown off after someone had shot him in the head and the splattered blood and brain mass stained the pillow and wall next to him.

        Slaine was struck by such panic he hurried back up on his feet and dashed out through the door and back onto the streets. He knew Trillram’s profession was much more dangerous than Slaine’s, but this still came as a horrific surprise.

        The underworld was ruthless and walking through it was like dancing on a minefield.

        Trillram and Slaine had not had a choice but to live in the shadows, since they had both been kidnapped as kids to be put to work under Cruhteo’s supervision. The man watched over their entire lives and had hooked them up with Aldnoah to control them and motivate them to work and bring in the money. Working under Cruhteo’s hidden cartel gave Slaine and Trillram protection, but not all groups and cartels feared the name. The only reason Slaine could come up with as to why Trillram had been murdered was that Trillram must have stolen from the wrong person.

        ‘What do I do?’ he thought and continued running aimlessly. ‘I can’t go back there in case they come back.’

        He rounded a corner and dove into the darkness of an alley. He pushed his back up against the concrete wall and tried to catch his breath. Once again, nausea welled up in his throat when the image of the bloody Trillram floated into his erratic mind, and he vomited out the entire dinner he had eaten just a couple of hours earlier.

        He had never seen such a bloodbath before despite living in the underworld from the moment his father was hired by Rayregalia Vers Rayvers to develop the Aldnoah drug when Slaine had been eleven years old. His father had not known what his work would result in at the time when they moved to Japan, and had been happy to assist a renowned drug company with creating a new drug.

        Back then, Slaine had been an innocent boy who had gotten to know the granddaughter of the Vers Pharmaceuticals’ CEO and played with her whenever their guardians were having a meeting or spoke business and results of the projects his father had been involved in. He and Asseylum had been brought up in the corridors and rooms of Vers Pharmaceuticals’ buildings and labs, played in the conference rooms, rolled down the hallways on desk chairs and drawn on the whiteboards with colorful pens. They had been preciously surviving in their fantasy world together in grown-up environments, unknowing of what horrific things their guardians were up to. It had been a time of innocence – something Slaine had quickly learned did not last forever.

        Once Slaine’s father had died and Cruhteo had presented to Slaine his new life, he had kept on seeing Asseylum now and then in a coffee shop, but even that had slowly begun to disappear as Asseylum had become busy with school. Now, she lived abroad, probably living a comfortable life with a lover, soon to be married and getting her own family, and here Slaine was, staggering through blood and mud, taking drugs in order to sell his body to strangers so that he could pay a debt that was not his, with a friend lying murdered in the bed back home.

        ‘How could it all have come down to this?’ he wondered and released a whimper. ‘Trillram…’

        It was unbelievable the young man was murdered. It had not quite sunken in yet, and Slaine got a delusional feeling his friend would be all right if he returned to the apartment. It was so surreal it could not be true. His one and only companion was lying in a puddle of blood in their apartment where they had lived for five years, helping each other to drag their feet and move forward through the hell they have been living in. Now, Trillram had been freed, leaving Slaine alone.

        Tears sprung out of his eyes and wetted his cheeks. He hid his face against his knees after slumping down against the wall, and began crying, grieving for his lost friend and his own miserable life. Fear to call Cruhteo and tell him about what had happened kept him from moving. It was as if Slaine had lost his motivation to do anything.

        ‘I hate this! I hate this so much!’ he thought and sniveled. ‘I want to die, too.’

        He had managed to pay back seventeen-million yen during his career in the underworld, and had so much more left; he would die long before he had reached the sum of three-hundred-million yen. On top of that, no one knew he was suffering since he was not alive. The Slaine Troyard he was supposed to be was dead, which technically meant he was not suffering at all; no one knew he existed, and therefore no one knew he needed help.

        ‘I can’t do this…’ he thought and took a deep breath and leaned his head back to look up at the sky between the rooftops of the buildings around him. It was a clear night sky with carefree stars twinkling back at him. ‘I don’t have to do this,’ he then concluded.

        He rummaged around in his backpack and found the four syringes with Aldnoah Cruhteo had given him. If he took them all he would certainly take a lethal dose, and that was what he did, much less gracefully than the way Trillram used to do it.

        To prevent or stall anyone from finding his corpse, he decided to walk to the bridge and throw his useless body into the river flowing beneath it once he felt weak enough.

        The world became hazy quite quickly. He felt sick and could not focus on anything, and his emotions began fading and so did everything else. The fuzzy world around him danced before his eyes, and the shadows around him became deeper. He could barely form a coherent thought, but he managed to push his heavy body up from the cold ground and drag his staggering legs toward the bridge.

        Somehow – he did not remember how – he managed to get to the bridge. He was severely out of breath, as if his lungs protested and had decided not to function anymore. Was this his cue?, he wondered, and in his intoxicated state decided it was so.

        “Hey!” he heard a woman yell somewhere when he clumsily climbed over the railing. “Stop! What are you doing?!”

        ‘Can it…’ Slaine thought hazily and turned around to look at the water beneath the bridge.

        His sight was already bad enough he could not see anything clearly below. It was like standing on the edge of a dark abyss; the river looked like a bottomless hole.

        ‘Wait… What am I doing here?’

        “That’s dangerous! Hey!” the woman kept on yelling, and someone ran toward him. “Come back here!”

        “Try to catch him, sis. I’ll go down to the shore if he falls while calling for help,” a young man’s voice said.

        Someone grabbed him by his arm and tried to hold him back, but Slaine pulled himself free out of reflex after so many strangers had tried to drag him away every day, and, in the process, lost his grip of the railing. He felt his body float in midair and his breathing stopped.

        ‘Oh…’ he thought and managed to get a blurry look of the woman who had tried to save him before he closed his eyes. ‘I slipped.’

        He crashed into the ice cold water, and that was when his memory was knocked into splinters. Someone screamed somewhere. Another yelled something. Hands grabbed and pulled at him and his ribcage felt like it was crushed over and over again.

        Then, everything disappeared.

 ∞∞

 When he woke up, he woke up into a strange room with white walls and machines beeping around him and the bed. He had no memory of what had happened or where he was, nor could he understand what was going on except for feeling a horrible pain over his chest. It took a while for him to collect his mind enough to take a look around and begin thinking, but he was still clueless no matter for how long he lay on the bed. It was as if he could not understand anything nor put two and two together to figure out where he was.

        Soon, the door opened and a young man dressed in softly green clothes came in. He stopped in the doorway and stared at the blond with shocked eyes, before hurrying out of the room to yell something about a patient being awake. Within moments, a man with a white coat and others with green clothes came rushing in, and they began touching him and speaking to him.

        ‘Stop…’ Slaine thought weakly and felt distressed. He feared they were going to hurt him since he understood nothing of what they said. ‘Don’t touch me. I’m tired of that shit.’

        It was a confusing moment. They were ripping plastic packages to shreds and danced around with metal objects in their hands that they poked him with, made bright orbs dance before his eyes and attacked his ears with words that meant nonsense to him. They even had the audacity to wave his weak limbs around as if mocking him for not being able to move them himself; lifting them up and flapping his hands around.

        Once this ridiculous charade ended, he was left alone in the room for a while and was allowed to relax and pull his thoughts out of the mud in his brain. Nothing of what had happened to him before waking up in this unknown room really came to mind, and he took a deep breath and closed his eyes again and fell asleep.

        The second time he woke up, he managed to understand the sight of a scruffy looking middle-aged man who was sitting next to him, reading a newspaper. The air around him smelled of cigarettes, and Slaine finally recognized him.

        “Marito,” he said weakly, and the man looked up at him and got a wide grin on his lips.

        “There we go, kid. Welcome back,” he said satisfied. “You were out cold for days.”

        “Out cold…?” Slaine mumbled and felt his head ache. “Where am I?”

        “In the hospital of course,” the man answered and grunted as Slaine asked him why. “You tried to kill yourself,” he continued and frowned. “You don’t remember?”

        “No…” Slaine mumbled and took a deep breath and sat up.

        “Well, the doctor said you had taken a lethal dose of Aldnoah, and your suicide attempt actually saved you. Quite ironic, isn’t it?” he asked and chuckled. The blond stared at him confused. “The drug shut your respiratory system down, but the sudden shock from the cold water jumpstarted it into a functional state. One of my colleagues was on patrol that night and found you. You got lucky.”

        “That’s dangerous! Hey!” echoed in his memory. “Come back here!”

        “I … see,” the blond sighed tiredly. “What will happen now?”

        Marito chuckled satisfied and was about to open his mouth to answer him when a door swung open into the room and a woman with long black hair stormed in with a young man with tousled brown hair behind her. The woman wore a police uniform while the young man trailing behind her wore neat pants and a brown coat and scarf.

        “What did you think you were doing, huh?!” the woman exclaimed and glared at Slaine with a strict stare. The blond stared at her with utter shock. “You think you can go and off yourself like that? Don’t be ridiculous!”

        “Yuki,” the young brunet said and pulled her back with a strong hand around her belt. “Not so aggressively. He has just woken up.”

        “You think I’ll let him get away from subjecting me to something traumatizing like that?!” she shrieked and glared at the young man looking back at her with an emotionless expression.

        Suddenly, at hearing her voice, the memories came flooding back to him of what had happened that night when he had lost his consciousness. Trillram was dead and the blond had decided to take his own life since he had found no reason to carry on alone.

        ‘I have to contact Cruhteo,’ he thought and felt stressed out for having two cops in the hospital room where he was kept. ‘I have to escape from here!’

        Then his thoughts halted again and he wondered why he had to escape and call Cruhteo. Would jail not be much more comfortable than the streets where he had to whore himself to strangers?

        ‘But what if Cruhteo has people inside the prison that will shank me the moment they get the chance?’ he then thought and felt so confused he felt his distress grow. ‘Am I in too deep?’

        “Sit down and stop whining,” Marito ordered the woman who seemed to go by the name Yuki. When she obeyed with a grumpy pout on her lips, Marito turned to Slaine again and asked: “Now that you’re in a hospital, don’t you think you should introduce yourself so the doctors can find your medical record?”

        Slaine stared at him for a long time, unable to come to a conclusion of what to answer him. He wanted to tell him. He wanted the officers to know he was a victim in all this – that he had been forced to pay a debt he had no responsibility for. Even if he had been declared dead five years ago, perhaps he was allowed to get his identity back? Then again, if he did tell them, he risked going to jail and be found by Cruhteo. He was sure the man had sent out people to look for him.

        ‘Or will Cruhteo believe I’ve been abducted?’ he wondered and painfully thought of Trillram lying dead in their apartment. ‘If he has found Trillram, maybe he thinks those who murdered him have abducted me, since I’ve disappeared as well?’

        “You should give us your name so we can help you,” the brown-haired young man suddenly said with a comfortable voice, looking at Slaine with expressionless eyes.

        “Help him?” Marito asked and raised his eyebrows, as though the brunet had told a bad joke. “Oh no, kid. This guy will be prosecuted for prostitution and drug possession as well as illegal immigration. I’ve been on his ass for several months now. The punk works for that Cruhteo, who has suspicious ties to the Vers Pharmaceuticals.”

        “N-no,” Slaine mumbled, and the officers went silent and stared at him. “If I go to jail, I’ll get murdered…”

        “What? That’s ridiculous. The jails are really safe,” the officer called Yuki said.

        Slaine shook his head.

        “No. My boss might have people in there. Don’t you know how the mafia operates?” the blond asked and looked up at the three. “Why do you think inmates murder each other? It’s sometimes because they are receiving such orders from the outside.”

        Marito scoffed:

        “Why would there be a need to murder you? You’re just a whore, aren’t you?”

        No. Slaine was more than that to Cruhteo and the Vers Pharmaceuticals, and the officer’s comment stung uncomfortably. Slaine was a great source of information due to his father’s work, and if it got known he was in contact with the police, Cruhteo would surely send out people to either kidnap him or murder him to shush him. However, if Slaine revealed this now, the cops would figure out who he was.

        Instead, Slaine hung his head and felt like crying from having to make this impossible decision. He had been brainwashed into believing his life was in danger if he tried to crawl out of the underworld, and he was terrified of not knowing what was less dangerous; to escape back to Cruhteo’s side to continue prostituting or letting the cops know everything about him.

        He felt safe with what was familiar to him despite it probably not being good for him. These thoughts were something he recognized from the verbalized thoughts of others in a similar situation. He understood he had become one of them, believing everything outside his destructive life was more dangerous than the destructive life itself.

        “Leave us for a little while,” the brown-haired man suddenly said, and Yuki and Marito stared at him with shock. “I need to speak with this man alone.”

        “But you’re not a police officer, Nao!” Yuki blurted and stood up, but the young man looked determined.

        “Leave us. It’s fine,” the other said.

        Marito sighed heavily and decided to give the brunet a chance to wiggle whatever he could out of the blond and convinced Yuki to follow him out of the room. Slaine figured the old man knew Slaine well enough from trailing him to know the blond was not dangerous, believing it safe to leave this young man alone with him.

        The brunet looked at Slaine for a while once they were left alone, studying his exhausted frame carefully before he sat down on the chair where Marito had been sitting.

        “How do you feel?” the brunet asked, and Slaine blinked from the surprisingly gentle voice and question.

        “Uh… N-not too good,” he answered honestly, too tired and confused to put on the sassy mask he usually had around people, except with Trillram and Cruhteo.

        “Are you hungry? I can get you something from the cafeteria,” the young man continued, and the blond blinked again.

        “N-no thank you…” he mumbled back, unable to understand why the other was so considerate.

        “I was out to meet up with my sis that evening after she had begun her shift, because she forgot her lunch box at home,” the young man began to explain with a monotone voice. “We saw you stagger to the bridge and climb over the railing. She ran up to you to grab you, and I hurried to the riverbank below in case you would fall, and you did. I jumped in after you and pulled you up, and my sis gave you CPR before the ambulance came. Your chest is probably hurting from that,” the brunet continued, still without much emotion in his voice. His voice was really nice to listen to, though; it was soft and gentle despite its monotone character. “I thought you wanted to know, since I doubt Marito gave you any background to why you’re here.”

        “Uh-huh…” was the only thing Slaine could say as his memory was set to spin like a disk in a computer searching for data.

        Now that he thought about it, he could remember someone yelling to him he was doing something dangerous, and he could remember someone saying something about calling for help and catching Slaine if he fell. He could suddenly also remember he had forgotten his wish for death once he had stood on the wrong side of the railing on the bridge; he had thought he had slipped when falling, without realizing what had been going on.

        Slaine gritted his teeth. It was difficult to remember, since it clearly proved to him he had no true wish to die. It had been an impulse and nothing else. How foolish of him. If he wished to live, what decision was the best for him to make in order to get a chance to survive? Should he tell the cops everything, or should he try to escape?

        “By the way,” the brunet said. “My name’s Inaho. Kaizuka Inaho. Nice meeting you.”

        Slaine nodded without answering and lowered his eyes. Perhaps he should try to accept their help? He would die anyway, would he not? At least he should try to get his own life back and risk dying in the process instead of cowering like a beaten dog in a gutter somewhere. He was tired of the life he had led thus far. It was too difficult for him, especially now that Trillram was gone.

        “I’m…” he said and went silent to take a deep breath and gather courage to test these unknown waters. “I’m not that kind of a prostitute like Marito says…”

        Inaho nodded as if expecting to hear something like that.

        “I think you’re a sex trafficking victim,” he said bluntly, and Slaine blinked. “I don’t think someone who’s a prostitute under a drug cartel is a prostitute willingly.”

        “H-how did you know?” Slaine asked breathlessly and stared at the brunet.

        “The police are checking up the Vers Pharmaceuticals for illegal activity. They have managed to trace the Aldnoah drug to one of their labs,” the brunet said. “Since Marito said you work as a prostitute for Cruhteo, who is believed to distribute the drug and who probably works for that pharmaceutical company, I think you’re just caught up in all this as a victim and not as a criminal.”

        Slaine had never believed that anyone would look at him that way. He had always been met with contempt for selling his body and taking drugs. Even his own clients thought he did it because he needed the money to buy drugs and treated him accordingly. That was not the entire truth, nor was it the main truth for that matter.

        This brown-haired young man had pointed out something no one else had wanted or bothered to see or recognize, and it overwhelmed the blond to finally hear words that told him it was not his fault for things to have become like this. It made him feel free, somehow, to finally be given a truthful description to his situation by someone else.

        “T-thank you…!” Slaine said with a whimpering gasp and began crying from a strange sensation of relief. “Thank you.”

        “If you decide to tell my sis and Marito who you are and what is going on, I am sure they will do anything they can to help you,” the brunet continued. “But that is a decision you will have to make on your own. If you have something or someone back there who needs you, I understand if you decide to stay silent and make attempts to go back.”

        “N-no, that’s not it,” Slaine whimpered and looked up at the other. “I have nothing left there.”

        “Was that why you tried to kill yourself?” Inaho wondered. “Because you have nothing left?” Slaine nodded. “Was this something taken away from you the same night you tried to commit suicide?”

        “My roommate was murdered,” Slaine whispered and began to feel sick again. The images of the dead Trillram lying in a puddle of blood flickered in his mind, making him feel nauseous.

        “What about your family?” Inaho asked, and Slaine shook his head and swallowed down the nausea.

        “I don’t have one. My dad killed himself when I was a teenager, and I never knew my mom,” the blond answered with a thick voice and dried his tears.

        “Do you know why your dad committed suicide?”

        “Yeah, but I can’t speak about that,” the tired blond said and nodded to the next question:

        “Because you fear the consequences of it if you tell?”

        This young man called Inaho was good at figuring out questions that were right on the spot. Even if the questions perhaps were questions anyone could come up with, Inaho was not hesitating to ask them. Slaine liked this quality in the stranger, but it made him wary of him as well. If the blond was careless with his answers, he might accidentally say something he would regret.

        “Do you know why you’re put in this position of selling yourself?” Inaho then asked, and Slaine smiled wryly.

        “It’s quite cliché, really. My father created a debt when he killed himself, and I was kidnapped and broken in to pay it all back. It’s too big, however; I will never be able to pay it back no matter how hard I work,” he answered and released a sorrowful chuckle. “It’s just like in the movies.”

        “Not really,” Inaho pointed out. “In a movie, the character dies but not the actor. In real life, the actor dies with the character, since they’re the same person.” This made Slaine feel bad, like he had said something childish. “Even if you tried to commit suicide three days ago, I doubt you really want to die. You just want to end the pain without having to die, but you think you have no choice but to die in order to end the pain, right?”

        Even if Inaho was right on the spot, Slaine began to feel insulted by how much the brunet read into his situation. He was thankful for the brunet to be so observant, but it also trespassed on Slaine’s integrity.

        ‘But I have no right to be angry with him. He seems to say these things because he cares,’ he thought and sighed.

        “You’re right about that,” he said instead while trying to push his anger away. “Are you some kind of psychologist or something?”

        “No,” the brunet answered. “I just helped my sister with her school work when she was studying to become a police officer. They have some basic psychology on the schedule, and I read through the entire book in order to test her before her exam, but she seems to have forgotten all about it. I’m more into physics and math, actually.”

        Slaine stared at him dumbfounded for a moment before he felt a laughter bubble up from the empty pit of his stomach, and he released a chuckle.

        “Are you serious? I would’ve never guessed since you seem so at home with psychology,” he said and cleared his throat to calm down. “I was surprised. Sorry.”

        “Do you have any hobby?” Inaho wondered after staring awkwardly at Slaine for a while.

        “No,” the blond answered and frowned. His lighter mood disappeared immediately.

        “Too busy surviving?” the brunet hypothesized, and Slaine nodded downheartedly. “Well, if you want us to help you,” he continued and got up from the chair. The blond looked up at him, suddenly feeling horribly lonely for the other leaving. “Then just let Marito or Yuki know. They’ll be guarding you in shifts since they still believe you’re a criminal. You should be safe for now.”

        When the brunet began walking toward the door, Slaine’s mind quickly twisted and turned his options. If he let this young man go, Slaine would never speak up and be put in jail instead. If he chose to stop him from leaving, the blond could grab a chance to escape the dangerous life he had lived thus far.

        ‘I won’t be able to survive on my own,’ he thought and desperately breathed in a gulp of air, and said:

        “Wait…!” To his relief, the brunet stopped and turned around to look at him. “I-“ the blond began and hesitated. “I’m…” He got tears in his eyes again, and he finally exclaimed with a heartbreaking whimper, speaking so fast his words stumbled over each other: “Help me. My name is Slaine Troyard, born in Tampere, Finland, on the eleventh of January in 1998 to a Finnish mom and a French dad. My mom died in childbirth, and my dad took care of me until he killed himself. I have been legally dead for five years and lived in an apartment in the suburb of Shinawara, forced to pay my dad’s debt to a money shark. My roommate has been murdered and I’m scared to go back. Please, help me!”

        The brunet stared at him for a while, probably surprised to hear the blond blurt out so much information so quickly, but then nodded.

        “Nice meeting you, Slaine Troyard,” he said and called for the cops.

        A confusing carousel was set in motion after that. Slaine was questioned by both Marito and Yuki, both of them unbelieving of what he told them at first. Marito had been aggressively denying Slaine’s story, while Yuki had been conflicted in what to believe. The blond figured they were used to hearing criminals lie, and kept pushing on with support from the brown-haired young man who had stayed with him. Then, after Slaine had explained how he had lived for those five dead years and how he had found Trillram shot to death in their apartment, the cops had begun to believe him. The cuts and bruises, scars and cigarette burns strengthened the truth in his words.

        He being legally dead was an issue, and not being able to prove his identity due to no identification of any kind became an even greater issue since the identification forms he had were all fake. There were no family members to confirm his identity, and he could not remember his social security number. Both Yuki and Marito had no idea of what to do with such a case, but they did warn him thoroughly about the accommodation issue concerning trafficking victims, especially foreigners.

        If Slaine cooperated with the police; told them everything he knew about Cruhteo and Vers Pharmaceuticals and served as a witness in court, he would be allowed to stay in Japan for six months but get very limited healthcare and protection because he was a foreigner, probably even be housed in a deportation center for illegal immigrants. If he refused, he would be deported to Finland and let the Finnish government take care of his case – if the country would have him.

        He being dead complicated even the possible deportation, since if his home country refused to take him in, he would probably be detained in Japan until they were forced to release him due to laws and human rights, and then he would be back on the streets until he was arrested again.

        This made Slaine terrified. He knew Japan was careful to hide their trafficking statistics for reasons he had no idea about, and he also knew their existing trafficking statistics with low numbers were as wrong as they could become; the country was a major destination and transit country for human trafficking. Plenty of trafficking victims in the red-light district had shared their knowledge with him, letting him know the government filed traffickers with other charges than trafficking to hide the actual trafficking numbers among sentences such as rape, illegal confinement, threat and murder.

        The foreign victims were treated as illegal immigrants rather than victims of crime, and were forced out of the country with barely any support, while the nationals were treated with care. Those who were not successfully deported were soon back in the red-light districts under their previous debt bondage, and most of those were eventually killed or committed suicide.

        Another issue the blond found was that Slaine had nothing to go back to in Finland – a country he had not been in for fourteen years. His father had taken him to France after living in Finland for five years, and then moved from France to Japan when Slaine had been eleven years old. He had no affiliation to either country.

        On top of all that, he could not give out information about Cruhteo and the drug company since he feared for his life. Inaho had tried to convince both parties to give in and cooperate, but nor the cops or Slaine had budged – the cops because they could not break the law, and Slaine because he feared for his life.

        In the end, Slaine was completely in the mercy of the broken support system for trafficking victims. If he wanted to survive by staying silent, he would be treated as an illegal immigrant without any support. It was like an additional punishment; he was already a victim, and now he risked of being treated as someone who resided illegally in a country, to where his father had taken him when he had been an eleven year old boy. This drained him and made his craving for Aldnoah increase for each moment that passed, until the withdrawal symptoms emerged at midnight.

        ‘I should have never said anything!’ he had thought while hyperventilating from anxiety. His head hurt like it was being crushed and his body trembled. On top of that, his pulse was horribly fast, amplifying the anxiety. ‘Inaho told me this isn’t my fault, but why do they punish me like this?!’

        It was in the middle of the night as he finally decided he should go back to Cruhteo. With cold sweat soaking the clothes he had borrowed from the hospital, and with it dripping from his chin, he quietly opened the door and peeked outside. The withdrawal symptoms were difficult and made him feel weak and disoriented.

        Yuki sat sleeping on the chair outside the room, slumped down against the wall behind her and had a trail of saliva running down from the right corner of her lips. Slaine sneaked past her with a blanket over his shoulders and made sure his slippers would not clap loudly as he walked.

        After rounding a corner, he began hurrying through the hospital corridors, trying to find his way out.

        He rode the elevator two floors down and exited into a dark and empty lobby. He found only two people in his immediate proximity; a young woman crying while someone who looked like her mother held her in her arms. He ignored them and hurried toward the exit doors, and, just as he hurried past the closed cafeteria, a familiar voice said:

        “It’s really cold outside.”

        Slaine stopped immediately and turned to look toward the tables and chairs outside the cafeteria, and saw a brown-haired young man sit on the red leather couch next to a table with a heavy-looking book in front of him. His burgundy eyes looked up at Slaine while he held a pen that rested against a notebook in his lap.

        “I-Inaho…” Slaine said trembling and felt nauseous from the withdrawal. “I can’t stay,” he then gasped and watched Inaho close the book and put his tings into a bag lying on the floor.

        “I was supposed to bring Yuki some food, but she was asleep. I decided to sit here and study a little,” the brunet said and got up from the couch, bringing his coat and bag with him. “Where are you going?”

        “N-nowhere,” the guarded blond answered and took a step back. He was so weak he barely could hold his tears back.

        “That doesn’t sound like a productive place to go to,” Inaho answered and offered Slaine his coat. “How about coming home with me? You can sleep on the couch.”

        The blond hesitated.

        “Won’t you be in trouble if I accept your offer?” Slaine asked exhausted, and Inaho shook his head.

        “Don’t worry about that,” the brunet said and waited for the blond to take the coat. “We should take a taxi since your situation is somewhat problematic.”

        The way the brunet spoke made Slaine’s guard drop, and he accepted the coat and pulled it on. Then, he followed the young man out to hail a taxi, and Slaine was taken to a common working class area with apartment buildings. He recognized the area since he had been here many times before with clients living here.

        Inaho paid for the taxi and showed Slaine up some stairs in an apartment building. Once the door into the apartment was unlocked and opened, a gentle scent filled the blond’s nostrils. The homeliness smell was warm and safe, which allowed Slaine to relax.

        “The couch is big enough for a person to sleep on,” the brunet said after taking off his shoes and hanging up the coat Slaine had borrowed.

        He put some clean slippers onto the floor in front of the blond, and then walked into the living room. Slaine hurried after him, changing the hospital slippers into the ones Inaho had given him before stepping properly inside the hallway.

        “I won’t stop you from running away, but I would suggest you stay until tomorrow and get some breakfast if you decide to leave,” Inaho continued and removed the decorative pillows from the couch. “If you want to stay, you are welcome to do so as well, and we can figure out what else we can do to help you after some sleep.”

        Slaine stepped aside to let Inaho past him as he walked out of the living room.

        “Why are you doing this?” he asked, still trembling. “You can choose to ignore me with a clear conscience since I have no value to you.”

        “I think you should give yourself some self-value. You’re treating yourself like a dead man,” Inaho said and came back with linen in his arms.

        Slaine shook his head and crouched down on the floor to hug his knees.

        “That’s because I am,” he mumbled. “Besides, it’s difficult to value myself when no one has given me any other kind of value than eight-thousand yen at most.”

        “Perhaps that’s why I care,” Inaho said and began preparing Slaine’s bed on the couch. “I feel responsible for you since I saved your life, and I can’t sit back and watch you fall victim to difficult circumstances because you can’t prevent that from happening yourself.”

        “You pity me?” the blond asked with a wry smile.

        “I do. Is that bad?” the brunet asked.

        Slaine smiled and took a deep breath while hiding his face against his knees; he had begun to cry quietly.

        “No… Thank you,” he whispered instead and felt happy for someone acknowledging him as a being capable of suffering. “I don’t remember the last time someone did that.”

        “Get some sleep, Troyard, and I’ll wake you up for breakfast. If you need anything, help yourself or wake me up. I’m in the room farthest down the corridor,” the brunet said once the bed on the couch had been made, and walked past Slaine. “Good night.”

        The blond whispered good night and waited until the brunet disappeared into the bathroom before moving to the couch. He slipped down between the crispy sheets and let his trembling and exhausted body relax. Without noticing it, he fell asleep within seconds.

 ∞∞

 In the morning, he woke up to the smell of something cooking and faint sound of brusque whispers from the kitchen. The blond looked around to orientate, wondering briefly if this was at a client’s house before he remembered Inaho who had taken him in after Slaine had tried to escape from the hospital.

        He wondered what the whispers said and who these two whispering beings were, and figured one of them was Inaho. The identity of the other stressed his heart into a rough beat, and it hammered aggressively enough his body shook. Silently, with worry brewing in his stomach, he got up from the couch and sneaked closer to the kitchen door, only to hear Inaho and this other whisper about him.

        According to the unknown person, Slaine was a bother. He should not be here since it was illegal to help hiding him from the law. Inaho on the other hand argued back that the blond was in need of someone to look out for him – that perhaps if Slaine got a little more time to figure things out, he would decide to serve as a witness in court once a successful apprehension of the criminals, whose names Slaine would hopefully state, had been made.

        “But he’s an addict and can’t be trust-“

        “Be careful of your personal prejudice. You know how the underworld works,” Slaine heard Inaho interrupt the other. The blond had a feeling this other person was Inaho’s sister, and he felt somewhat stressed out for having a cop close by. “If they force you into prostitution, they make sure you’ll get addicted to drugs to motivate you. Slaine has probably gone through that process. I think he wants help; he’s just reserved because he’s scared.”

        Slaine could not help but to feel misjudged by the one he believed was Yuki. Her insult burned him and made him realize he had some pride left after all.

        He stepped forward, out from behind the corner and showed himself in the kitchen doorway. Inaho and his sister came into view.

        “They give you drugs at first to break you in,” he said and watched both of the Kaizuka siblings turn toward him.

        Yuki looked surprised while Inaho still wore the same expression Slaine had seen yesterday.

        “That way, you won’t be able to escape or fight back when they assault you while they continue to break you until you’re obedient out of fear,” the blond continued and leaned against the door post. “After that, you understand you have no choice but to do as they say if you want to survive, and the drugs that previously made you defenseless become your friends; they keep you going. After a while, though,” he mumbled and raised his right arm to wrap it over his chest to stay calm as a bitter taste began to spread in his mouth. “You start forgetting where you’re going and why.”

        The siblings were silent for a while. Inaho looked unaffected by Slaine’s story, while Yuki got a sour look on her face, as though Slaine had told her something that made her feel guilty. The blond wanted her to understand he had no wish to continue with the exhausting life he lived.

        No one wanted to be addicted to drugs and people had to understand that. Perhaps some thought of drugs as fun – like the kids who frequented the red-light district to buy party drugs and services from sex trafficking victims – but most of those who had a full addiction career were exhausted by the drugs and wanted a change. They simply had no idea how to, since their life had already fallen too much apart.

        Those people needed help – all the help they could get – and needed a supporting person there for them even if they failed to stay away from the harmful substances again and again. Giving up on drug abusers who voiced a wish to be free from drugs was like confirming they were hopeless, which would only motivate them to not try again. Even if they failed their tries to get better thirty times in a row, the thirty-first time could be a success.

        ‘I don’t want to be like this,’ the blond thought and felt his heart sink in his chest. ‘But I have no one’s name to call for help. Being alone like this is tough.’

        As neither of the Kaizuka siblings said a word, Slaine sighed and gritted his teeth, carefully pulling back from the door to hide in the shadows behind the corner.

        “I’ll leave,” he said quietly. “I made a mistake last night. I’m sorry.”

        Yuki released an exacerbated sigh and asked, somewhat angered:

        “And where’ll you go? Back to the gutter?”

        Slaine did not answer, since he did not know where he could go, and her voice was horribly accusatory, scaring him from forming an answer.

        “After being away this long, do you think your pimp will welcome you with a smile and open arms? That Cruhteo will kill you.”

        “He won’t,” Slaine answered quietly.

        “How can you be sure of that?” asked the brunet who looked at him intently.

        Slaine gritted his teeth before answering:

        “Because he has some kind of fixation in me…”

        Yuki scoffed in a demeaning manner:

        “Is that so? So, you’ll crawl back into his bed when you leave here?”

        ‘Why do you say that?’ Slaine thought and held his breath to hold his feelings in check.

        “Is that an easy solution?”

        ‘No. I just have nowhere else to go.’

        “To continue whoring yourself to stranger and keep taking drugs?”

        ‘That’s all I know.’

        “Don’t you have any self-respect?”

        ‘Stop!’

        “Why won’t you just give us some names and we’ll help you?”

        ‘That’s dangerous! I’m too scared!’

        “Is that form of life better than risking it in order to get a chance to be free?!”

        “Yuki,” Inaho said suddenly to stop her from spiraling out of control. He placed two cups of coffee on the breakfast table that was set for two; he setting the table had gone unnoticed. “Go to bed. You’ve had a tough night with the deviation report from last night.”

        “But Nao!” she exclaimed and turned to look at him with a concerned expression, unsettled by the fact that her brother was protecting Slaine.

        “Get some rest. You’re in a bad mood, so sleep it off and let’s talk about this later,” her brother continued and stared at her.

        Slaine had a feeling he was commanding her, since Yuki gave up with an irritated groan before storming out of the kitchen. The pathetic blond cowered against the wall right outside the door as she walked past him with a warning glare aimed at him before disappearing into a room connected to the living room.

        “I made you breakfast,” the brunet then said as he and Slaine were left alone, and the blond peeked from behind the door opening to look into the kitchen. “You must be weak from hunger.”

        The other sat down next to the table and began to spread butter on the toasted bread lying on a plate. There were all sorts of prepared foods on plates; sliced cucumber, tomatoes, cheese, eggroll, and ham among others. Two glasses were placed out next to steaming cups of coffee, and a pitcher with orange juice and a newly opened milk carton stood between them.

        “Why are you doing this?” Slaine asked quietly and watched Inaho look up at him with his burgundy, expressionless eyes.

        “I told you; I feel responsible since I was there to save your life,” the other said, and Slaine’s heart moved as a strange relief washed over him from hearing that.

        “Last night…” Slaine said instead and took a deep breath before continuing: “You were guarding the exit at the hospital. You knew I would try to run.”

        “No,” the brunet said without looking up at him. “Yuki was exhausted and needed some sleep; she has jumped in for a colleague who’s on sick leave to do the night shifts for a couple of weeks. I thought of guarding the exit just in case, but I wasn’t sure if you would run or not.”

        “I could have forced my way out,” Slaine warned him, but Inaho seemed confident when he said:

        “You were in bad shape during the day; I could have easily had the upper hand if we would have had a physical confrontation.” When Slaine stayed silent, the brunet urged: “Come get some breakfast. Eat all you want. I’ll prepare more if the plates are emptied.”

        The blond hesitated for a good while, thinking of what to do. Would he accept the other’s offer? His savior seemed to have no wish to keep Slaine at a distance, but rather invited the miserable being to intrude his comfortable life. It went beyond the blond’s understanding to why someone willingly allowed a broken soul to pester them during breakfast, but, after contemplating it for a while, Slaine decided to accept the brunet’s kindness and dared to venture into the kitchen and sit down next to the breakfast table to have a bite.

        Their breakfast was pleasant. They barely spoke at all, only asking the other to pass something over the table now and then. The wordless atmosphere did not bother him. To Slaine, this was one of those rare and peaceful moments that soothed him greatly.

        Sitting with someone who meant him no harm; who did not treat him like a broken toy the morning after; who saw him as a human being rather than a beaten dog, was like getting a sticking plaster put over one of the many cracks he had in his heart, which normally bled with emotion. This allowed him to contain a certain joy he had not felt for a long time; the joy from having a brief and mutual connection to another being.

        Once breakfast was done, Inaho let him know he needed to do some school work. Slaine was allowed to take a shower and got some spare clothes from the other’s closet, and the blond hesitantly accepted them and the offer.

        ‘How much am I allowed to accept from him?’ Slaine wondered while showering. He carefully cleaned his wounds that had apparently been properly dealt with during his unconscious stay in the hospital. They had begun to heal.

        After stepping out of the shower, dressed in neat clothes, he sat down on the couch and curled up with his knees against his chest. He stared at the coffee table before him, feeling the weakness still linger after the withdrawal, and spaced out after a try to think of his next move. His mind was not ready to accept a dangerous decision like that, and it did the decision of halting those thoughts all together, leaving his head entirely empty.

        He had no idea for how long he had been sitting there before Inaho showed up to let him know he had prepared some lunch. Slaine, who was unused to eating more than once a day, tried to decline the brunet’s offer, but, after some convincing, the blond ended up sitting next to the kitchen table once again to enjoy the taste of Inaho’s curry rice. A portion of it stood on the kitchen counter on a plate, wrapped in plastic to save it for the oldest of the Kaizuka siblings.

        Throughout the rest of the day, Slaine avoided Yuki once she woke up and sat silently in a corner of the couch, curled up again to try thinking of the options he had at hand. Once again, he came to no conclusion. Instead, he had listened to Yuki arguing with her brother before leaving for work, telling the brunet she was risking her job for hiding an illegal immigrant in her own apartment.

        Although her arguments were rational, Inaho pushed her to accept Slaine’s presence, telling her the blond should be allowed to think things through. Making a tough decision required time and great effort – especially since Slaine was probably going through an existential crisis. Time, he said, was all Slaine needed along with proper meals to keep his mind going.

        ‘So that’s why he convinced me to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner,’ Slaine thought and felt his heart beat softly. ‘He’s so attentive and kind.’

        Once evening fell, Inaho prepared himself for bed before reminding Slaine to do the same. A spare toothbrush had been put in the cup on the bathroom sink. The sight of three toothbrushes in the cup made the blond smile lightly as he got the feeling of being included somehow, like living in a normal family.

        He wondered how much Inaho was actually doing consciously to make him relax; the brunet seemed quick to catch up on shifts in the atmosphere and was willing to let Slaine think through his troubles in peace. On top of that, he was unbothered by having Slaine there and did his school work as though Slaine belonged in the apartment with him and his sister.

        Inaho’s interest in math and physics was somewhat ironic, considering how good he was with people, the blond thought. He would have suited as a caregiver of some kind or perhaps as a psychologist even.

        After brushing his teeth, the blond lay down on the couch beneath the duvet, but felt awfully lonely. The images of the blood-drenched Trillram floated into mind and his heart burst open, making tears roll down his cheeks before he got the chance to shake the memory out of his head.

        By accepting the image, he was finally allowed to grieve for his lost roommate who had met an unfair end to his poor life. Despite the abusive relationship they had had, Trillram had been a companion through those five years of misery. They had suffered together, clumsily licked each other’s wounds while tending to their own after life had given them a good beating. The next day, they had been up on their feet again, supporting each other from their separate poles in the trying world where they had no choice but to linger, only to be beaten down again. Just like that, the circle had continued – until it was broken a couple of days ago.

        Without that repetitive pattern to his life, Slaine felt utterly lost. He had no warm body to curl up with after returning to a cold home from the streets. He had no one he could yap with about trivial things. He had no one to sit next to and stare at the chipping ceiling paint with while feeling high and ponder about tomorrow.

        A bittersweet realization hit him as he found that he missed Trillram’s way of handling the needle when injecting him with Aldnoah. That careful and precious way of puncturing Slaine’s skin and artery had been one of those kind things Trillram had used to do for him; a moment where he showed Slaine his gratitude for sharing the miserable existence with him. A normal person would have thought of it as destructive, but for Slaine it had meant a great deal when Trillram had showed him that kind of consideration. In a way, it had made life possible.

        Guilt poured over him for leaving Trillram’s body in the apartment, and he felt an urgent need for the relief granted by Aldnoah. Cold sweat dampened his clothes and he held back a desperate whimper. It was impossible to handle this grief and guilt alone and he wondered if he was allowed to bother the brunet with his pathetic need for support. Trillram would have probably forced himself on Slaine or injected him with Aldnoah to shush him before having his way with him if Slaine had tried to ask him for support, but the blond would have been grateful nonetheless. Now, however, Slaine did not have him to curl up with.

        Trembling, he got up from the couch and pulled the duvet around him to walk down the hallway and give Inaho’s bedroom door a gentle knock. To his relief, the lights were still on in the other’s room, and he was asked to step inside.

        “I’m sorry to bother you…” Slaine said shamefully and lowered his eyes when opening the door.

        “It’s all right,” the brunet – dressed in a blue pajama – answered where he sat next to his computer, tinkering with some kind of software; his screen showed graphs and diagrams of things Slaine had no knowledge about.

        “I…” the blond began to explain, taking a shallow breath before continuing: “I feel withdrawal again and … I keep thinking of my roommate. I can’t sleep.”

        “The shock must have been great to find him like that,” Inaho said with his usual tone of voice.

        “Y-yeah,” Slaine mumbled and felt shame weigh on his already slumped shoulder. “Can I … sit next to your bed for a while? I won’t bother you.”

        “You don’t want to be alone?” the brunet asked and went back to tinker with the program.

        The blond shook his head weakly, saying:

        “My roommate used to keep me company. I just … can’t seem to deal with anxiety alone and without drugs.”

        “I can make a bed on the floor for you,” the brunet suggested and began turning the computer off.

        Slaine hurriedly declined the offer and explained it was enough to let him sit next to the bed.

        In the end, Inaho agreed and Slaine curled up in the duvet on the floor at the foot end of the bed, with his back against the bedframe. Inaho turned the lights off and lay down in bed, setting his alarm and told Slaine he had school the next day.

        “I’ll be back at five,” he said. “If you stay here, just ignore Yuki. She won’t bother you if you stay out of her way.”

        “She gives into your demands?” Slaine asked and smiled weakly. “Aren’t you a younger brother?”

        “She’s driven by guilt for things that happened a long time ago and is lenient with most of my decisions. She can’t seem to be too strict with me,” the brunet answered. “I think she really wants you to help the law, so she’s willing to wait and see if you decide to cooperate.”

        “I … see,” the blond mumbled and rested his cheek against a knee. “What do you study by the way?” he then asked to change the topic of their discussion. “You seem to read really heavy books.”

        “I’m studying physics which requires a lot of math as well. I want to advance and build further on it once the basic education is done,” the brunet answered curtly.

        “Physics and math?” Slaine asked and chuckled quietly: “Sounds like you’re trying to calculate how magic works or something. Isn’t physics hard?”

        “Not really,” the brunet said. “I have an interest in it since it’s easy to understand once you have understood the basics. It’s not like people, who are subjective beings and difficult to grasp.”

        “Subjective beings?” Slaine asked confused; he had never heard that before.

        “A unique being who searches for a meaning in life, and who also perceives the world through their individual thoughts, emotions and experiences.”

        “Oh… You know a lot, huh?” Slaine asked and felt downhearted for being so uneducated. “I think you would do great with people, too.”

        “I’ve just read it in Yuki’s psychology literature. I prefer physics,” the brunet explained bluntly, and Slaine chuckled again.

        “I’m a little jealous. I wish I could have finished school,” he said quietly and remembered back to his younger teenage school years. “My grades were average, though.”

        “You can catch up,” he heard Inaho say before he turned in bed; the sheets rustled softly.

        “Sure…” the blond sighed and frowned.

        They were silent for a little while, and then Inaho said:

        “If you’re here tomorrow when I come home, I can teach you a little about physics.”

        Something lit up in Slaine’s chest that made him feel less distressed and anxious, and, with a smile on his lips, he accepted the brunet’s offer with gratitude – unexpectedly falling asleep a couple of exhausted breaths later.

 ∞∞

 A handful of days passed. Inaho went to school like usual and came home in the early evenings, just about an hour before Yuki ran out through the door – nearly late for work each day – after indirectly getting a scolding from her brother for being too optimistic about time. Slaine found it difficult to make the days pass with her around, since he could not help but to feel she was guarded around him. At the same time, he was grateful she worked night shifts, since this gave Slaine a good moment to spend some alone-time with the brunet, who taught him about the absolute basics of physics after dinner every day.

        The blond found these moments precious, since he was genuinely interested and flabbergasted about the unknown laws of nature that surrounded him, and it was a pleasant way to give his overworked mind a break after spending the entire day pondering on what decision he should make. Would he go back to the streets and place himself in Cruhteo’s hands again, or would he claim he was a criminal and be put to jail only to be murdered? None of these options felt as right as the one requiring him to risk his life by cooperating with the police, since – if he survived it – he would be treated like an individual at the end of it all.

        Inaho was impressive in many ways, Slaine noticed. The young man was driven to reach his goal in life, and – while he was busy working toward that goal by doing homework and go to school – he also managed to take care of the household and prepared breakfast and lunch for his sister and Slaine to eat while they waited for him to return.

        Even Yuki was impressive even though Slaine had difficulties of getting to know her due to her dismissive nature. She worked night shifts every night and would do so for two more weeks, doing her best to keep the city safe during the nights and probably met a lot of troublesome people during her working hours. In the early mornings, she would return and crash in her bed and wake up slightly after lunch, ready to take on yet another day with a seemingly endless fighting spirit and confidence.

        It was strange to see someone be so strong after subjecting herself to dangers during the nights and it made Slaine feel somewhat inferior, since he had no way to cope with danger; his mind could not take it and instead shut down the moment he found himself in a dangerous moment. The emotions such situations brought forth bled out through a large gap in his heart, emptying him quickly and made him into a passive victim.

        He knew he and Yuki had very different backgrounds, which put them on different ends of the spectrum of the ability to handle such situations, but he could still not shake the feeling off that he should try harder; he needed to stop lying down and take the beating, just like Yuki.

        He was tired of having his body conquered by strangers. He was sick of not having an identity or individuality, and he was worn-out from treating his anxiety and melancholy with drugs. Never had he wanted to go back to school as much he wanted now after being inspired by the friendly young man teaching him about physics.

        He wanted to feel how a normal life felt like by having a normal job and live in a normal apartment, ride the busses and trams and trains to work and back home like normal people did, have a fridge filled with own-bought food and pay his bills with self-earned money, and get a comfortable network of friends to hang out with.

        He wanted to be habilitated and leave the hardships behind; he was confident nothing could be as hard as the life he had led thus far, which made him sure he would be able to handle most downfalls and problems included in a normal life.

        Normal, normal, normal, normal; he wanted to be nothing but normal. Would he manage to achieve that goal? Trillram had been convincing him otherwise, telling Slaine he was already too broken to be able to live a normal life and that he should give up on even the thought. Back then, Slaine had accepted it, but now he wanted to deny that and work harder.

        Remembering his former roommates words reminded him about what had happened to the other as the emptiness of Trillram still clung to him like an uncomfortable wet blanket. The ghastly image of his dead body haunted Slaine’s mind when he least expected it. It seemed to take the chance to assault him with guilt and anxiety the moment his mind was unwinding during the evenings, which made him want to seek out the comfortable presence of the brunet who studied in his room before bedtime. Slaine had attempted to handle this problem alone ever since the first time he had bothered Inaho with his fear of being alone, and it had left him exhausted since he got just a couple of hours of sleep each night.

        The walk on this new and difficult road was unlike anything else he had experienced. Inaho provided him with a safe place to stay – a place where he could think things through in peace – and gave him a value Slaine had not had for a very long time. For each day that passed, Slaine began to feel less like a ghost and more like a person, since that was how he was met by the other every day.

        Even if he felt enormous cravings for Aldnoah, he could still find motivation to bear the abstinence through the value he was given by the brunet, and Slaine wondered if Inaho had consciously done everything he could to give Slaine a chance to come to a turning point in his life. By acknowledging the blond’s pain and struggle, and by being willing to look him in the eyes whenever their faces met in the small apartment, Slaine had gotten the confirmation of being seen and heard by someone for the first time in many years.

        Most people preferred not to see him and avoided looking him in the eyes, almost as though they refused to form any kind of communication with him, not even wanting to see him shivering in the cold. Others looked at him with distain or indifference, since the single thing those people were interested in was what they could do with him to feed their greed and sadistic mind; they had never seen him as someone who got a piece of his self chipped away each time they bought him on the streets.

        That kind of people never realized they stole a part of him when they paid him money for his services, or then they just simply did not care. He being a nameless ghost gave them that immoral right since no one would come to Slaine’s rescue, and they were aware of that.

        Who would care about a dirty rat shivering in a corner of a street in the slums and red-light districts, where empathy flowed down the sewers the moment people stepped inside the lawless realm in search for pleasures? Those working in such places were not humans for them; they were simply objects and nothing else. Empathy and pleasure were always incompatible, especially in places like the red-light district.

        Inaho was not like those people, and Slaine gladly admitted he had been lucky to be saved by him that night of Trillram’s murder. Not only had he saved his life back then, but he was saving Slaine’s heart from completely falling apart as well for each day that passed. It was the simple things the brunet did that were more valuable than diamonds and gold; giving him space, offering him food, allowing him to crash on the couch, teaching him about things Slaine had never heard of before, and treated him like any other person. Slaine secretly wondered when his heart would begin to heal as well, and how it would feel like once it was completely whole again.

        ‘Will I get that far?’ he thought one late evening while sitting in his usual corner on the couch, hugging the pillow he borrowed during his stay in the Kaizuka household. ‘Will my heart be whole again?’ He tightened the hug around the pillow and smiled. ‘Inaho… You really are good with people despite your poor expressive nature. You don’t look like you react emotionally to anything, but the things you do show how attentive you actually are. You take care of Yuki in so many small ways she probably doesn’t notice them, and you read someone like me better than even I do.’

        At times, Slaine was convinced Inaho knew him better than he himself did. This felt soothing and made a warm sensation spread in his stomach and chest. It felt good to know someone was willing to peek through the cracks in the blond’s façade and truly see him, since it made Slaine feel like he was guided toward the right track in life. The blond had been lost for so long, but he was slowly finding back to a path he had lost sight of a long time ago; the path toward a normal life.

        ‘Am I ready to take the first step?’ the blond wondered, thinking if he should tell Yuki once she came back home that he had decided to cooperate with the cops. ‘It feels like it’s the right thing to do – for my own sake.’

        Then again, it felt frightening to someday meet Cruhteo face-to-face in court, and probably Asseylum’s grandfather as well. It was horribly unpleasant to testify against them, tell the judge everything he knew so he could buy his freedom back with this last service, and get support from the Japanese government for a while until he had been reborn in the civil registration and gotten his identity back. Of course, just like the clients who bought him stole a part of him, this last service of cooperating with the law risked stealing his life away; he would certainly become a target for revenge as Cruhteo would put a price on his head.

        ‘Can I do it?’ he wondered and held his breath for a while. His heart began to race and the cravings for Aldnoah resurfaced; anxiety and sickness bubbled up again. ‘But that’s the only thing I can do, right?’

        He needed to consult with Inaho. He had to break the spiral of hesitation that would only convince him to reconsider his decision yet again.

        Hesitantly, he got up from the couch and pulled the duvet tighter around his shoulders. He carefully walked down the hallway – used to sneaking through someone else’s hallway to leave after his services. When he reached Inaho’s room, he gently knocked on the door. Just like last time, he was asked to step in with the usual monotone but soft voice that he had grown used to hearing every day.

        “Am I interrupting something?” Slaine asked quietly and peeked into the room without opening the door all the way.

        “No,” was the answer. Inaho stared at him with his usual expression from where he sat in front of the desk. “What is it?”

        Slaine frowned and bit his lip before stepping inside the room and walked over to the foot end of the bed where he curled up just like last time he had disturbed Inaho’s private space, silently telling the other he needed company again. The brunet’s eyes rested on him for a short moment before he turned back around to continue with his school work.

        The blond listened to him tap and klick away on the keyboard and mouse, feeling the comfort from the sound of someone else’s existence. It made him relax, and he smiled again.

        Inaho’s presence truly was heartening.

        “Inaho…” he mumbled after a while, and the tapping and clicking stopped. “If I survive the cooperation process and all, will I see you again?”

        “You have decided to cooperate with the police?” the brunet asked without a reaction. Slaine nodded. “Do you want to see me again?” Slaine nodded once more, hiding his face against his knees.

        Perhaps he was attached to the brunet simply because he had been so kind and treated Slaine like an individual, but Slaine could not help but to feel miserable at the mere thought of never seeing Inaho again. He had no other people around him; no one cared about him at all outside this small apartment, and he wanted to at least stay in contact with the one who had saved him many times ever since his suicide attempt.

        Inaho continued to tap and click for a little while more, and then turned his computer off and slipped into bed after turning the lights off.

        “Isn’t it cold on the floor?” Slaine heard the soft voice ask.

        “It’s all right,” the blond answered, hiding his cold toes beneath the duvet to warm them up.

        “I have some room on the bed if you want to share it.”

        Slaine’s heart nearly stopped. He opened his eyes wide and stared at empty space, not moving. His body stiffened and his breathing shallowed. Nervousness had struck him.

        ‘Is he trying to comfort me so I won’t change my mind about cooperating with the cops?’ Slaine wondered, but decided to leap at the opportunity to feel the brunet’s closeness by getting up from the floor and look at the waiting gaze from the other. ‘Is this really all right?’

        Inaho suddenly moved toward the wall behind his bed to give Slaine some room, and that was the blond’s cue. He crawled awkwardly onto the bed and lay down as far away from Inaho as possible to give him space, and curled up beneath his own duvet, his heart hammering in his chest. Why was he so nervous? He had bedded so many clients in his life that he had forgotten how enthrallingly nervous it should feel with a person.

        “You don’t have to hide at the edge,” the brunet said behind him, unaffected as usual. “Get some sleep, and we’ll talk to sis once she returns home in the morning.”

        “Thank you,” Slaine mumbled stiffly, listening to Inaho’s sounds closely behind him. “I’m sorry for intruding on your personal space.”

        “You’re not,” the other answered bluntly.

        ‘Really?’

        Slaine had to admit he admired Inaho’s calmness and leniency when it came to his needs; the brunet had given him so much during his short stay in this apartment that Slaine had no idea how he could show him his gratitude, since he had nothing to offer.

        “Inaho…” Slaine decided to say, and heard the other acknowledge his invitation to communicate. “You really have saved me. I don’t like to think about how I was about to destroy myself just about a week ago, so thank you. You’re really amazing for doing all this, and I also think you’re admirable the way you find time to care for others despite your busy schedule.”

        “I don’t think I’m that busy and therefore not as amazing as you seem to think,” the brunet answered frankly, sounding more rational than denying of what Slaine had said.

        The blond shook his head:

        “Everything you do really counts and you sometimes go completely out of your way – like you’re doing right now by allowing me to share your bed. You stayed at the hospital in the middle of the night to guard the exit just so your sister could get some sleep, and you invited someone like me to stay in your household,” Slaine said and felt tears in his eyes from how grateful he was. “Even the small things you do, like adding my toothbrush into the cup with yours and Yuki’s to make me feel included, or lending me your own clothes and cooking meals – even actively giving me opportunities to think in peace – are really meaningful and considerate. You don’t ask me unnecessary questions to snoop around in my mind and background out of simple curiosity either.”

        “That’s just normal,” the brunet said, but Slaine shook his head again.

        “No, that’s not something most people would do; plenty of people like to dwell in the misery of others,” he protested. “You even teach me about physics every day to motivate me.” Slaine took a deep and trembling breath and dried his tears, which were instantly replaced by new droplets. “Perhaps it doesn’t mean much when it comes from a worthless person like me, but I think you’ll get far in life – both in university and with people – because you’re so amazing. I’m really happy for you.”

        The room went quiet. Slaine sniveled and let his tears soak the mattress on which he rested his head. He felt so pathetic but also relieved to finally have voiced his thoughts about the brunet. Every word had been as true as words could become, and he hoped the brunet could take them to heart.

        A warm touch caressed Slaine’s back, and the blond stiffened again at the unusual sensation.

        “You’re not worthless,” the soft voice finally said. “For someone who has not even their identity, you’re still humble enough to be happy for those who seem to have everything.”

        “Isn’t that normal?” Slaine asked, but immediately heard:

        “No, most people would get jealous or angry.”

        Something flickered in Slaine’s mind at hearing that. It was as though the brunet spoke about something he was familiar with; something he had thought about earlier in life. The words he chose to what he said sounded confident.

        “You know that from experience?” he asked quietly and carefully.

        “Not from personal experience, but I’ve seen that in the relationships around me. Yuki can be like that at times,” Inaho said, and the blond turned carefully around to look at him. “I simply could identify with your humbleness, since I and Yuki didn’t have much when we grew up either. She became the jealous type while I didn’t think much about what others had, that I didn’t.”

        Slaine watched him silently, baffled by how personal the brunet had suddenly become. Inaho telling him something about his past meant a lot for the blond, since no one had really bothered to build such a personal connection to him except for Asseylum. It was as if Inaho was establishing something right now, and Slaine was full of fear of how much hope he should feel about them staying in contact in the future.

        ‘Don’t snuff this flame out; I want to have hope.’

        “I’m sorry,” Slaine whispered while looking at the brunet.

        “It’s not your fault,” the other answered, and Slaine smiled wryly and said:

        “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been tough.”

        Inaho did not answer, but rather stared at the blond with some kind of intensity billowing in his expression.

        “Are you sure about cooperating with the police?” Inaho suddenly asked, and Slaine blinked surprised and began to feel anxious again.

        He pressed his lips into a thin line and shifted his gaze somewhere else to avoid Inaho’s studying stare.

        “I’m not really sure, but that is the best option,” he answered after a deep breath. “I hate that I have to bend to an unfair law that forces me to risk my life, but my life would be in danger either way. I’m just too scared of all the options to come to a proper and firm decision, but I have to choose one anyway.”

        “It’ll be a difficult process for you,” the brunet warned him, and Slaine nodded and gravely frowned at the thought of facing an uncertain future, answering:

        “I know, but I am aware of how that difficult process will look like, which gives me some kind of assurance.” He sighed and looked up at the brunet again, this time fearing to ask the question which’s answer carried all of his hope, but he asked nonetheless: “Will you be there for me? It doesn’t have to be in person during the process since I know it’s too dangerous, but will you still stay by my side once this is over?”

        He sounded pitiful and frightened – shamefully begging the other to ease his fear with a simple yes.

        Inaho sat up in bed and Slaine quickly followed and watched him nervously. They stared at each other for a while, letting some kind of tension in the air grow stronger until it overwhelmed and suffocated the blond. Tears began rolling down his cheeks again at thinking he had finally asked for too much from the brunet, and covered his face with his hands as he crumbled.

        “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed with sorrow. “I think I stepped out of line. I’m so sorry. Don’t be angry with me since that would kill me. I’m just so scared to be alone that I’m not sure what I’m saying anymore. I have an opportunity for a second chance in life, but I don’t know for what other reason to take it if it’s not for someone waiting for me at the end of it all! I wish I could say anyone will do so that you don’t have to be burdened, but that’s not true; no one else will do because there isn’t anyone else!”

        “Slaine,” the other said, but the blond feared what would follow after his name and interrupted the brunet in order to stall the painful words that would explain to him he had been taken care of during the past days simply because of responsibility and nothing more.

        “It’s all right, I understand,” Slaine said and slightly bowed his head from shame, nearly crying his heart out at this point. “T-the death of my roommate, the abstinence of Aldnoah and this tough decision I have been forced to make … makes me weird. Ignore what I sa-“

        A gentle hand patted him on his head and Slaine was instantly silenced at the unexpected touch. He held his breath while feeling the warm palm of the brunet caress him awkwardly, as if the other had no idea how to physically comfort someone, and then he heard the soft monotone voice say:

        “I’ll stay.”

        Slaine released his breath but it was instantly caught in his throat. He slowly lowered his hands to look up at the other, baffled and stunned by what the other had said while tears flowed down his cheeks. Inaho’s sincere gaze collided with his, shattering his already erratic mind and heart, and he watched and heard the other say:

        “I’m not angry.”

        ‘Why?’ the blond thought and breathed in a desperate gulp of air out of relief. ‘Why are you this kind to me?’

        He could not remember a single time in his life when he had felt as relieved as he did from hearing Inaho’s simple but compassionate words. This tremendous relief washed away his fear and worry for a moment, allowing him to breathe and properly feel he was alive. It did not feel like a dream; calling this moment for something so unreal was far too childish and unfair. The gift in the form of a promise of companionship was truer than anything he had encountered before, and it did not matter if it was as brief as a minute.

        It was enough to fill him with hope, sparking the little flame into an all-consuming fire. Its nature was chaotic, and his tears continued flowing while a smile spread on his trembling lips.

        Without a word, he threw his arms around the other’s neck, hugging him close in an attempt to thank him. For five years, he had only held strangers in his embrace solely to give them what they paid him for, but, now, he held someone who did not pay him or demand anything from him; Slaine was willingly giving the only thing he had and mattered to the brunet for saving his life each hour of the day: his gratitude. It was not much, but he hoped it would be enough.

        “I don’t understand why, but thank you,” he cried. “I wish I could properly express how grateful I am.”

        Inaho’s arms wrapped around him, still as awkward as ever, and the brunet seemed confused as he asked:

        “Aren’t you expressing it as properly as you can right now?” Slaine pulled back and looked at him with a frown while Inaho’s hands still rested on his back. “Aren’t tears a sincere way of showing what you feel?”

        Slaine blinked and realized the brunet was right, and his smile widened some more as he asked:

        “Did Yuki’s psychology book say that?”

        “Yes.”

        “And what do you think it means?” the blond wondered and released the other, curious to hear Inaho’s thoughts.

        The brunet watched him for a while, probably thinking what he should answer, and finally said:

        “I think you’re overwhelmed, and that’s why you’re crying.”

        The blond chuckled and dried his tears and snot with the sleeve to the sweater Inaho had borrowed him, happily saying:

        “See? You say people are difficult and such, but you’re really good with people.”

        Slaine’s words seemed to make the brunet’s mind go over what he had just said, and they silently lay down on the bed again, closer to each other than moments earlier, facing each other. Slaine rested against the mattress and pulled the duvet up to wrap it properly around himself before he relaxed. His breathing had to return to normal before he could fall asleep; he sobbed slightly still, feeling his heart make joyful flips in his chest while his mind soared higher than with Aldnoah.

        “I have to make sure and ask once more: Are you sure you’ll cooperate?” the brunet asked, and Slaine opened his eyes and looked at the young man watching him carefully. “If what you say is true, you might be targeted by Cruhteo.”

        Slaine took a deep breath, furrowing his brows with determination and nodded.

        “As I said earlier, this option is the best for me to choose,” he answered and snuggled deeper into the duvet. “And you gave me something to fight for.”

        Inaho was silent for a breath, before asking:

        “Are you going to risk your life just to be able to be with me?”

        Slaine stared at him without understanding what he meant.

        “Yeah. Why else would I bother? I told you: I have nothing except for what you have given me,” the blond answered after a while.

        “And what have I given you?” the brunet asked, and Slaine began to feel uncertain of what the other was going for.

        “Hope,” he said while thinking. “Compassion and value, my humanity and individuality. All in all, during our short contact, you have given me purpose.”

        ‘I don’t need clothes on my back or a roof over my head, neither do I need toys and drugs as long as I have someone to confirm I matter. That’s all I ask for, since no one can exist all on their own.’

        “What about the food and clothes?” Inaho wondered, studying him intently as if he was looking for something in the blond’s expression.

        “I count them as an act of compassion. Why?”

        Inaho smiled a slight smile that told the blond he had answered correctly.

        “You really are selfless,” he said. “You’re not like many other people who want things from others that they can see and touch to determine their value; you see the world from a purely subjective point of view.”

        Slaine frowned and tried to remember back to what Inaho had said about being a subjective being, but he figured he was too uneducated to be able to make a connection, which made him feel stupid.

        “And what does that mean?” he asked instead, admitting his defeat.

        “You’re passionate,” the brunet bluntly answered, and Slaine blinked from surprise.

        Even if Slaine found it somewhat ridiculous to be called passionate, he had a feeling the word did not mean what he thought it meant. Nothing in his life had been driven by the form of passion Slaine associate with the word, but he figured he should trust Inaho’s judgment and ask him about the definition the next day. Perhaps, he thought, he would learn something new yet again?

        A smile spread on the blond’s lips. He knew what Inaho said was a compliment – or at least he chose to take it as one – and he looked at the brown-haired young man in front of him with gratitude. This brief moment was one of the gentlest moments he had experienced in his life. Someone had noticed the shivering gutter rat and given it a temporary warm bed to stay in with no strings attached.

        Slaine knew his near future would be the greatest trial he had gone through. The Japanese government would treat him as an illegal immigrant and would provide him with only the most basic healthcare and protection. In his desperate attempt to put the painful time behind him, he would testify against a dangerous criminal and risk his life in the process.

        He would also risk of being rejected by his home country and never get his identity back without any means to support himself, and he risked to be thrown back out onto the streets until he would be arrested for illegal immigration again. Perhaps he would even be targeted by Cruhteo and be snatched away back into the shadows, but, no matter what dangers lay before him, if Inaho was there to wait for him, he could find the strength to at least try to free himself from his miserable life.

        ‘I’m attached to you,’ he thought and pushed his body up onto an elbow and leaned closer to the brunet. ‘I’m sorry for whatever troubles I will cause you. No matter what, if you stay by my side, I will fight until my last breath – since this hope you have rekindled is all I have.’

        He felt Inaho’s breaths against his nose and cheeks as he lowered his face closer, carefully to allow the other pull away if he wished to, but he stayed still and watched Slaine with an expressionless gaze.

        “Thank you for everything,” he whispered with his lips brushing the brunet’s, who lay obediently waiting for his touch. “I wanted to say that in case it might be too late tomorrow. You have saved me so many times during these past days, and I can finally breathe a little easier.”

        “Slaine…” the brunet said quietly, but the blond interrupted him by closing the remaining distance between them and pushed his lips onto the other’s, gently rubbing them together. “Mmph…”

        Their kiss was stiff and awkward, mostly because Inaho was clearly not used to kissing. The brunet’s lips were tightly sealed, but, after the blond coaxed him to open them with a soft and wet tongue licking the line between them, Inaho parted them slightly and allowed Slaine’s tongue inside. Curiosity awoke in the other, and their kisses slowly deepened.

        A tingle spread in the pit of Slaine’s stomach, making the blond release a sultry huff when the brunet changed the angle of their kiss. Hands took a hold of Slaine’s shirt and shoulder, and the blond allowed Inaho to take whatever command he chose to take.

        Slaine lowered himself onto his back by Inaho’s wordless command and allowed Inaho to climb up onto his elbow to continue kissing without releasing their lips. With men, Slaine found himself to be automatically submissive, while he was slightly dominant with women. Even now, with someone inexperienced, the blond fell onto a step lower than the brunet, allowing Inaho to be the one on top.

        “Inaho…” the blond whispered between their kisses and let his hands run down Inaho’s torso and stopped on his hips. He would not mind if Inaho wanted to do it with him, and he gave the brunet a wordless hint by spreading his legs just a little. “Mmmh…” he moaned as he was kissed deeper.

        ‘Touch me…’ he thought and sighed. ‘I’m unbearably attached to you, so I wouldn’t mind it at all.’

        Despite his unexpected need to subject himself for the other’s body, Inaho stopped kissing him out of nowhere. Slaine hazily opened his eyes to see the brunet look back at him while trying to calm down; Inaho had a hint of excitement in his eyes.

        “We shouldn’t,” he said to Slaine’s disappointment. “It would be wrong to continue.”

        Slaine frowned and pressed his wet lips together for a short while, before wondering out loud:

        “Why? I don’t mind giving you service like this.”

        “That’s why,” the brunet answered. Slaine felt taken aback. “I don’t want anyone to service me, and I don’t want you to think of me as someone taking advantage of you.”

        “But Inaho-“ Slaine began confused, but was interrupted by the other:

        “It’s not right to do anything like this while you think of it as some kind of service, and that’s why I want to stop here out of principles.”

        ‘In other words, you don’t find me disgusting,’ the blond thought relieved.

        Slaine understood what Inaho meant. He had heard that logic many times before when he had been scolded by strangers on the streets. Inaho wanted to stop as he thought of it as wrong because of how Slaine looked at the situation; the brunet wanted it to be mutual and special and not be taken as one of the blond’s clients, since it would insult both of them.

        The blond found Inaho’s reasoning heartwarming, since the brunet saw him as something more than a body, even in a situation that had become slightly lustful. Not even Slaine’s kinder clients would have stopped like this once they had been riled up by the blond’s willingness to spread his legs for them for a little bit of money. Inaho, however, had taken care of him for many days and was now rejecting the blond’s offer of paying him back with his body. Perhaps, Slaine thought, compassion and lust were compatible after all?

        With a smile, Slaine nodded and let go of the brunet. It felt nice to be considered as a being with human value and all of this kindness made him feel spoiled. This little moment in his short history was the most meaningful thus far, and it filled him with a warm feeling that made him not fear for tomorrow.

        ‘I’m soaring again,’ he thought happily, thinking he had almost reached the heavens without the aid of Aldnoah. Only one more thing was absent that would let him climb up to paradise:

        Once Inaho had lain down on the bed again, Slaine reached out his hand and took a hold of the brunet’s pajama sleeve. He held the blue fabric between his thumb and index finger and breathed in a deep breath of the brunet’s scent, and whispered gently:

        “Thank you, Inaho.”

        ‘Even if I die tomorrow or the day after that…’ The blond smiled happily, heart fluttering in his chest. ‘At least I got to taste a little bit of heaven thanks to you.’

  ~fin~

Author’s note

 This was a trial to write, but I think I’m satisfied with this despite the difficult topic. Since this anthology has the theme of “Heavenly & Hellish”, I think the hellish theme is quite clear: being legally dead, all alone and a trafficking victim… I personally can’t think of anything worse. The heavenly theme is much more subtle, but I think it sometimes requires very little to feel blessed. Sometimes a hand to hold when things turn scary is enough, especially when the feeling of hopelessness and being abandoned are the only things that have characterized one’s life for a long time.

        Inspiration was found from criminology classes about human trafficking I attended a while back, as well as social psychiatric care and crisis management. Due to the legal aspect of this all being so interesting, I kinda feel like continuing this story in a part two someday.

        On another note, I finally – after about a year in my possession – stuffed up my Slaine dakimakura! It was probably one of the most awkward moments in my life, and now the pillow freaks me out… My partner jumped it immediately, though, and began perving on it and tortured it. Poor Slaine! He never seems to get a break, huh? (T__T)

        I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!

RealmOfTan

[isitandwonder]

What was it all about, anyway?

Greg Lestrade is allowed to bookend Sherlock’s story arch. In ASiP, he tells John and therefore us:

LESTRADE: And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one. 

This comes full circle in TFP. when it’s hammered home (got, writing is my passion!):

POLICE OFFICER: Well, he’s a great man, sir. LESTRADE: No, he’s better than that. He’s a good one.

So, we have Sherlock’s, and therefore the series, narrative as his journey from great man to good man.

Only, as @wssh-watson has pointed out, this story is already copmplete at the end of S2. Furthermore, one could argue it was never a journey anyway, that Sherlock is just hiding behind the mask of the high-functoning sociopath, as he saved John Watson at the first night they met (turning the suicidal army doctor into a beautifully giggling, amazed friend, giving him his purpose in life back = saving Sherlock Holmes).

So, it’s not the outward change that is important then (other people recognising Sherlock as the good man he is) but his own acceptance of himself as a good person, allowing for emotions, allowing himself to get involved? Alone protects me /  I don’t have friends / Caring is not an advantage is to be overcome by Sherlock steadily getting more and more human, until he can finally openly be who he really is?

Hmmm... let’s take a closer look:

In TGG, we get the following exchange between Sherlock and John:

JOHN: I hope you’ll be very happy together. SHERLOCK: Sorry, what?  JOHN: There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives... Just – just so I know, do you care about that at all? SHERLOCK: Will caring about them help save them? JOHN: Nope. SHERLOCK: Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake. JOHN: And you find that easy, do you? SHERLOCK: Yes, very. Is that news to you? JOHN: No. No.  SHERLOCK: I’ve disappointed you. JOHN: That’s good – that’s a good deduction, yeah. SHERLOCK: Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.

This is the scene at 221b after the old Lady and her neighbours were killed by Moriarty’s bomb. We saw in the scene with Lestrade amd John, as the phone went dead, that Sherlock did care in that moment. But now, he’s pushed his shock and grief aside to function better, to solve the case. Because, as he says, caring about them won’t save other future victims.

It’s a bit like this exchange from earlier in the episode when Sherlock tries to solve the Carl Powers case to save the woman in the car:

JOHN: Try and remember there’s a woman here who might die. SHERLOCK: What for? This hospital’s full of people dying, Doctor. Why don’t you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?

Of course, this is to show us Sherlock as the cold high-functioning sociopath he likes to see himself, as he prefers to pass himself of for. And, of course, it fails, because we do see that Sherlock does care, but that he is also able to detach himself from his feelings to do his work and save other people.

Therefore, what Sherlock does in these scenes, depite John’s disapproval, is in fact the right way. He helps others. He feels compassion. He only doesn’t show it like other people would do.

We see this emotional involvement reigned in by rational reasoning carried to extremes at the end of S2, when Sherlock sacrifices himself for his friends as he jumps off Bart’s. It’s his life weighed against that of Mrs Hudson’s, Greg’s and John’s. Sherlock doesn’t make this decision easily - therefore, of course, he’s not a sociopath - but he makes it anyway and sees it through to the bitter end. Between grief and nothing, I’ll take grief. John grieving for him is better than John being killed by Moriarty’s snipers. Sherlock can only choose between a rock and a hard place, so he selflessly decides for what’s best for others.

And it get’s the desired result: His friends survive, the snipers pack up and leave. This whole decision making process is based on Sherlock’ deep love for his friends. Because he cares! So, caring about them makes a difference, even back in S2. Sherlock has come full circle and did a slefless deed to save the people he loves. He fulfilled his arc.

John even says so at the graveyard at the end of TRF:

You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There.  I was so alone, and I owe you so much.

Wouldn’t this have been enough? What was all the torment and suffering of S3 and S4 for? Sherlock had already shown to be a good man by the end of S2 by sacrificing himself and his happiness for others!

Because, what do we get in S3 and S4? Just proof that sentiment really clouds Sherlock’s judgement, that caring is not an advantage, that selfless love doesn’t pay off:

Sherlock’s plan to take Moriarty’s network down, to ultimately save his friends, gets him tortured.

Sherlock sees that Mary is a liar in his very first deduction of her but doesn’t connect the dots or makes anything of this insight.

Sherlock sees that she has rather special skills for a nurse, but doesn’t draw the right conclusions, therefore allowing his best friend and the love of his life to marry a dangerous assassin. Headlong into harm I call that.

Said assassin kills Sherlock as he offers her help - without ever facing any punishment for her deed. John even forgives his wife, thereby kind of ultimately betraying Sherlock.

No wonder Sherlock turns to drugs after John’s wedding.

Sherlock continues to try to protect Mary, to help her, until she, without any need, takes a bullet for him. Afterwards, Sherlock even feels responsible for Mary’s death.

In the aftermath, Sherlock takes all the abuse from John because he thinks he deserves it.

On top of that, Sherlock relapses again after John refuses to talk to him and kind of cuts him of.

In TLD, it is Sherlock who has to comfort John, while no-one has ever comforted him for all he’s suffered and sacrificed.

Emotionally compromised, Sherlock takes way too long to brake Eurus cycle of sick experiments.

Sherlock’s judgement is clouded and he doesn’t attempt to flee or resist Eurus because he thinks there’s a little girl on a plane that needs his help.

All this profes to me that loe on this show, when it comes to Sherlock, is truly a dangerous disadvantage found on the loosing side. Becaues, you know, S1-S2 Sherlock would quickly have seen through Mary and warned John (as he did with Molly in regard to Jim from IT). S1-S2 Sherlock would have called Eurus’s trick with the plane (at the latest when the girl couldn’t tell him her destination). He would have dismantled Eurus lie/fantasy far sooner, thereby saving Molly, Mycroft, John and himself. But now, in S4, sentimental, emotional Sherlock makes mistakes as his judgement is clouded by feelings and he truly acts like the idiot Mycroft calls him.

MYCROFT: Is that sentiment talking? SHERLOCK: No.  It’s me. MYCROFT: Difficult to tell the difference these days.

But not even this is a new development, validating S4. We already had this with Magnussen, where Sherlock thought shooting himw as the only option left (the psychological outfall of this murder was never followed up, like so many things in S3-S4). At Appledore, Sherlock was blindsided by his love for John and prepared to do anything for him (which we also knew since TRF).

So, what we are shown in S3 and S4 is that caring is truly not an advantage. It just leads to violence, heartbreak and pain. And Sherlock gains nothing by his suffering, he doesn’t grow or learn from his experiences. He just repeats the same mistakes over and over again. It’s a vicious circle in which he, contrary to the rules of fairy tales, where the hero is redeemed in the end, is  just repeatedly hurt, abused, toyed with and humiliated. He nearly looses everything (his mind, John, 221b), only to gain a crazy sister he never even missed before. 

Sherlock’s destiny seems to be to play violin with a person that is even more disturbed and detached from reality than he was at the beginning of the series, surrounded by a family he didn’t give a toss about in earlier episodes (on the contrary, in comparison to his biological family, Sherlock had built a surrogate family of his choosing: Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly, John [That’s why he stays!]. But all this seems forgotten when the Holmes’s meet up in Sherrinford to watch Eurus and Sherlock play violin). What is the message here? That it truly doesn’t matter who you’ve struggled to be, that biological family claims you in the end, if you like it or not? That you can’t escape the family you were born in? That you owe your familym even if they hid a sister from you that killed your best friend just out of envy? That ‘I made me’ was just wishfull thinking? 

This is not emotional progress, this is locking Sherlock up in a glass cage like Eurus’s cell, keeping him away from an ordinary life with friends and the promise of love, burdening him with yet another lost soul to save (who might be beyond redemption anyway).

It’s a bit like the end of TLD: He’s Sherlock Holmes, so he wears the damned hat, even if he loathes it. But what can you do?

*I want to break free!* - Oh, no, sorry, that was the line of the baddie...

Is that truly the message the show wants to give?

Thanks to @callie-ariane for the transcripts.

[moodboardinthecloud]

Canadians shocked by George Floyd’s death should face up to the Indigenous struggle here at home

By Brandi MorinContributing ColumnistSat., June 6, 2020

It’s nice to see people starting to care. To see people uniting for the human right to exist equally.

In Canada, people are acting like they give a crap because of the injustices we’re watching penetrating so loudly into our collective consciousness through the murder of George Floyd.

I’m thankful Black voices are rising up and the world is taking notice. It’s long overdue.

Now, what does it take for Canadians to express the same kind of passion for First Peoples? What does it take for governments, who have power and money, to invest to help change the narrative of systemic racism in Canada?

The demonstrations happening in the United States and around the world in response to racism could be a catalyst for systemic transformation. It’s an inspiration for many people who are oppressed — specifically for Indigenous Peoples in Canada, who deal with some of the worst effects of racism in the world.

I note many people up here in the Great White North acted shocked by the brutality of police officers murdering a Black man. It was as if racism existed in a far-off land or was something foreign to them. But it’s here in Canada on such a large scale and has been since this country was founded.

Indigenous people are scared for their lives every day due to racism. Do you know the story of Colten Boushie; Cindy Gladue; or Neil Stonechild? That’s only a few who fell victim to death by racism — look them up.

The injustices keep coming. They seem relentless. Chantal Moore, 22, a mother of a five-year-old girl, member of the Nuu-chah-nulth nation in British Columbia was killed by a police officer Thursday in New Brunswick. She was shot at five times because police say she had a knife. Her boyfriend had called to ask police to do a “wellness check” because she apparently told him she was being harassed by someone and felt afraid. Her family says she had never been in trouble with the law, weighed 98 pounds, and posed no threat. She was shot five times.

Our people are afraid. There is no justice here. They’re also fed up with racism. Done with being racially profiled, being targeted for violence and discrimination. When I’m alone, driving in the country here in Alberta I get afraid that if my vehicle ever broke down and I needed help I would be targeted/killed because I look Native. It’s one of my worst nightmares to get stranded in an area inhabited by white farmers.

This is real life when you’re Indigenous. Maybe some people are in denial. They turn their heads back to their ignorant, comfortable lives in the safety of their privileged communities.

Was the revealing of the horrors of the residential school system through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission enough? The federal government and all its institutions sought out Indigenous children to steal their identity through the wiping-out of their culture and attempted genocide. Was it enough that thousands upon thousands of children were brutally molested, physically assaulted, verbally and emotionally abused and condemned because of the colour of their skin? Was hearing the broken stories of the victims who mostly stumbled around lost and drunk afterward, who had their children taken from them because they were robbed of connection to family life — was that enough?

Are the suicides of First Nations youth — at 6.2 times the rate of other Canadians and 23.9 per cent higher for Inuit — enough?

What about other crises, such as Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (MMIWG)? Was seeing the face of a child, Tina Fontaine, and watching authorities removing her body from the Red River enough?

Apparently not. Apparently, more violence is on the agenda. We have a federal government that is lagging in helping the crisis by delaying a national action plan on MMIWG- citing COVID19 as a reason.

But this is a pandemic — a pandemic of racism that’s killing and has killed many more people in this country than COVID19.

Systemic racism exists in educational systems, justice systems, child welfare, health care, employment, industry, institutions, and all levels of governments, because Canada is a colonial country founded on colonial principles.

Canada is racist.

Racism is high on the radar of people’s minds right now because of the injustices and demonstrations we’re seeing in the United States. For many here, especially Indigenous Peoples, those actions are providing inspiration for them: that there’s hope; they can stand for justice, be heard and seen.

Our people have stood up before. Remember Idle No More? How about the Wet’suwet’en crisis that shut down this country for weeks just a few months ago? Momentum is building.

Lately, we are seeing more solidarity from white people’s allyship, which is important because unity is powerful.

I hope Canada has finally had enough of its own racism. Let’s keep talking about it, keep confronting it. What’s it going to take to stop? Well, we can start by the decolonizing of our society. Not sure what that means? It means creating a society that doesn’t disproportionally enable a group of people to succeed over the other.

What if governments funded supports for communities to heal and connect with each other? What if hate speech, particularly online, was taken seriously and penalties given to people who spread racist agendas?

Imagine the economic impacts for the better if society invested in education and reconciliation instead of pumping money into the oppression of our vulnerable communities?

When will it be enough for Canada to care about its own country and the unbridled injustices, which are a ticking time bomb?

We don’t want a George Floyd repeat.

If people care so much about racism abroad, it’s time to also care at home.

Brandi Morin is a French/Cree/Iroquois award-winning journalist from Treaty 6 in Alberta. She is passionate about showcasing stories of injustice, human rights, environment, culture, tradition and resilience from an Indigenous viewpoint. You can follow her at Twitter.com/songstress28

https://www.thestar.com/opinion/2020/06/06/canadians-shocked-by-george-floyds-death-should-face-up-to-the-indigenous-struggle-here-at-home.html?fbclid=IwAR05eDxyXZYNXkGsDfuxvFEzdp-0jBkluh6dCfLWJU8JL5Qpyqkv95d_eNw

[sueboohscorner]

#Shadowhunters--Season 2--Episode 15--Problem Of Memory

"There's nothing ugly about you" 

This week, on Shadowhunters, Simon explores life as a day lighter vampire on his own. While Simon is treated like a celebrity and enticed away from the bar he frequents to drown his sorrows about Clary kissing Jace (hello, Faerie Queen setup) to a barely legal blood den, he seems to have a problem as he wakes up the next morning with no memory of the night before. Oh, and there's a dead body. Simon explained to his new vampire "friend" and the girl he was feeding on that the last time he fed straight from a human, he barely stopped in time.

As Sebastian sits at home ironing his clothes, he calmly irons over his own hand. Valentine seems scared of him, he defeats demons with his swordand he seems to have a yen for severe physical pain. Something tells me Sebastian is not what he seems. Could it be the fact that he's keeping the real Sebastian prisoner in his own home? More on that, later.

Back at Magnus' apartment, Alec wakes up to find that not only is Magnus not there with him, but Magnus hasn't even come to bed. However, Magnus simply deflects when Alec asks him what's wrong.

Over at the institute, Alec has decided to leave Luke out of his report to the clave so that neither he nor Luke get in trouble for Luke's illegal attempt at killing Valentine. Jace confides in Izzy that he still has feelings for Clary. Izzy's advice is to stay out of Clary and Simon's relationship. Does Jace seem a little too jazzed at the Seelie Queen's manipulation of his and Clary's kiss?   

  Clary tries over and over again to call Simon. It seems like Simon needs to work out his own feings right now, which is what Clary should be doing.

Didn't see last week's episode? Here's a reminder:

Izzy very kindly, compassionately and matter of factly let's Clary know that Seelie magic may trick you, but its not a lie and that it's possible to have feelings for two people without being a bad person. Clary then stops over to see Simon, who's just waking up from his previous night's blackout. Simon initially hides this from Clary by cleaning up and changing so she won't see the blood all over him. 

Clary tries to tell Simon she doesn't have feelings for Jace, but Simon sees right through her. In the mean time, the rest of the shadow hunters question Valentine, who explains that Jace's Mother, Selene, who had fertility problems desperately wanted a baby and came to Valentine for help. Apparently Valentine "rescued" Jace from his Mother when she was attacked by werewolves. As supremely messed up as Valentine and Jace's relationship is, he actually does give Jace some pretty good fatherly advice (or what passes for fatherly advice in Valentine's warped brain). Jace's feelings for Clary could very well get Jace killed. 

Not being able to leave well enough alone, tells Jace the his feelings for Clary will get them all killed. Clary admits to Simon that she has a case of the feels for Jace.

At Simon's boathouse, memories begin to plague Simon as he pieces together what happened the night before. Luke come to visit. He's concerned for Simon. Luke tells Simon to be careful with plasma. Clary has told Luke what happened between her and Simon and Luke wants to offer his support. Luke isn't just there to check on Simon, though. He's looking for information about vampires feeding on a mundane in Queens the previous night.

While Luke is visiting Simon, his partner calls him to let him know that the victim bled out in a "strange" way and the only hit they got was the fact that evidence pointing to Simon being at the scene came up. Simon can, of course, hear everything that's being said on the phone between Luke and his partner due to his preternaturally strong vampire hearing. imon immediately disappears, making things 9000% worse for him.

The Shadowhunters have removed Valentine's circle rune (great idea on Alec's part) and are about to transfer him out of their custoy (what could possibly go wrong?). Alec suggests using a different warlock to assist in the matter as something is clearly wrong with Magnus. First, let me tell you as a fan of the show how much I love that Isabelle is Alec's most trusted advisor. Alec is finally opening up to his friends and family and being loved and respected for the person he is. Secondly, you've got to love the West Wing-esque walk-and-talk shots being done here. This conveys a sense of business and purpose both with Alec and with the show itself. I'm loving these long shots.

Sebastian is in charge of compiling a list of shadow hunters whom Valentine has harmed or threatened either personally or through others who might want to make sure that Valentine's transfer doesn't go as planned. Does this strike anyone else as a spectacularly bad idea? Let's hope Sebastian (or whoever he really is) wants to maintain his cover bad enough to make sure this goes off without a hitch!

Another plot twist in this pivotal, information-packed, plot establishing mid-season epic come when another kick-ass gay shadow hunter of color, a woman no less, Aline, come to the institute. Apparently Aline and Sebastian are cousins. 

"Sebastian" immediately threatens the real Sebastian, who also appears to be surprised by the news that his cousin Aline is in town, demanding that he tell the imposter Sevaatian everything he knows about cousin Aline upon the threat of her death.  

 While Luke and Clary talk after Luke's encounter with Simon, Luke tells Clary that Simon's fingerprints have been found at the scene of the crime. When Clary tells Luke Simon couldn't have killed the woman in question, Luke tries to explain to Clary that demon blood changes a person, while Clary insists that Simon is still the good person she's always known. Could it be that Luke had a tougher times with his change into a werewolf because he believed he was cursed--doomed to walk this world as a creature that was less than what he once was? Could it be that Luke's beliefs about down wielders colored his personal experience? Simon doesn't seem to hold such beliefs, so could Clary be right, or does Luke's experience trump Clary's intuition?

Clary insists upon coming with Luke to find Simon. Luke doesn't feel that this is a good idea while Simon is in the emotional state he's in, but Clary insists. Simon meets with Raphael, looking for his friend from the previous night and ends up sharing his concerns about the previous night with Raphael. Raphael tells Simon he will let him stay at the Hotel du Mort, but in exchange for Simon telling him how he became a day lighter. Simon leaves.

 While on the lookout for trouble during the process of transport. Sebastian convinces Aline to go back home and comfort his girlfriend (i.e. get out of his hair before she ruins his Sebastian act). In the mean time, the real Sebastian escapes the apartment. Simon revisits the scene of the crime while remembering feeding on the girl from the previous night, but before he remembers the rest of the evening, he is confronted by Luke's new partner. Clary is using a rune to track Simom while Luke drives. Why Luke's partner hasn't informed him that she's apprehended the suspect, I don't know.  Luke's chatty partner happens to tell Simon while he's riding in the car with her that the victim was drained of blood from wounds her feet. Simon didn't bite her feet and is, in point of fact, grossed out by feet, which is why Simon couldn't have done this. Of course the detective doesn't buy an "anti-foot fetish" she refers to it as a plausible cover story. Simon immediately disappears from her car. By the time the detective pulls her gun, Simon is long gone. 

  For some reason, the newly escaped real Sebastian is just wandering the streets of New York City. Simon revisits the semi-legal vampire blood bar that night and finds Quinn, the real culprit. Quinn attacks Simon and Simon stakes Quinn in the middle of the club, when Clary, Luke and Raphael show up. Simon disappears. 

 Back at Magnus' apartment, Magnus broods on the pain and suffering he caused his family as a little boy. Alec comforts Magnus, listening to him and then reassuring him that Alec isn't going anywhere. This is one of the most genuine touching scenes I have witnessed on a TV show in a very long time. 

Magnus' abusive Stepfather blamed him for his Mother's suicide. Little Magnus burned him alive. He laments the fact that Alec has had to see this "ugly" side of him. Alec does think it's ugly at all. He tells Magnus he will always be there for him. 

 When Luke and his partner meet up at the Jade Dragon, he tells his freaked out partner he's sorry she had to see what she saw. Raphael hypnotizes the detective to forget about Simon and to think that Daniel Quinn murdered Heidi MacKenzie, the girl who was drained by a vampire the previous night (which is of course true).

Simon meets Clary in her room after the ordeal to tell her he needs time. Clary says she'll be ready whenever he is. She'll wait for him. Valentine is given over to Idris, but when his guard takes him through the portal to Idris, he ends up in a dingy looking basement with "Sebastian." Sebastian ends up being Valentine' son who looks quite badly burned. This is where the episode ends. Quite a cliffhanger (unless you've read the books, of course).

Til next week...