#and operates under ‘people who like each other will get together no matter what’ logic

[mxtxfanatic]

Shen Qingqiu: Of course any reasonable relationship will start with a few “no”s, but like, anyone who really wants you will just ignore that.

Luo Binghe, a person who really wants him but also knows about consent: listens when Shen Qingqiu tells him that he doesn’t want to see lbh, he doesn’t want to share a bed, he doesn’t want to engage in a kink, etc.

Shen Qingqiu:

[hood-ex]

This is a fic written for @stxleslyds! The prompt was: a fic with Dick, Roy and Lian spending time together in the Outsiders era. Thanks for the donation, Tati 💙.

Important: This fic takes place a week after the events of Outsiders (2003) #19.

“We could use you here,” Roy says. Even with his voice coming directly through the comm, Dick almost doesn’t hear him say, “I need you here.”

A soft wind blows through Blüdhaven, ruffling through Dick’s sweat-matted hair. What a filthy night it is for a Friday. Thunder rumbling in the distance with hot, humid air filling Dick’s lungs. It’s the kind of air that isn’t natural for a place like the ‘Haven. It’s here for whatever reason, and it’s no better now that the sun has been replaced by pink and purple neon lights flashing across the strip. It’s nights like these that Dick can admit to missing his red tunic and green shorts. It was shit to wear them in the winter but an absolute godsend in the summer.

Dick sighs deeply, moving away from the ledge of the building and away from his view of the herds of drunk people whose laughter echoes between the bars and casinos. There’s a tall HVAC unit in the middle of the building that he walks over to and sits against. The fabric of his suit rubs against it, and he squirms a little at the uncomfortable position. He bears it because this is a conversation that requires a little support.

“Dick.”

“I know,” Dick mutters.

He should be under the streets of Brooklyn the same as all the other Outsiders should be. Considering the circumstances, it’s no surprise that some of them have deserted the ship for the time being. Licking their wounds in private so to speak. Dick’s not proud of it. He tacks it onto his mental bulletin board of shame where it sits up there all torn and ugly like the rest of his deplorable moments.

“I’d feel better if you were here to watch Lian when I step out of the room,” Roy says in Japanese. Dick’s brow furrows. Either Lian is in the same room as Roy and he doesn’t want her to know they’re talking about her or there’s an Outsider nearby that he doesn’t want listening in on his personal issues. “She hasn’t started therapy yet and her separation anxiety is still high.”

“High for both of you,” Dick points out. He thinks back to a few days ago when Roy had called him in a panic because he’d left all of his groceries in the middle of the store after his paranoia got the best of him and had him running back to the base to check on Lian.

“Tell me about it,” Roy laughs dryly. “I feel like I’m going fuckin’ nuts, dude.” The strain in his voice sends a full body shiver down Dick’s spine. “All I can think about is whether she’s okay and if the base is protected enough, and if I can really trust everyone here. You and Kory are the only ones I feel okay leaving her with.”

You shouldn’t trust me like that, Dick thinks bitterly. Lilith and Donna trusted me with their lives and look where they are now.

“Everyone else is… I trust them as teammates. I trust them with my life. But I can’t—"

“Trust them with Lian’s,” Dick says, knowing how much this whole situation has fucked with Roy's ability to trust anyone and everyone. Except him and Kory, apparently. Probably Ollie and the rest of Roy's family too.

He thunks his head against the HVAC unit and stares up at the dark sky. Not a single star up there, he thinks, and something like guilt burns in his chest. You took them all with you, didn’t you, Donna? Put them in your pockets and faded away. “She might not be comfortable with me there,” he says after a moment.

It pains him to think that Lian could be scared of him. Scared of him because he looks similar to one of the blue-eyed, dark-haired kidnappers who murdered her babysitter and then branded her like cattle. That type of trauma association doesn’t go away after a week.

“Kory told Lian you might stop by, and you know what Lian asked her?”

Terrible things flash through Dick’s head. Things like words born of fear or disgust. He hugs his arms around his knees and squeezes them tight.

“No, what did she say?”

“She asked, ‘Is Uncle Nightwing gonna bring Blue’s Clues with him?’”

A smile tugs at the corner of Dick’s lips and his eyes start to sting. He can’t believe that’s the first thing she thought of. It only seems like yesterday that he was watching Blue’s Clues with her in Titans Tower. Sometimes he would pause the show and ask Lian questions about each of the clues just to hear what kind of outlandish answers her kid brain could come up with. Other times the detective in him couldn’t help but steer her towards a logical answer. Roy used to always roll his eyes and tell him to stop trying to turn her into a mini Nightwing.

“That doesn’t mean she’ll be okay seeing me in person and you know it,” Dick reminds him.

Roy’s sigh is soft and muffled in his ear. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dick’s not one to wait around.

“Let’s cross it now.”

“You’re coming over?” Roy asks, and even though he mostly sounds neutral, Dick can hear the disbelief hidden under it all.

If there was an award for the world's most shitty friend, Dick would probably be in the lead to receive it. Here Roy is dealing with the fact that his daughter was abducted and almost trafficked, and what’s Dick been doing for the last few days instead of sticking by his side? Working himself to the bone in Blüdhaven, that’s what. Hiding away from the fact that he almost lost another important person to him. Trying to avoid the crushing weight of failure that clings to him like a second skin.

Pathetic. Some safety net he is.

“Yeah, give me an hour,” Dick says.

The commute from Blüdhaven to Brooklyn isn’t bad at this time of night. Most of the traffic is packed downtown where all the bars are lined up. Dick takes the highway to avoid the worst of it.

The roar of the city dies off once he goes underground. Down here the HQ looms over him in all its steel glory. Dick’s always thought of it like one giant elevator. It’s all hard angles and sleek, silver walls. Hardly a place one would describe as homey, but it was home to a few people nevertheless.

Dick goes inside after getting his eye and hand scanned by the computer. He heads down the hallway, keeping his footsteps light and quiet out of habit. So far there’s no sign of Jade, Indigo, or Rex in any of the rooms he passes. They’re the most likely to be here around this time. From what Kory told him the other day, Grace has been spending most of her time clubbing, and Anissa has been staying with her dad. He hates to admit it but it’s almost a relief that he doesn’t have to worry about running into either of them.

He ends up finding Roy and Lian in the rec room. Lian is sitting on the leather couch in the middle of the room. She must have had a shower not too long ago because her hair is a little damp and she’s wearing a pair of purple pajamas with unicorns on them. A Cinderella blanket is strewn across her lap and a stuffed rabbit sits discarded on the floor by her feet.

Roy looks small squatting in front of her. His pants are the only sign of his Arsenal gear, and it makes Dick feel slightly out of place since he’s still decked out in full mask and suit. It’s the first time Dick’s seen Roy in person since they brought down Tanner’s operations a week ago. He looks how Dick would expect any parent to look after being targeted by a major sex trafficker: stressed and exhausted.

Those tired eyes of his shift to the doorway where Dick stands, and Dick can see the way Roy looks him over from head to toe, assessing Dick’s condition. He can look as hard as he wants, but he won’t find anything. Dick keeps his face blank and unreadable.

“It still hurts,” Lian whimpers, and both Dick and Roy's attention immediately snaps back to her.

She wraps her arms around her stomach and bends over her lap like she’s going to throw up all over the floor. Roy doesn’t move to try and avoid any possible bouts of vomit. Nothing happens as the seconds tick by. No retching or anything. There’s only the sound of Roy’s hand rubbing up and down Lian’s arm.

“Me and your Uncle Nightwing are gonna get you feeling better soon,” Roy assures her in a gentle voice. “And guess what?”

Lian makes a questioning sound in the back of her throat.

The look Roy shoots Dick is somewhere between caution and amusement. “He’s been playing quiet mouse behind you this whole time.”

Dick braces himself as Lian shoots back up like a rocket. “He’s behind me?” she asks, twisting around in her seat. Dick’s heart starts jackrabbiting because what if she’s scared of him? What if he accidentally triggers her PTSD? What if— “Uncle Nightwing!” Lian shrieks.

Relief shudders through him because she sounds happy to see him. Not scared or angry or disgusted like he feared. She’s looking at him like he just told her he brought her a bag of candy, and that revelation is enough to make him take a breath and finally enter the room.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick says, hurrying over to the couch so that she doesn’t have to get up. “I missed you.”

Lian reaches for his hand and holds on to it. It’s not like the hug Dick usually gets from her and maybe that’s because she doesn’t want anyone touching her back after the incident. Dick will take anything he can get. His much larger hand closes over her own and he swings them back and forth lightly.

“Me too,” Lian says. She squeezes his hand three times. “Why do you still have your gloves on?”

“My hands are cold,” Dick lies. “Why were you bent over like an accordion just a minute ago?”

“Her tummy’s been hurting,” Roy says with a frown.

“It’s because tigers used to try and eat people,” Lian tells him matter-of-factly. Roy looks like he’s about to correct her but she quickly hurries on. “My brain says there’s danger and it makes my tummy stop working.”

A lightbulb goes off in Dick’s head as he realizes that she’s describing anxiety. A simplified explanation of how the digestive system shuts down and sends blood to other parts of the body when there’s danger.

“My tummy does that too,” Dick says after a pause. “I get a lot of anxiety sometimes. Do you want me to show you how I try to make it go away?”

Lian scrunches her nose. “Do we have to take medicine?”

“Nope. All we need to do is sit up straight and breathe. Breathing really deep helps our brains calm down and makes our tummies feel more relaxed,” Dick explains. He sinks down on the plush couch and demonstrates how she should be sitting. “Now move back until you’re sitting like me.”

Lian does as she’s told and scoots back until she’s resting against the back of the couch. Dick only remembers how short she is when he notices how her feet stick out straight in front of her instead of dangling over the edge of the couch.

“Now tell your daddy to get in position.”

“Daddy,” Lian slaps the free cushion beside her, “sit next to me.”

“Magic word?” Roy prompts.

“Please,” Lian pouts.

“That’s better.” Roy’s knees pop when he shifts out of his crouched position. The whole couch rocks when he falls back against it. “What’s the strat here, Wing? We need to close our eyes or what?”

Dick wants to ask him why he’s acting like he’s never done this before but the playful words stick in his mouth like glue.

“We’ll close our eyes in a second. Lian, I want you to watch how your daddy and I take really deep breaths, okay? Then we’re all going to do it together.”

“I can take really big breaths!” Lian insists. She scrambles out of her pose and gets on her knees. Her little fingers wrap around Dick’s bicep as she leans in close to him. “I can take one million breaths as big as an elephant!”

The tired and apathetic part of him tells him to ignore her kid logic and to get back on track. The uncle part of him is another story. It wants him to be fun and helpful. To distract Lian from the worries and fears she has.

In the end, he does what he always does best: puts on a performance.

“Oh yeah?” Dick challenges with a grin that hopefully doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “I can take five billion breaths as big as a planet.”

“Elephants are bigger than planets,” she says.

“I think maybe the elephants are only bigger in your dreams.”

“Yeah, they are,” Lian agrees because she’s a typical kid who will support anything that proves she’s right in some capacity.

Roy looks amused when he puts his hands on Lian’s shoulders and steers her to sit back on her bottom. “Alright little missy, no more talking. We’re gonna do what Uncle Nightwing says now, okay?”

“Okay,” Lian agrees, looking over at Dick expectantly.

Coaching Lian through the exercise is easy. The most important part is making sure she’s taking breaths that are deep enough to make her stomach expand like a balloon. Dick has her place her hands on top of her stomach so he can see them rise when she inhales.

Roy follows along and Dick can tell that he’s taking advantage of the exercises for his own benefit. His face looks peaceful and relaxed as he follows along with Dick’s instructions to suck in a breath on the count of one and exhale up until the count of ten.

“Keep focusing on counting,” Dick tells them while they exhale. “We don’t want any other thoughts in our heads. No bad thoughts or funny thoughts. Only think about counting to ten.”

They run through a few more cycles. Dick’s pleased when he hears both Lian and Roy’s stomachs grumbling as they exhale. It’s a good sign that the deep breaths are massaging their organs and decreasing any kind of stomach pain.

“That’s it,” Dick says. “We’re all done.” He opens his eyes and sees Lian slumped against the back of the couch. Her hands are still resting on her stomach, but she looks languid instead of tense like she was when he first saw her.

“I’m tired now,” Roy says. His movements are slow as molasses when he slides forward to the edge of the couch and bends over to rest his arms on his thighs. He looks at Lian. “How about you, princess? You feeling any better?”

“Mhmm. My tummy doesn’t feel really uh…”

“Tight?” Dick offers.

“Yeah, it’s not so tight anymore.”

Roy pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. Mine feels a little better too.”

“Can we do Uncle Nightwing’s breathing thing again tomorrow?” she asks through a yawn.

“Sure thing,” Roy nods. His attention shifts to Dick. “Are you gonna still be here to lead us through it?”

This isn’t some kind of test but it feels like one. It feels like if he says no then he’s only proving that he’s a bad friend. That he can’t be relied on. He doesn’t want to give Roy that impression because it’s not true. Roy can rely on him the same way Dick relies on Roy. He hopes showing up here tonight is proof of that.

“That’s the plan,” he says, voice soft.

Roy leans over the couch and squeezes Dick’s knee gently. “You sure?” he asks, and his eyes roam over Dick’s face like he’s trying to find evidence that Dick is lying.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He pats Roy’s hand reassuringly in the same way Alfred's done for him and Bruce a hundred times. It's only now that he realizes it's a habit he's picked up.

Lian suddenly leans into Dick’s side and presses her weight against his arm. She pats both his and Roy’s hands.

“I’m sure too,” she says, and this time Dick can’t help but smile.

[its-captain-sir]

BATTALION BREAKDOWN

Alright y'all, here it is, my breakdown of what I think a GAR battalion SHOULD look like. Full disclaimer before we get into it: I tried to research this stuff on wookiepedia as best I could but 1. there wasn't a ton of information out there on some of the things I had questions about and 2. some of it just makes No Sense when you put it together, so a lot of these numbers were made up by me and what I thought made sense based on what we see in the show and just simple logic. Feel free to accept/ignore parts as you please! Also, I'm gonna try to explain the rationale behind certain things as I go along but if you have any questions about this, you can send an ask/reply/reblog this post with your question and I'll do my best to answer it :)

Now that all that's out of the way, here's all the actual info beneath the cut.

Basic Organization

Essentially, the GAR breaks down into four tiers at this level: battalions, companies, platoons, and squads.

Battalions are the largest groups with 576* members and are all numbered, such as the 501st, 212th, 104th, etc. The only exceptions to the numbering convention are the Rancor Battalion that guards Kamino and the Coruscant Guard. Personally I believe that both of these should be double, if not triple, the size of a regular battalion, which could potentially explain the difference in names. Battalions are led by a clone commander and Jedi general + a padawan commander if the Jedi has one. 4 companies make a battalion.

Companies consist of 144 members and are all named. Using the 501st for example, this would be Torrent, Tide, Wave, and Typhoon. Note: Torrent, Tide, and Wave are canon/widely accepted fanon, but Typhoon is something me and my friends came up with. You're welcome to use the name as the fourth 501st company in your wips if you want! The names don't have to be related, but my guess would be that they often are. Companies are led by a captain.** 4 platoons make a company.

Platoons consist of 36 members and are simply referred to as the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or 4th platoon under their company. Platoons are led by a Lieutenant. 4 squads make a platoon.

Squads consist of 9 members and are named. I don't have names for any 501st squads unfortunately, which is why those spaces are left blank in the picture. As a content creator, you'd have a LOT of freedom when it comes to these because there's so many within a battalion and it seems like they can be named just about anything. Squads are led by a sergeant.

*Numbers for this and subsequent numbers in this section were taken directly from wookiepedia

**One problem people tend to have with this is that Rex is a captain, and yet he seems to be in command of all of the 501st. I think most people have figured this out already but the clone wars writers really just threw names around willy-nilly when it came to all the military stuff. Rex should by all intents and purposes be a commander, and my personal in-universe explanation for this is that while he was skilled enough to go through ARC/command track training, he wasn't originally meant to be a commander and his CT number is what barred him from the title initially. Keeli would be another example of this.

A few comparisons just to illustrate it a bit better:

1 battalion = 4 companies = 16 platoons = 64 squads = 576 members

1 company = 4 platoons = 16 squads = 144 members

1 platoon = 4 squads = 36 members

1 squad = 9 members

Please note that these numbers do not include the officers. There would be 64 sergeants, 16 lieutenants, 4 captains, and a commander added to this number to make a total of 661 clones in any given battalion.

Now I could have just stopped here but I have a tendency to want to get way too specific in my wips so I went a little further:

Internal Battalion Assignments

To make the numbers a bit easier, this just looks at what would be found in one company, you can do the extra math if you want to know the full battalion numbers.

I tried my best to remember what kind of specialized troops showed up in the show since wookiepedia wasn't much help, and I ended up breaking these assignments down into medics, heavy gunners, ARF and tank operators, scouts, tech specialists, and standard infantry.

Medics total 16* within a company, one for each squad. Within the medical corps, they're further broken down into junior medical officers (JMO), medical officers (MO), senior medical officers (SMO), and the chief medical officer of the battalion (CMO). Any internal promotions would probably come from the CMO, maybe a SMO on occasion. When pertaining to medical issues, they do often outrank any other officer, but in combat, JMOs and MOs only hold the rank of private (underneath sergeant) and SMOs and the CMO hold the rank of major (between sergeant and lieutenant).

Heavy gunners total 16 within a company, again one for each squad. These are the clones who have been trained to use the Z-6 rotary blaster, like Hardcase and Hevy.

ARFs and other tank operators total one platoons-worth spread throughout a company, or 36 members. ARF troopers are the ones who drive the AT-RTs (the really bouncy walkers you can see used on Ryloth and Umbara) and other tank operators encompass, well, the operators of all the other ground vehicles we see used. The ratio of each of these seems like it could be fluid based on the needs of the battalion and their mission, so I didn't go too much further into this.

Scouts total two squads-worth spread throughout a company, or 16 members. To me it makes sense that one of the lieutenants within their company would specifically deal with their recon reports, simply because it's more organized and practical.

Tech specialists total one squads-worth spread throughout a company, or 9 members. Honestly this is where I grouped anything else left over, like the bomb squad members we see in the blue shadow virus episode, any slicers, etc.

Standard infantry totals the remaining 49 members in a battalion. They're strictly the fighting force on the ground. This doesn't mean that they're the only ones who do the actual fighting, just that they aren't specifically trained for any other specialization.

*These numbers and the subsequent numbers in this section were not taken from any canon source. They were calculated simply by what I thought would make sense to have.

LAAT/is and Starfighters

Again, I tend to be way too specific in my wips so not only did I go through all of the ground fighting force, but I started figuring out the some of the space forces attached to a battalion as well. This doesn't go into a ton about the Republic Navy because frankly, as soon as I read "7400 crew members on a star destroyer" I exited out of that tab cause that's a little Too Much to try to figure out, but I will cover how I think the gunships and fighter squadrons should work.

LAAT/is (gunships) total 48 per battalion, or 12 per company. However, two per company are usually held in reserve to make sure there's always something available for easy transport to/from the ground. This brings down the number to 40 per battalion, or 10 per company. Gunships take two people to man, so the total number of those pilots for a battalion is 96, or 24 for a company. There's also room for two gunners, which would bring the battalion total to 192, but from what I remember in the show the side guns rarely have someone in them, so I don't think the full 96 LAAT/i gunner positions would be filled. I also think the LAAT/i gunners could be temporarily reassigned from the main star destroyer crew (because 7400 is a LOT, they can spare 96). Wookiepedia said that the gunships could hold 30 troops for transport, but that seems like it'd be really cramped quarters. My guess is that each one would hold somewhere between 14-17 comfortably depending on how many people need transport and how many gunships are in use, which is what I kept in mind to come up with the original number of 48 for a battalion.

The Starfighter Corps consist of 5 separate squadrons, the standard* being two squadrons of Y-wings, one squadron of V-19 Torrents, one squadron of Z-95 Headhunters, and one squadron of ARC-170s. There are 12 in a squadron, plus a squad leader and two usually in reserve, so that's 15 total ships in a squadron and 75 total ships overall. Y-wings require a pilot and a gunner, so the total number of members in a battalion's starfighter corps equals 105. However, I believe some battalions could have up to double** these numbers if they're frequently in space battles, like Anakin and the 501st, or if they have a name that suggests it, like the 327th Star Corps. Squadrons seem to often be named after colors, but that isn't always the case, ie. Shadow Squadron.

*This standard isn't canon, it's just what I believe makes sense based on the number of ships types available and how frequently they are seen used in the show. The Y-wing bombers seem to be used a bit more than the rest, which is why I think there would be two squadrons of them.

**While double the number of ships is certainly possible, I figure it's more common to have three more squadrons instead of the full five so there would be two squadrons of each type of ship.

~~~

That's all I got! Like I said earlier, use whatever you like, ignore the parts you don't, it doesn't really matter to me. This system is definitely what I'm going to follow in my wips if anyone is ever curious about what's going on with those.

Hopefully this is helpful to someone out there! And if you made it this far, thanks for reading! :)

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

Falling from grace for you.

(this wasn’t requested, and I should probably be catching up on those XD)

|Dazai x Female Reader|

This is a darker (that’s an understatement…) and longer (very long) piece than what is typically written on my account. It’s taken from one of my current ongoing fics.

Warnings: Dazai’s typical antics (his jokes of suicide, making light of suicide, disturbing thoughts) depictions of severe gore/violence. Mentions of darker themes: torture, implied abuse. Some slight out-of-character actions. A large amount of insanity, questionable thoughts, and in the end suicide. Seriously, I warned you this piece is dark as hell

Heavy angst without a happy ending. (starts getting very dark/disturbing/unsettling under the cut.)

~You have been warned, enjoy the angst love~

Words-5,081

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

Hiding behind clouds, scarlet red glared down in shimmering beams. The night was given a red hue, a contrast to the normal silver peeking past the darkness. A male, in his early twenties, fiddled with the edges of his coat. Its tan folds, keeping his body from feeling the frigid atmosphere. His finger lightly traced the white, slightly dirtied fabric of the cotton wrapped around his arms. As unusual as it was, most of the agency had stayed past its usual hours of operation. A feeble sigh remained stuck in the man's throat, a sigh that could tell the others he was troubled. He was a man of many mysteries and unsolvable puzzles. The empty hue of his coffee-stained eyes closed the door to what he felt. That was if this man was capable of truly feeling much at all.

Taking a seat on the couch, his mind trailed to the thoughts of a woman. If he dared to admit the wrongs of his life, maybe the situation they were all in would be… different. Maybe, just maybe, this case would have been solved in seconds. It seemed even Ranpo had met his match here. Of course, the only reason he had met a roadblock, was for the same reason nobody had claimed the pool of money placed on his past occupation. His name was Dazai, Osamu Dazai. Sure, by now, the people around him knew what dangerous job he had in the past. Ranpo had probably finally deduced he was somewhere up in the ranks. He doubted they knew just who he had been, doubted they knew the full extent of the crimes he had committed. If they knew surely Ranpo would have said something or given signs of distrust. If Kunikida knew there would have been insults thrown and judgments made. He’d probably be in jail if they truly knew the details about him.

His eyes self-consciously looked up to the clock, his eyes flicking with the smallest flame of confusion. His fingers ran to his pocket, pulling out a phone that wasn’t used for work. The way he rushed to check for a missed message caught the attention of several co-workers. They were all used to his slacking off, even when he was working, he appeared to be relaxing. For instance, this entire time, from the moments spent staring at the window, to the second leading to his hands gripping his phone, were all moments that involved his mind. A plan carefully piecing together. He happened to be the only one who could solve this case. After all, he knew you. The details of this case, the ones that had no evidence, nothing to deduct anything from. By now, he was sure Ranpo knew that too. The only reason he hadn’t been questioned was the uncertainty of how he was involved.

There had never been a day when you missed sending the nightly text. Now, he always received a text no later than 9 PM and no earlier than 8:45 PM. Every day for 6 years, he received the same question. You would ask him when he’d be home, what he’d like for dinner. No matter what the message was, you never sent a text shorter than 2 words. Never screwed the grammar up, nor did you ever leave a text unfinished. Not only was it 9:05, but the text was also missing. He was almost tempted to call you, feeling a panic settling in his stomach. The two of you had so many unspoken feelings between you. He knew you were not really missing, you had run away just over six months ago, after all, you had wanted freedom from the chains of your prison. That home, which had never truly been home. He restarted the phone over and over again, maybe he didn’t have enough service, maybe he was overthinking things? As much as he wanted to believe you were completely fine, he knew something had truly happened to you.

It was his fault, in the past, he had been such a bastard, there were people all over wishing to find a spot in his inhuman mind that would cause him to bend down like a dog; he hated dogs. If somebody ever found that he and you had more than just a business relationship, there would be hell to pay. Having known each other since his mafioso days, you were always a danger to be caught around with. He still remembered the way you had met, the only woman who had not given in to his womanizer ways. The only person on this planet who understood his mind. Your ability, as long as he didn't touch you, told you everything that his mind was reeling under. The pressure of his deepest regrets, the dying, screaming agony that wrapped his heart. So, it was only natural that in his new world of light, he had come to see you differently. This woman who had impacted his life just as much as his dead friend never ceased to surprise him. The way she stayed silent about her own troubles, the way she revealed only what she could with him. The way she remains smiling, like him, despite sharing the same pains that crushed him. He had asked her once, a few years back, to join him in a double suicide. It had been a joke, but the laughing, smiling expression that you wore as a mask had fallen. Those eyes he came to adore fell to replicate his own expression. So used to the word no, his heart nearly shattered when you chuckled darkly and ran a finger over the sleeves of your shirt. The way it acted like it traced scars broke him. The simple sure that whispered from your lips led him to stand shocked. Few people in this world managed to surprise him, so seeing you turn his thoughts into scrambled letters in a scrabble game had him panicked.

Just as he was about to start panicking over your lack of a text, a simple ding echoed in the silent room. The breaths of every agency member halted, it seemed even Kunikida paused to see what this man was up to. For what felt like the first time in his life, that unsettling pit of despair that laid deep within his gut overtook his consciousness rationally. His fingers expertly unlocked his phone, dragging the notification bar down to click on the text that came from your number. That pit that he had been feeling since he left the apartment today rose to consume his mask. Pure, discernible fear placed itself within his irises. The dilation of his pupils, followed by the sweat that fell from his forehead, gathered a panic within every member. Laying on his screen a simple message that he’d never wanted to see; a simple help. The time was now 9:15, Dazai’s hands shook as he tried to remain calm, keep that personality of his from rising past the new him. There was nothing he wanted more than to slip into the darkness of his alter-ego, the original him.

When things that belong to him, things that he deeply connects to are hurt or taken from him, he can’t help but become a monster to protect such things.

Another text followed as he tried to keep himself together. If you want to see her alive, find us within the hour demon prodigy. To send such a thing from his belladonna’s phone created another crack in his expression. Unfiltered rage poured from his eyes in fiery streams. His hands nearly cracked the delicate glass of his phone. Clicking the phone off, he set it down. Walking to his desk, he slammed open every drawer. Nobody spoke, they only watched this man rummage around his desk. His stoic eyes were now full of dreadful emotions. The aura this man was giving off dragged the somber room into a dark state of horror. It was as if a serial killer had walked into the home of its unsuspecting victims. The only thoughts with their heads were of concern for the coworker, whose laid-back attitude had disappeared in seconds. Was this how he was in the mafia? That question suddenly popped into some of the heads turned towards him. One girl sat next to an older boy. The teenage child tilted her head at the recognition of the room's mood. The mood resembled the still air that she’d experienced in the mafia. When she was nothing but a worthless assassin, she had seen this happen before. Whenever a high-ranking mafioso walked into a room, one known for their bloodlust and demonic ways, such as Akutagawa, the room felt heavy and sticky with fear and worry. While this was different, it had that same tingle.

Dazai pulled out a pistol, why he still had this was a question even he couldn’t answer. It had been the one he used in the mafia. Slamming it on the desk, his hand traveled for other items. Grabbing a container of pins, he set that down along with pens in both black and red ink, a notepad about the size of his palm, a file, and lastly, the girl's photo. He grabbed his phone again, this time walking to a computer and downloading information from it. It was easy to get the location of which the texts were sent. If the GPS was correct, her phone was currently several blocks from the house, after moving within the three minutes, it took him to search the drawers. The text had been sent from inside their apartment. Popping the pen lid off using his teeth, he rushed to a map. His mind had blocked all consciousness of the world around him out. The unadulterated need to find you and save you from harm, or in the worst case, death, controlling him. Never in his life had he felt this way for anybody. No subordinate, no friend, no co-worker, no enemy had ever filled his body with so much emotion at once. A man normally dragged on by only logic, a man who discarded his heart for his mind now laid within the opposite. His emotions controlling his thoughts, his heart pumping within the hundreds as he raced against the clock. Marking every move possible in his head, he scanned over the map once, twice, and even a third time. His lips curled into a nasty snarl as he realized how you had been caught.

On your way back from working that bar, you had been followed into the apartment, heard the noises, and texted him a quick plea. You're meant for it to be longer, but hardly had time to send help. No capitalization, no punctuation, and help had been misspelled. A simple typo only your terrified fingers could manage. Then when they realize your phone is unlocked and laying on the floor after knocking you out, the attacker had sent him the warning. With that scenario, he became completely encased in displeased anger. His eyes scanned the map with frustration, trying to narrow the possible routes down. He used the black pen to mark the important events with times. He marked everything from his leave to the current second. Using the red pen, he sketched a draft of the route being used. The phone had been carried as a distraction. Any person of his mind would instantly disregard that route. But without Ranpo needing to point out which route was most likely, he tapped it with his finger. Crossing out certain marks as he intertwined all three routes to come across the place he’d met you. An amused, almost ironic snicker parted his lips as he tugged his jacket tighter around his body. His hand using the small notepad to jot down the location. Not for himself, but for the others in case they decided to follow him.

Walking to his desk, he grabbed the pistol, its weight nearly disgusting him. A conflict parted through him, his promise to Oda, then your life. Looking towards the ceiling, he sighed. He’d visit his grave later to apologize for breaking his promise. He had all intention to kill, whether it’s called for or not. “Dazai, what is going on.” Kunikida's cold voice cut through the heavy atmosphere.

Snapping back as if only now realizing the other existed, he fell to look at Kunikida. The look he gave was full of nothing but emotionless despair. With a simple response, he walked over and dropped the file on the desk. “Taking care of this case… alone.” The last word was spoken with an emphasis as if to warn them. This case was tied to his past actions.

Making a full 180, he dramatically raised his hands and spoke with nothing but a childish facade. “If I’m not back before midnight, my dreams have come true!” he hummed before walking out of sight.

Now that he was alone, that facade dissipated, and he sighed walking briskly down the streets. It didn’t take him too long to arrive at the building. An abandoned shipping room that provided a perfect height for suicide. He smiled slightly at the thought. Yes, that would be so much more relaxing than this. Simply taking your hand as the two of you fell gracefully in each other's arms. Then with no pain, the two of you would part from this meaningless life and find peace. His hand touched the door, pushing them open, the red glimmers of light, provided by the blood moon, filtering in through the now open doors. He whistled to signal he was there, and as his feet stepped inside, the doors closed and latched behind him. A trap well fit for him, but he already predicted such. “You really did go all out to catch me off-guard. It’s too bad this really isn’t much~.” he purred the words calling out to whoever laid within the shadows of the building. Tracing steps of the two men behind him, he ducked before grabbing two fists of hair and slamming their heads together. “Now, I suggest you give her back.” His voice became cold as he held himself straight, brushing his hands against the tan fabric.

Instead of a vocal response made of words, there was only a light laugh. With a sudden glare that nearly blinded him, the light turned on in only one specific spot. The middle of the room glowed with vibrant white light. Revealed by the sudden change was a body. Slumped against a chair with the smallest rising and falling of the chest. A piece of cloth wrapped around both your eyes and your mouth, successfully gagging and blinding you. Around your waist lay a thick rope that was most likely tied in the back, and was coated in duct tape to keep you secured to the chair. He assumed your wrists were bound behind the chair, judging that they were not loosely hung by your sides. The rope around your ankles was wrapped around several times. Already your body was showing forms of bruises. Blood trickled from your nose and your head. Your clothing was in tatters, the white lace of your bra showing in parts. It was as if your attacker had tried inflicting as much pain as he could. Perhaps you had woken up from the pain before passing out. He could see the wet stains on your cheek, probably from the feeling of pain. He went to take a step forward and pull out his gun, but before he could make much movement, a gun aimed itself at you. His eyes flared, and he looked to the man who had taken you. The time was now 10:05 PM. He had arrived exactly at 10 PM. within the hour the text had said, so logically speaking he had 10 minutes until an hour from when the text was sent to now.

So where had he gone wrong? Why did that gun fire at your stomach? It missed anything vital, in fact, it was a spot he knew well. Fyodor had once had a sniper shoot him in that exact spot. He knew it wasn’t lethal, but the blood loss could kill you. That death would be slow and painful. It was pure luck that you had been shot there, that gun was meant to put you to death.

Never in his life had he lost to his emotions. Even in his moments of insanity, he had never acted rashly. Even when he shot a dead body over and over, he had not been completely lost. He had relished in the enemy’s pain, but he was not lost. He understood his surroundings. Even as his lips parted and cusses left his lips and insane demonic laughter parted his lips, he tried keeping his mind together. His left hand covered his eye, the eye he had once kept bandaged for no particular reason. His right hand fumbled for his gun, before snapping his eyes back to the enemy. “You really shouldn’t have done that~” he hummed taking steps closer. “Were you expecting me to fall and weep? If this is revenge over something I did in the past, I hate to tell you… I don't remember a single one of my past victims. I mean that would be a ton of people to remember. Between the murders and the blackmail along with all the other crimes I’ve committed, I would never remember anybody who held no importance.”

With the room's descent into a hellish atmosphere, your attacker tripped falling down. Dazai walked to you and brushed a finger over your cheek. “It’s alright, I’ll save you.” Maybe this possessive protectiveness this event had induced could be classified as slightly yandere? He would never lose you, your happiness was of course important, but this feeling was beyond normal rage. He walked up to the cowering form of your attacker. He guaranteed the man's death would be painful. He normally wasn’t this violent, even in the mafia he carried out his assignments and assassinations quickly. He hated pain himself, so it was natural to show some pity when it came to physical pain.

All that went forgotten as he approached the shaking male. He fiddled with the trigger of his pistol, before shooting both of your attacker's hands. Watching as crimson carefully spill and the shriek of horror, that twisted Dazai’s heart with pleasure, echo within the walls, he smiled. The smile was created from pure insanity. Without a shred of remorse, he glanced at you before his foot lifted to slam against the male's jaw. He did it once, twice, and thrice. When his foot shoved the man's skull down to the cement flooring, he laughed trying to keep control. His emotions were slowly wrapping dark webs around his reason. He knew that was enough, that he should stop and lay down a final blow. He knew he should do the right thing, which would be to slam some cuffs on this man's wrists. Yet, in the back of his head lay a voice telling him this man deserved a punishment far worse than a jail cell he’d likely be out of in a few years. This man deserved death for hurting you. There was only one light in his life, that light was you. Losing that light would break him. There was one fear for this man, that fear was losing all hope. Plummeting into true pain, a life without you would be empty. It would be too much to go on. He’d toss away his ideal death to escape the chains of this mortal world. He’d accept death, whether there was an after-life or not. As the thoughts ran rampant inside his head, his decision was made. No, this decision had been made the moment his slender fingers touched the metal of this discarded pistol.

Kneeling down, he got into the man's personal space, his hands clasped behind his back as if this were one of his many interrogations. “Tell me, when you laid the first blow on my belladonna, what were you expecting would happen? Was it A, you thought you would manage to bring me to my knees? Or maybe B, you thought your actions would have no consequences because the feared demon prodigy was now an ex-demon prodigy? You thought you would be able to act out revenge by taking the one thing he clings to. People are easy to read, when they are terrified for their lives their life story is portrayed through their eyes. I wonder, would you beg for mercy if I gauged them out?” the sadistic curl of his lips leading to the crack of his fingers echoed in the room. The only other sound to challenge such a disturbing noise lay the whimpers and shaking chatter of the enemy. “If you want forgiveness, then beg for it.” Dazai's lips quickly fell to a snarl as his finger ran from the man's cheek up to the base of his eye socket. Already pushing with pressure, he waited. Just before his finger could start any damage, the man's words leaped.

“I’m sorry, spare me!” he would shout more and more pleading for his life. Dazai merely laughed, running his other hand over the man's lip before dragging it down over the man's neck, imagining the sight if he were to take a pin and drag it along the skin.

“Did she plead for you to stop? How many times did she beg you not to hurt her? Did you do more than simply hit her?” he knew the answer to that already, which is why even if this man pleaded and begged and swore his life to Dazai, he’d never make it out alive. “If you're honest, I may… be gentle.” A lie, a believable cunning lie all for you. He was doing this for you, all to take revenge for you.

“No!” the man screamed for only a moment before Dazai dug his finger into the socket, letting blood soak the tan of his coat. Flinging his hand to the side, the excess blood splattered.

“Too bad, I knew you'd lie to me anyways. Humans are truly despicable creatures, aren't we? Was it fun? Listening to her beg for you to stop? Did she ask you to just kill her already? Did you keep her conscious just to traumatize her? Tell me, did you think I'd let you go?” lifting his foot, he slammed it against the man's chin, sending him into the wall. Watching the stone crack and small pebbles fall, he walked over with nothing in his eyes.

His thoughts were blank.

His expression is blank.

His mind blank.

His heart… full of anger and merciless vengeance.

His hands, despite lacking the same strength as some of his opponents in the past, snapped bone after bone. He tore through the skin until the floor was coated in blood. The game continued until the man bled to death. When Dazai noted there was nothing left, he stared and watched in satisfaction. That was until a groan made its way into his ears. Slowly, he turned around to look at you. Your head had shifted slightly, but small drops of crimson were now dripping down from your abdomen. Pulling the bloodied knife from the corpse, he rushed over to cut you free. Letting your body collapse into his he hummed. His mind was still gripped in insanity. He slid down to the ground, running his blood-stained hands through your hair. “I came for you.” A half-hearted smile lifted his lips, but your voice did not respond. Your eyes still remained closed as he laid you on a clean spot of cement. He lifted the tatters of your shirt just enough to view the wound.

With a hesitant movement, he grabbed your wrist. The pulse was seeming to slow down. “Fuck…” he cursed the word under his breath as he came back to his senses. As if coming from a trance, his eyes scanned around. A single drop of water left his eyes before more came crashing down. He grabbed your body and pulled it towards him. Cradling you as he whispered an apology.

It seemed as if an eternity had passed, but in reality, the time was 10:35. Hardly half an hour had passed since he arrived. You would last another twenty minutes before that tiny wound became a problem, and you died. He knew this fact, and so he searched his pockets for his phone. He’d disappear before anybody got there. He’d sound as if he were running. He’d stage something to hide what he had just done. Everything he’d worked for could be unraveled soon. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, hoping you'd wake up, so he could tell you what he wanted to say. Even as he gripped the phone and dialed his co-workers, all he wanted was to look into your eyes. The eyes that reflected himself. Before he could hit the dial button and start the call, those metal doors which had been sealed shut opened. Light filtered in from the moon and flashlights. The click of guns pointed at the two of you.

Dazai glanced to the side before hiding you behind him, still protective over you. Until he heard the sound of a familiar blonde's voice, he would not let you be exposed to danger. “Stand down, he’s… one of ours.” Kunikida yelled, before storming in with the other members behind him. They had all seen him rush out, the state he was in… it was only recommended by Ranpo they call in some officers just to surround the building. “Dazai...” Why was it so hard for the blonde to speak? Had he truly believed there was a shed of moral sense within his work partner? “Hands above your head… step away from the girl.'' It was a plea more than an order.

Hesitation wasn’t something he normally dealt with. Dazai looked back to you before realizing the smallest movement of your fingers. Immediately he grabbed your hand. A warning shot echoed missing his head by mere centimeters. It wasn’t like he cared though, a bullet could kill him right away. There would be no pain, so what if it wasn’t suicide. At this point, he was fed up with living in a world like this. He was tired of not having a purpose. The only purpose he had was to protect you. He’d managed to fail that too. So without any emotion, he waved dismissively. “If you shoot me, you know I won’t care right?” There was silence as a gurgled noise escaped your lips.

It was relatively fast, your eyes shooting open as your hands reached to grab your abdomen. Nearly screaming out in pain until your eyes adjusted and noticed Dazai. Relief flooded into you as your body weakly reached for him. He let out a relieved choked noise, similar in sound to a sob. He cupped your cheek with that feeling in his chest before another warning shot fired. This time missing him by even less and cutting it close to your hands. Terrified your body reeled back.

Dazai put your safety first before comfort. So despite wanting to kiss you and finally express the feeling he knew you were aware of, he stood up and raised his hands above his head. Walking towards the lights, he kneeled and hung his head. He was rather surprised with how gentle he was pushed to the floor. The feeling of metal clasping his wrists wasn’t new. He’d been caught many times before this. Of course, he always escaped, returning to you. If he tried that now, he knew he risked your safety. Yet your shrieks passed the air as you were grabbed by two officers. Watching from the sidelines with solemn looks stood the rest of his co-workers. Atsushi, a young male orphan, Dazai, had been saved from starvation and death, couldn't understand what was going on. “Why… Dazai, why?” he whispered far too soft to be heard.

As Dazai was pulled to his feet and led away, you were left to scream and ignore the pain of blood gathering in your throat. No matter how much splattered from your lips you screamed for him. You struggled weakly against the arms of the officers. The blonde who had cuffed Dazai walked to you. Kneeling to your level, your eyes moved to read him. Using your ability to see his emotions, personality, and troubles. He was a good man, one who had strong morals. Only at that did you react and calm down. Letting a woman who shared his presence and whose aura you trusted heal you. “This is… my fault,” you whispered, finally feeling warmth fall down the soft skin of your cheeks. As a brunette looked over the crime scene with anger and disgust, he deducted everything within minutes. It was done by Dazai, and there were things he didn’t understand, but he knew enough to locate why this had happened.

“Please… don’t lock him away! If I had been stronger... if I had listened to Dazai’s advice none of this would have happened!” Despite being the victim of all of this, you couldn’t help but blame it all on yourself. “We still haven't gotten to try out the method I found.” gripping the sides of your arms, you looked up with the same expression Dazai often wore. The startled expression of his co-workers was expected. “We may have succeeded this time.” You whispered the words softly in your head, before passing out from exhaustion once more.

Dazai never ended up in prison, he’d slipped away the moment he could. All of this had been in your line of expectations. Walking into the apartment to see Dazai reading the suicide book had you running over to express your love in the form of asking him the question he always asked you. “Shall we commit a perfect, flawless double suicide?” you asked before seeing an excited glimmer in his eyes. Taking your hands in his, he nodded.

On that fateful night, two months after your abduction, two bodies were found. Cuddled close together under the sheets. Their bodies cold and pressed closed. A swift easy death within slumber.

[maxwell-grant]

Ok, but how would the Shadow get along with Superman?

I'm gonna try something a little different with this ask, because I couldn't really find the right words to answer it the way I usually do. So instead I took the more complicated route and ended up writing a fanfic of sorts, about potential interactions between these two I could think of.

I don't think I'll make a habit out of answering replies through fanfic but, I don't know, something about this question kinda demanded from me a different type of answer. I never wrote Superman before but I do need to get back to writing.

So here you go, the Shadow - Superman fanfic I wrote to answer this. Hope you enjoy.

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They were not friends. They were not enemies. They had their separate worlds to watch over, and rarely did they cross each other. Rarely did they meet under desirable circumstances. 

 The Shadow, as Superman knew him, was not a part of Superman's world. In more ways than one.

Clark knew that he was a man who was mainly active during the 1930s and 40s, that he had been a crimefighter active in the United States during that time, that he has some connection to Bruce and other heroes he knew, and that he has an associate related to Lois named Margo, but somehow, Clark could never find him on his own accord.

Even when he time traveled to said period, he could never find him. Lois and Margo share a bloodline, but Lois does not recall what exactly of what sort, not even under Clark's machines. When he asked some of The Shadow's associates, they could not recall him, and Clark knew for a fact they could not have been lying. Some of them existed in this world but with "ordinary" lives, and others didn't.

Although he seemed to come from an alternate world,there were times when The Shadow appeared to have history in this world as well. Real, tangible history, that seems to be willed out of thin air and to dissappear when Clark goes looking for it. Even Bruce seems to not remember him, and Bruce's the one who seemed to have spent the most time in his presence.

He couldn't quite say he looked fondly on his meetings with The Shadow, if he could be honest with himself. He was cold, remote, harsh and manipulative. He murdered criminals without remorse, something that even he admitted had soured his relationship with Bruce, and terrorized those he fought to a much greater extent than even Batman, who Clark already thought was going too far at times.

Clark knew he was not an evil man, he was certain of the compassion within him that thundered to protect the innocent, but Clark could hardly be certain of how much he knew about him in the first place. Clark, who could see through crowds and make a shopping list out of what each person had eaten for breakfest that morning, could not identify The Shadow's face through his mask, could not see what was behind his eyes.

Clark is extremely aware of the standards he must adhere to in order to operate as Superman, the ways in which he must be held accountable as someone operating above and within society. He understands the importance of his friends and allies that can stop and defeat him, the family he must look after, the reputation he must uphold, the control over his powers and a lifetime of experience in holding himself back. At times he was even grateful for the existence of Kryptonite as a desperate measure. He knows that Bruce goes through a lot of measures to keep himself in check as well.

But he knows little about The Shadow, who works for him, why they do so, who can hold him accountable, who is going to help him when he can't help himself. He worries about what his world must look like, to create a man like him, brainwashing people and gunning down criminals in the streets while laughing. How much good can such a man do if this is what his approach to justice looks like? What is the toil that such a grim approach to life has taken on this man's life?

He knows that overthinking is one of his worse flaws, but Superman can't help but dwell sometimes on the worlds he cannot save, on those that must take on such realities. He only wishes he knew how to find The Shadow of his own accord and try to bring peace to the man, even if he knows better than to assume peace is what he's looking for.

It is the nature of Superman to never stop trying to bring everyone to a world beyond death, darkness and sorrow, and to blame himself for those he cannot save even from themselves.

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It was a well-known fact that The Shadow always worked alone. And like most known facts about him, it was not entirely accurate.

The Shadow strives to cultivate the image that he's alone, untouchable, that all who work for him do so because he forces them to. That he always tells those he saves that their lives belong to him, that they are trembling slaves to a monster sniffing blood in gutters.

Distractions, lies, smokescreens he must create, to allow his agents to operate as spies, and spare them from the wrath of the police and the criminal underworld alike, too busy hunting a legend to notice the flesh and blood people working under their noses, people they would otherwise be all too happy to neglect or stomp on.

Misdirection, the secret of any magic trick. The true secret of The Shadow's invisibility.

There are days where the only positive thought in his mind is that his agents cannot join him wherever he goes.

The success of The Shadow depended heavily on the vast networks of agents and allies he'd gathered over the years, people from all walks of life who trusted him and had chosen to join him. Every courageous move, sacrifice and pivotal role they played was carefully recorded in his files, and never forgotten. They had skills and capabilities The Shadow did not, and The Shadow was proud to see the ways in which they would cultivate those into the betterment of the world around him.

And though the bridge between them was unassailable, though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them and they could never know more than he allowed, they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation, and at many points The Shadow had made said bridge less unassailable for their sake.

But they were not his friends. His allies were distant and occupied with fights The Shadow could assist, but not fight for them. His agents were subordinates rather than equals, expected to play the necessary parts and leave the scene for their own safety just as quickly. His friends were few, and often dead. And when it was the moment of danger, The Shadow fought alone. The protection of others came above all else, and on field, although they were expected to think and strategize for themselves and work together, The Shadow's word was final.

There could be no distractions, no hesitations. Those had cost him more than enough on the battlefields of the Great War, mistakes he would never repeat again. The sacrifice of companionship, his own personhood and self-preservation is an acceptable loss for the sake of those he must protect.

There are occasions when The Shadow is forced into circumstances beyond what logic and physics should allow, and in some of those occasions, Superman had been involved in them. There are occasions also where he has to work side by side with other vigilantes, and sometimes, they also include Superman.

He couldn't quite say he looked forward to working with Superman. His arrival almost inevitably carried chaos into the inner workings of reality. The existence of an omnipotent being able to crack planets with a footstep and liquefy crowds with a gaze, held back only by his human personality, was a danger that thankfully did not exist in The Shadow's own world, but was a worrying prospect regardless.

Few of his experiences with aliens and superpowered warriors could be said to be positive ones, and a lifetime of knowing the evil in the hearts of men had taught The Shadow how easily even the best of intentions and the most solid of morals could be corroded and destroyed. It didn't help matters that this being was also a public crusader and celebrity passing judgement on criminals, even while secretly holding a private dimensional prison to throw them into should they be sufficiently dangerous. Someone completely unstoppable and unaccountable, even to death itself.

The Shadow understood Superman to be a good man, a moral man who had been raised well to be the best he could. The Shadow respected and treasured the existence of those like him, men and women and everything in between that could breathe in the sun and uphold mankind, while he dwelled in the underworld to make sure those more like him would not rise to attack them.

But whatever the rewards of these partnerships, he was glad when they were over. His work requires full control. He cannot tolerate the loss of it.

Others can dream of better tomorrows and work to make them happen, his is the task of clearing the darkest paths so others need not tread them.

Hope, light and comfort are noble gifts, but they are not his to give.

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The first time they met had been the result of Vandal Savage's Hypertime Collider, a trap designed to keep Superman running circles through the timestreams, cycling through alternate versions of himself. He had landed in the 1930s, somewhat depowered, in a world where some allies of his existed, but superheroes were nowhere to be found (although some people reacted in terror at him, shouting "IT'S DANNER! HE'S COME BACK TO KILL US!", the significance of which was lost on Clark).

He had met a woman named Margo Lane when looking for this world's Lois, telling her he was a farmboy from Kansas lost in the big city looking for a friend with the same last name. Margo didn't recognize anyone named Lois, and Clark could tell she was only pretending to believe his story (even though it was true, in a sense), but through her, he met a tall, gaunt and hawk-like millionaire by the name of Lamont Cranston, a name Clark recognized from an old radio show Jonathan used to listen.

He had an idea of who The Shadow was. An old detective from a radio show or pulp magazines, sure, Superman's been to worlds he used to think were fictional before, some people still think he's as real as Santa Claus (who was going to join him and the Easter Bunny for checkers next Sunday).

Their conversation of platitudes was cut short, as it wasn't long before the Hypertime Collider was soon transporting him to a different time period, but before he was ejected, he remembered the moment their conversation ended.

Shortly before he could feel the Collider breaking and warping time and space in a chokehold around him, he remembered an eerie silence fall on the room. Though his hearing senses in this world were diminished, he could still pick up minute sounds from miles away, and it was a strange sensation to hear the sound of nothing. A sound that did not exist but silenced everything around it with deafening precision, a sound that Clark had not heard even in the deepest recesses of space, when he could still hear his body's metabolism at work. For a moment, though he did not need it to survive, Clark worried his heart had stopped working, for he could not hear it.

It surely was the Collider's effect at work, he reasoned.

But in that brief moment, whatever surprise he expected to find on Cranston's expression was nowhere to be found. Instead, scattered shadows slashed across his face as the air around him changed and he closed his eyes. He was still wearing Cranston's face when he opened them, and once again, they did not match his face.

The last thing he remembered before his ejection was a voice that cut through the air and the meters separating them, that sounded like a python hissing in Clark's ear, from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"This is not your world."

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The second time was in another dimensional sojourn, this time of his volition.

Having borrowed a portal from Cyberwear Enterprises, Clark was rehearsing a speech intended for the Reginellian people of the Bohren System, one he was expected to give through blinking in reverse morse code, and in order to ensure the atmosphere of their planet would allow them to hear him, Clark intended to pay them a visit. But instead, he was transported somewhere else.

Before he could properly register the time period and location he had landed, he had encountered The Shadow in the middle of rescuing a steamship on fire from sinking.

He was clinging to the side of it unseen from the panicking passangers, drilling bullet holes to the bottom of the ship so it would fall to the side and steer clear from a passing fireworks yacht. He was holding a rope attached to a nearby tugboat with one hand, and with the other he was clinging to the boat's window. The tugboat was moving outside of the steamship's range, and as it moved, it would drag The Shadow and tilt the steamship as he gripped it, just enough to prevent the steamship from colliding head-on with the coming barge.

The tugboat had three men within it, one piloting it and two holding on to the rope that The Shadow had attached, working along with The Shadow to try and pull the steamship. One of these men had a missing eye and was dressed in aviator gear, presumably the pilot of the autogyro atop the tugboat. The other was a tall, muscular black man in suspenders, who dwarfed the pilot in both size and strength.

The strain of their pull could dislocate The Shadow's arms at the very minimum, if not outright kill him, his plunge would carry him 20 feet into the water and potentially under the sinking steamship. Still, they pulled with grim determination, although the boat driver had his eyes closed, and Clark recognized the Yiddish mutterings coming from his mouth as a desperate prayer.

Though they did not see him, these men were extremely thankful when Superman had blown out the inferno with a single breath, and pushed the boat all the way necessary for it's passangers to land on the barge safely, and rescued The Shadow.

Of course they knew the Chief was gonna pull through, he always does.

If The Shadow was thankful for Superman's interference, he didn't show it. In the second he had regained enough strength to talk, he rattled off dozens of names, of passangers in the steamship that had been bruised, by either the flames, the panicking crowd, or the criminals that The Shadow had stopped. People that needed to be taken to medical assistance faster than the ambulances could carry them, of family members that had to be contacted.

He did so without looking at his rescuer, for he remembered Superman, who expected his presence in this timeline to have been erased after he'd destroyed the Hypertime Collider.

Nothing indicated it hadn't been.

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

Their most recent encounter was the outcome of an accident where Vandal Savage had trapped Superman in the Arctic and rebuilt his Hypertime Collider, in the hopes of contacting alternate versions of himself so they could all gain Superman's powers and conquer their worlds.

One of said versions was hunted by The Shadow through the portals. The adventure ended rather quickly as the Savages all turned on each other in their tried-and-true method of solving problems with large rocks, but amidst the chaos, a final burst of energy had granted The Shadow a temporary access to Superman's powers.

Thoughts passed through Clark's head of the last time Bruce had accidentally gained access to Superman's abilities, and how despite his best intentions, Bruce couldn't help but overestimate his own ability to wield said powers responsibly. Of how many times he's come across iterations of Bruce who've gained superpowers and used them poorly or tyranically.

He thought of how often he needed to reign himself back, and of the man in black who stood before him, with eyes like thunderstorms ready to break.

The ways in which he is like Bruce, and the ways in which he is decidedly not.

But before Superman could take any sort of action or even ask how he was feeling, The Shadow turned around silently and started walking, straight in the direction of the Fortress of Solitude.

Upon reaching it, he took the million-ton key from beneath the rug that spelled Welcome in a million languages, opened the door, and walked straight into a high security anti-Superman cell within it, designed specifically as a desperate measure against rogue Kryptonians, only stating Superman was going to have to watch him so he couldn't escape.

Clark had never even told him about the Fortress.

He stayed there for the next 12 hours, as Superman ran tests on him to ensure his body wouldn't be negatively affected by the transformation. Clark chose not to remark that some of the bone-deep injuries he had spotted on The Shadow's body previously had healed, as he knew it wouldn't take long for him to acquire new ones after this was over.

They talked briefly at points, and for much of it, The Shadow assumed the façade of Cranston. Sometimes he remembered to breathe and blink, things he forgot to do with startling ease once he no longer needed them.

Clark understood it to be a diplomatic gesture, a façade over the untameable and fearsome Shadow who was frankly unnerving to be around. Even a kind gesture, an effort to address Superman as a man asking for help. Not different than how Superman would prefer to be Clark Kent in order to approach people and ask questions and say things that Superman could never say.

There was a discomfort, of course. There would always be one between the two.

Still, Superman took it as a victory when, after the 12 hours were over, he heard that familiar hiss, with equal intensity but no aggression or even contempt, spell out a "Thank you", as he turned around and was unsurprised to find The Shadow no longer there.

They were not friends, they were not enemies, they belonged to different worlds. They were opposites in their battles for truth and justice.

But truths are often opposite. It is a truth that not all opposites are opposed.

Truth is often as chilling as it can be comforting.

[filipinoizukuu]

I saw your post about the FA's translations, and I totally agree. Sometimes, when they do not translate accurately, is to make it sound better or cooler in English, but it just ends up taking away a lot from the context and characters. We know how one of the most affected character interpretations is Katsuki's, a main character, no less. And Izuku and Katsuki's relationship too, which is something super super wrong, considering is deeply intertwined with the main plot of the series, thus if someone misinterpreted their dynamic, this person would miss a bigass chunk of the message the story has.

Here is the panel you mentioned before btw

I remember when I read this, only 10 or 11 chapters into the manga (?), and I was like "...I'm...pretty sure this guy didn't say that" khshsjdhs

OK FIRST OF ALL LMAO HELLO MANG!! THANK YOU SO MUCH AND DW ABOUT IT I TOTALLY GET WHAT YOU MEAN !!

(this is your warning for a long post ahead!)

In any case, I still think you're very correct on this! Not to ramble a bit, but Horikoshi's particular talent in developing the plot of MHA is actually very very brilliant and there are a lot of blink-and-you'll-miss-it details that together, assemble the big picture of what MHA is.

Translations are such an integral part of being able to understand foreign media. MHA or otherwise. The simplest of details say a lot about a character and often times make or break a series because everyone knows that strong character dynamics are what carry even the shittiest of plots.

First and foremost, I want to clarify that because of the nature of fan translations and the fact that most of it is volunteer work/ written out of pure enjoyment of the manga--we shouldn't judge these fan translators too harshly (if at all) for interpreting it the way they want to. FA, as far as I can tell, is a fan-based group that works out of donations.

The first thing I wanna bring up is that when it comes to fandom and its works, there are two types: Curatorial and Transformative. Now, the transformative part is something that must be very familiar to a lot of you. Fanfiction, fanart, and most headcanons fall under Transformative Works (i.e. AO3) because they are all about transforming the canon world to fit each individual's personal preferences. Meta-analysis posts and Character Breakdowns are also classified under this.

Curatorial on the other hand are fandom interactions made with the explicit purpose of being as close to canon material as possible. This is working out the logic of quirks, for example, or memorizing as much canon content about your favorite villain as possible. These are more cold, hard undeniable facts that lend themselves to the DIRECT VISION the creator/author had while making this media. If you were to ask me my opinion on this, this would be the moment where I tell you that the Curatorial side of fandom is where fan translations should (for the most part) fall under.

What people need to know though is that oftentimes, fan translations do not.

Translating isn't and has never been a one-is-to-one process. There are hundreds of thousands of aspects in a language that make it so that it isn't perfectly translatable. Colloquialisms to sayings to dialects, to just plain-out words that don't have a proper English translation to them! Manga is made by and for a Japanese audience, so obviously in a lot of instances, there will be cultural nuances that will not be understood by anyone who hasn't immersed themselves in Japanese culture/language.

So what does this mean then for fan scanlations?

It means that a vast majority of translators teach themselves to only get the essence of the message. They take the dialogue as they understand it and translate it to something of their interpretation. When language and cultural barriers exist, translators do what they can in order to make it understandable to the general populace. This means making their own executive decisions on how they see a character speaking. In example, if they see Todoroki using very direct and impersonal Japanese--one translator might interpret it to mean that Shouto is stiff and overly formal, while another may see it as him being rude and aloof.

The problem is, translators are fans just like us.

Like with the image Mang posted above, the translator based the usage of curse words off of their understanding of Bakugou's character. The lack of foul language in the original Japanese might have made the translator think "Oh. There just aren't enough Japanese cusses for his character." And took that as an initiative to make Bakugou's lines more colorful and violent because this was working off of the image Bakugou had had at this point in canon.

But Codi! You may cry. Wasn't it proven multiple times that Bakugou prefers concise and short lines? They should've known better!

Yes. Maybe they should've known better. But tell me honestly in your first watch-through of MHA, did you perfectly understand Bakugou's character either? Did you catch the whole 'direct and no flowery language' aspect of his language when you first saw Season 2?

Most people don't. I only really understood this fact after I'd read multiple discussions of it and even double-checked the manga myself. These are the kinds of things that only become noticeable with a sharp eye and some time to scrutiny. But the fact of the matter is that when it comes to fan translations, the clout and recognition are always going to go to who can post the quickest.

Am I excusing erroneous translations? A bit, I guess. It's hard for us to go in and expect translators to catch all these errors before release when we ourselves only catch these errors like 4 months in with a hundred times more canon context than these scanlation groups did at the time of its release.

Still, there are plenty of harms that come with faulty translations.

When a translation is more divorced from the original's meaning than usual, it creates a dissonance between what is actually happening versus what the audience sees is happening. This looks like decently-written character arcs being overruled and rejected by most of the readers because of how 'jarring' and 'clumsy' it seems. By the time translators had caught on to the fact that Bakugou was more than just a ticking time bomb, we were already several steps into showing how significantly he cares for Deku.

The characters affected most by these translation errors are often those with the most subtle and well-written character arcs. A single mistake in how the source material is translated can make or break the international reception of a certain character to everyone who isn't invested enough in them to look deeper into the canon source.

It creates hiccups in plots. Things that seem out of character but really aren't. Going back to MHA in specific, the way that inaccurate translations hurt both the 'curatorial' and 'transformative' parts of the fandom is that people have begun to cite them as proof of the main cast's characterization.

Bakugou and Todoroki are undeniably some of the biggest examples of mistranslation injustices.

Katsuki, in a lot of people's minds, has yet to break out of the 'overly-aggressive rival' archetype box that people had been placing him in since Season 1. One of the most amazing aspects and biggest downfalls of Hori's writing was that at first, nearly every character fit into a very neat stereotype for Shonen Animes (Deku being the talking-no-jutsu sunshine MC, Uraraka being the overly bubbly main girl, Todoroki being the aloof and formal rival). He made the audience make assumptions about everyone's characters and then pulled the rug beneath our feet when he revealed deeper sides of them to play around within canon.

What made this part about Horikoshi's set-up so good though were the many clues we were given from the very beginning that these characters were more than what they acted like. Even from the very first chapters, for example, we learn that Katsuki (as much as he acts like a delinquent) dislikes smoking because it could get him in trouble.

That is just a single instance of MHA's use of dialogue to subtly divert our expectations of a character.

Another example is when they replaced 318's dialogue of the Second User saying that Katsuki "completes" Deku with him saying that Katsuki merely "bolsters" him. This presents a different situation, as that line was meant to reinforce the importance of those two's relationship as well as complete the character foils that MHA is partially centered around. By downplaying their developed connection, it becomes harder for the MHA manga scanlations to justify any future significance these two's words have on each other without mottling the pacing of the story.

AKA, it butchers the plot.

With every new volume, there are dozens and dozens more of these hints and bits scattered around! So many cues and subtle foreshadowing at the trajectory of everyone's character arcs--yet mistranslations or inaccurate scans make it so that we don't notice them. This is what I mean when I said that some character arcs are being done great injustices.

Until now, many people can't accept that Katsuki Bakugou cares for anyone other than himself (much less his rival and MC, Izuku Midoriya), nor can they accept that Todoroki would ever willingly work by Endeavor's side. The bottom-line then becomes that because of people missing heavy bits of characterization that become very plot-significant in the future.

When it comes to the point where people can no longer accept or fit their interpretation of the earlier manga events to what is happening in canon, the point of a translation fails completely because it has lead people to follow an entirely different story.

TL;DR - Fan scans are hard. Translating is hard. Don't get too mad at fan translations, but also maybe don't treat them as the catch-all for how characters truly operate. Thanks.

Side note: DO NOT harass FA for any of these things. FA is actually a pretty legit and okay source for scans (they've been operating since like 2014 ffs), but regardless of that they still don't deserve to get flack for their work. You can have any opinion or perspective of canon that you want, I don't care. These are just my two (more like two million tbh) cents on translations. I suggest reading takes from actual Japanese audiences tbh if you wanna know more about the source material of MHA. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[hottestthingalive]

Changes, Tricks, and Trust

He does what he can. And sometimes, doing what he can means that, when he opens the door for trick-or-treaters while his dad is wrangling Remus into his pirate costume and finds a man holding hands with a kid younger than even Roman and Remus (wearing a scientist costume and a cat costume, respectively,) who introduces himself as “Logan Abbott, and this is Patton. You must be Janus,” he just glares, and slams the door in their faces.

—

In which the Carroll siblings conspire against their father’s new boyfriend, Logan makes a promise, and Janus has a grudge against omelets. 

Notes: Look, okay, we’re all very aware this is two hours past Halloween, and an hour into No-Content November, but I wrote this in a day and am operating under the logic that it is both Halloween and not November somewhere, so let’s pretend we’re all okay with this and move on. Virgil also calls Roman and Remus peanut butter and jelly, which makes up for all my sins.

Roman also knows lots of words he shouldn’t at his age, because I am, in fact, projecting myself at six onto him. Let him have a big vocabulary! 

(He also mispronounces most of the words. This is still projecting. I apologize in advance.)

Many thanks to @smileyzs​, who stayed up far too late to help me edit, and the rest of @waffle-gang-incorrect-quotes​, who had to listen to me ranting about this as I wrote it. Y’all deserve the world. Thank you for putting up with me, and this fic. 

Warnings: Implied gore (but not really), food mentions (mostly candy), a fair bit of angst, Janus manipulating his brothers but not in an intentionally cruel way.

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, familial logicality, familial virgil, janus, roman and remus, platonic loceit, intrulogical, and logince. 

Words: 5328

Ao3

Enjoy!

—

“Roman, Remus,” Virgil says calmly, holding up a knife, stained with guts and gore, the key piece of evidence to the brutal mutilations of two innocents, “who decided to carve ‘Logan is a butt’ into our pumpkins?”

They point at each other, faces the picture of wide-eyed innocence. Virgil is not fooled. 

“Janus, do you know anything about this?” he asks, turning away from the twins to look at his nine year old, who is currently pretending to be very occupied with the book he is reading at the dinner table. Virgil wonders if Janus knows that he hasn’t turned a page in the last five minutes. Probably not. 

“Oh, why would I ever do that?” Janus wonders, looking up from the book, his puppy-eyes matching those of the twins. “It really is too bad though. Clearly, you can’t have Logan over for Halloween anymore. Tragic.” 

Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Janus, you’re the only one tall enough to reach the knife block, and I found the knife hidden under Remus’ bed. I know it was you three.” He puts the knife down on the table, really hoping the pumpkin guts won’t stain the wood, and says “Kids, remember what we said about playing with knives without adult supervision?”

“Not to do it,” the twins mumble in unison. Janus says “Do it only when we’re in trouble, like defending ourselves from a vicious intruder about to invade our home?” instead, which was not the answer Virgil was looking for, and he’s very sure Janus knows it. 

“Look,” Virgil says, sitting down in one of the chairs that his kids have covered in fake cobwebs and pumpkin stickers, “I’ve already invited Logan and Patton over. And I… I really, really like him. A lot.” He turns a bit red, at that, and ignores Janus rolling his eyes. “But if you guys really think he’s that bad after you meet him tonight, I’ll break up with him, okay? You three are always going to be my top priority. Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind, yeah?” 

“Okay,” Roman agrees, and runs to jump up into Virgil’s lap, burying his head in Virgil’s shoulder. “I’m sorry we messed up the pumpkins and were mean to Mr. Logan, Dad.”

“It’s okay, peanut butter,” Virgil tells him. He expected Roman to be the apologetic one — for a six year old, his son has  developed quite the sense of right and wrong. He’s a bit more surprised when Remus does the same, squirming into the hug and saying “I’m sorry we called him a butt.” He snickers, a bit, which makes Virgil think he’s not all that sorry, but he lets it go. 

“Thank you, jelly,” he says, and looks expectantly at Janus. 

“Sure, whatever,” Janus says, snapping the book closed. “I’m sorry we messed up your decorations, Dad.”

“I don’t care about the decorations, hon,” Virgil reminds him. “I’m just glad you guys didn’t get hurt, okay? No more knives. Now c’mere, Jan.”

Janus begrudgingly joins the hug, wrapping his arms around Virgil and the twins both, and they just sit like that, Virgil and his children, in the quiet of the kitchen. 

“Okay,” he says finally, “let's get you into your costumes, yeah?”

—

Janus just wants his dad to be happy. 

He saw what happened the last times his dad went on dates. He got all excited. Dressed up. Kissed his sons goodbye, smiling and happy and practically dancing on clouds. 

And then, one day, he’d come home a bit off. He’d put on a smile, he’d act like everything was fine, but then he’d make them omelets for dinner. 

Janus hates omelets, because Dad only makes omelets when he’s sad. 

He’s heard his dad talking about it on the phone late at night with Uncle Remy, who isn’t really their uncle, but who calls himself their uncle every time he comes over anyways. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Dad will say, with his voice choked up like he’s crying, and Janus will stand with his back against the door and hear Remy’s voice murmur something soothing, always including curse words about his dad’s ex which Janus isn’t supposed to know the meanings of.

Janus isn’t supposed to be up, on those nights. But he is, usually, staying up after they’re put to bed every time Dad makes omelets for dinner, because he knows that once he hangs up, he can wander into his dad’s room with some mumbled excuse about nightmares and do his best to comfort him without mentioning the breakup at all. 

He does what he can. And sometimes, doing what he can means that, when he opens the door for trick-or-treaters while his dad is wrangling Remus into his pirate costume and finds a man holding hands with a kid younger than even Roman and Remus (wearing a scientist costume and a cat costume, respectively,) who introduces himself as “Logan Abbott, and this is Patton. You must be Janus,” he just glares, and slams the door in their faces. 

“Who was that?” his dad asks as he enters the room, holding Remus in his arms, who is finally in his costume, and not running around naked, as he has been for the last eight minutes. 

“No one,” Janus says, the picture of innocence, and then the doorbell rings again. “I’ll get it!”

“No, it’s fine,” his dad says, already crossing the room towards the door. “I’ve got it, honey. Thank you, though!”

He opens the door, and his face transforms, going from Regular-Dad-Face to his Sappy-Dumb-Blushy-Face. Janus hates the Sappy-Dumb-Blushy-Face.

“Logan!” Dad says, all high-pitched and pink cheeks, and Janus braces himself to be ratted out by stupid, stupid Logan Abbott. Which is a stupid name, too.

“Hello, Virgil,” says dumb, stupid, Dad-stealing Logan, whose voice is all soft, which just gets Janus angrier, because he’s making an effort to sound genuine about it. “And you must be one of the twins. What’s your name?”

Janus feels rather gratified when Remus just sticks out his tongue, though less so when his dad says “Remus, be nice,” in his Please, Kids, We Talked About This voice. “Come in! This is Janus, and Roman should be right down.”

Logan looks over at Janus as the door closes behind him, and Janus crosses his arms over his chest. He waits for him to say “Ah, yes, we met earlier,” or “Right, I remember,” or even “He slammed the door in our faces earlier,” but all that Logan says is “It’s nice to meet you, Janus,” with the kind of smile that sappy people in movies wear. He thinks, reluctantly, that it’s a nice smile, and that the kid, at least, doesn’t seem so bad.

“Octopus!” says the boy beside him, pointing at Janus, with pure glee in his big brown eyes. “Octopus!”

“I’m a kraken,” he grumbles, all kind thoughts towards his dad’s stupid boyfriend and his dumb kid gone. 

This Halloween is gonna suck. 

—

“You’re a dumb scientist,” Remus says to Mr. Logan, arms crossed across his chest, as Roman and Janus mutter together behind them, his dad walking with the little kid who had introduced himself as ‘Patpat!’ and whom the adults call ‘Patton’. His dad has managed to fix the pumpkins, despite all odds, and they look rather nice as they walk away, off into the wilds of the neighborhood for some trick-or-treating. 

Remus has been designated the distraction while his brothers figure out a way to get Logan Abbott to go home and leave their dad alone. “You’re good at being a distraction!” Roman chirps, and Janus mutters “And you won’t betray us like Roman would.” 

He is good at being a distraction. And he loves his dad more than anything (except maybe his brothers) and Janus is very smart, and if he says getting Mr. Logan to go away will make their dad happy, Remus will believe him. 

Plus, it is a dumb costume. 

“Why am I a dumb scientist?” asks Mr. Logan, who doesn’t seem very insulted by this, merely curious. 

“Your lab coat is covered in green and blue and red,” Remus tells him, using his sword to point at the splotches. “Everyone knows potions are green and blue and purple. And you’re a butt.”

“Well,” Mr. Logan says, and though his eyes curl up like he’s smiling, his expression is still neutral, “I had my assistant deal with all the purple ones, because purple potions smell bad.” (Remus wants to laugh at that, just a little bit.) “And the red isn’t from potions.”

“What’s the red, then?” asks Remus, despite himself. 

“The blood of my enemies,” says Mr. Logan matter-of-factly. 

“Cool,” he breathes, looking at Logan with newfound respect. “Why’d you murder them?”

“I am an evil scientist,” he answers, adjusting his glasses. “It is in the job description.”

“Cool!”

“Also a butt as well, apparently,” Mr. Logan adds thoughtfully. “I wonder if I can add that to my official scientist business cards. ‘Dr. Logan Abbott, Mad Scientist and Butt Extraordinaire.’”

“Bad guys get business cards?” Remus asks, having forgotten altogether about being a distraction. “I’m a pirate. Do I get a business card?”

“Are you a good pirate or a bad pirate?”

“I’m a bad pirate,” he declares, waving his sword in the air. “Roro is a prince-sailor-man, like Prince Eric from Disney, and Janny is an evil kraken we have to team up against! And Dad is a wicked witch who sent the kraken.” 

“A wicked witch, huh?” Mr. Logan says, glancing behind him at where Dad and Patton are. Remus follows his gaze. Dad certainly doesn’t look very wicked, even though he’s wearing a cloak and a hat and scary makeup, but maybe that’s just because he’s smiling, holding hands with Mr. Logan’s kid as Patton babbles on about something. 

It’s hard for his dad to look evil in general, to Remus at least, but especially when he smiles. He’s never found Dad to be very scary, not like he’d been able to spook Roman and Janus every so often, but when he’s smiling, when he’s happy, he just looks like home. 

And Mr. Logan looks so happy, too, looking at his dad, and, well, Roman is the romantic of the house, but Remus has been forced to sit through every one of his brother’s Disney movie watchings, and his favorite movie had always been the Princess Bride (which Dad thinks is too old for Remus and Roman, but lets them watch with him and Janus anyways.) Mr. Logan looks like all the movies, all the descriptions in books, all the stories of love Remus has ever heard. Love-struck, his mind supplies. 

“Yes,” Mr. Logan says, looking back at Remus, that lovey-dovey gaze gone but his eyes still so, so happy, “I think you’d get a business card. What would you put on it?”

He grins, and starts describing his Evil Pirate Captain Remus Caroll cards. Privately, he thinks that, no matter what Janus says, anyone who looks at his dad like that can’t be so bad. 

Plus, Logan’s evil, like him. And he’s okay with being called a butt, which means maybe he’ll teach Remus more, even better insults. 

—

“Aw, beans,” Roman says when he sees Remus happily chatting with the enemy. Janus has stronger language in mind, the kind of words that would get him grounded. 

Sure enough, when Remus returns to them, carrying his candy basket in one hand and his sword in the other, he scuffs his sneaker-clad foot against the ground in a way that Janus knows to mean I’m about to say something you really won’t like. 

“He’s nice,” Remus says defiantly, and Janus scoffs. 

Fine. He has to do everything himself, huh?

If it’s up to him to protect their dad from Logan Abbott, that’s fine. He just has to keep Roman on his side for as long as possible, right?

“So you’re abandoning us?!” he snaps anyways, because despite everything, he’s hurt. He didn’t think Remus, of all people, would turn so quickly. “What about Dad?”

“I think he likes Dad!” Remus protests. “A lot! It’s like all those Disney movies!” 

Roman looks between them, clearly conflicted. Uh-oh, Janus thinks. 

“Hans seemed like he liked Anna a lot!” he answers, hands on his hips. “We’ve got to be Dad’s heroes, right, Roman?”

Roman’s expression solidifies into righteous anger. “We gotta keep Dad safe,” he agrees, reaching out to hold Janus’ hand. Janus, meanwhile, tries to ignore Remus’ hurt expression the best he can.

“Here,” he says, reaching into his bag and digging out a pack of gummy worms. “I know they’re your favorite.” 

Remus’ expression brightens as Janus drops them into his candy basket. “Thanks, Janjan!” he says, beaming.

“Just don’t get in our way,” he says, and turns towards Logan.

“Okay, Roman,” he says. “You know what to do.”

His brother trots forwards, successfully swapping places with Remus, who drops back to go walk with Dad and Patton. Janus comes up on Logan’s other side, pointedly looking at the ground.

“Hello, Roman, Janus,” Logan says. “How is trick-or-treating going?”

“Good!” Roman says, cheery as always, though Janus can see his hands trembling. Janus doesn’t respond. 

“I like your costume,” Logan tells his brother, and sounds almost sincere about it. “You’re a prince, right?”

“A sea-prince!” Roman declares, puffing out his chest. “Thank you, Mr. Logan!” Janus shoots him a glare, and Roman just winks. He blinks, taming his expression slightly. 

Huh. Seems Roman is being much smarter about this than he had thought. 

“Y’know,” Roman says, cheery as ever, “Dad’s told us so much about you, Mr. Logan!”

“Does he?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “What does he tell you, then?” 

“Wellllll,” Roman hums, turning on the puppy-eyes. “I’m not sure you want to know, Mr. Logan.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, that is perfectly fine,” Logan answers, which is both completely against the plan and infuriatingly heartfelt. 

“He says you’re, uh, stupid,” Janus mutters, taking matters into his own hands. 

“Yes!” Roman exclaims. “Very stupid. And, and a big ol’ butt! And a meanie. And insuff-bly rude to your co-workers.”

Janus barely resists to smack a hand to his face — that last bit is stolen word for word from Uncle Remy’s rants to Dad about his boss when he comes over for dinner, and mispronounced at that! — but it seems to have worked, as Logan looks rather shocked.

“Oh, did he?” he asks, seemingly distressed. Yes! “Oh dear. That’s not very kind of him, was it?”

“Nope!” Janus answers, suddenly cheerful. Yes, yes! Now stupid Logan would go away, and Dad would be safe, and there would be no omelets for dinner or anything-

“I’d better go talk to him about it,” Logan says decisively. No, no, NO!

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Roman says, experiencing the same panic, but Logan is already dropping back to walk beside Dad, picking up Patton, who giggles and throws his arms around Logan to hug him. 

“Damn it!” Janus exclaims, stomping in his anger. 

“You cursed!” Roman says in shock, pointing at him. 

“Yes, Roman, I cursed,” he snaps. “That didn’t work at all!” 

Roman looks on the verge of crying, and he instantly regrets it. “Sorry, Ro,” he says, reaching out to take his brother’s hand again. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was my dumb plan.”

“It wasn’t dumb,” Roman says, sniffling. “Mr. Logan’s the dumb one.”

“Yeah,” Janus agrees, and glances back at his dad and Logan. Dad looks all smitten again, and Logan, disgustingly, looks equally sappy. “We’re not gonna get anything done with them like that. Let’s… let’s just trick or treat with Remus for now, okay? We’ve got this.”

“Okay,” Roman agrees, and pulls Janus back to where their brother is happily munching on a Snickers bar. 

They do end up having fun. And with Patton there, for all the dumb, costume-mistaking kid’s faults, adults are too busy cooing over him to care that Janus and Roman and Remus take a few pieces of candy from the bowls. 

Okay, Janus thinks as they return to the house, time for Plan B. 

—

Roman glares at the villainous intruder seated beside his father on the couch, as he and Remus and Janus trade candy on the floor. He’ll thwart this Logan Abbott’s evil plans! He’s a prince, after all!

“I’m gonna start making dinner,” Dad says, standing up. “I know it’s late, sorry. How does grilled cheese sound?”

“That sounds amazing,” the villain says, smiling like Hans at Anna in the beginning of the movie. “Do you want any help?”

“Just watch the kids for me, please?” Dad asks, and Roman nearly gags as he kisses the Hans-ome Villain on the cheek. Hadn’t Dad learned anything from Frozen?!

“Yeah, of course,” agrees Roman’s nefarious nemesis. Roman narrows his eyes, and checks again to make sure the fireplace is off, and that Mr. Logan — no, Dr. Logan, he’s too evil to be a mister, just look at his lab coat! — is sufficiently blocked off from it. He’s not a snowman, and neither are his brothers, but one could never be too careful! Princes always made sure to have all of their weaknesses defended against!

Janus follows their dad into the kitchen, but not before he glances at Roman and mouths Keep him busy, as he points at their vile adversary. It also could have been Reap the city, but Roman is pretty sure that doesn’t make any sense. 

Remus, the traitor, is playing with Patton. “I’m the tickle zombie!” he declares loudly, sticking out his tongue and making groaning noises, wiggling his fingers at Patton, who squeals in excitement and darts away. “Twickle zomvie!” he yells to his father, who nods gravely. 

“You had best run, Patton,” Mr. Logan tells him. “I hear tickle zombies are ruthless creatures.”

“Tickle zombie,” Remus groans in agreement, and Patton screams again, running towards the kitchen. 

There is silence in the living room for a few minutes after that, until Logan finally says “What’s your favorite kind of candy, Roman?” 

“Like I’d tell you that, you mal-volent maley-factor!” he exclaims, drawing his sword and pointing it at him. “You’d probably poison all the Starbursts!” He quickly realizes his mistake, and does his best to look even fiercer.

“Why would I do that? I like them too, I’ll have you know,” Mr. Logan says, though he looks rather surprised. “How old are you, Roman?”

“...Six,” he says grudgingly, when he can’t figure out how this bad-natured boyfriend of Dad’s would use his age against him. 

“You have a very impressive vocabulary for six, Roman,” the execrable evil-doer tells him, raising an eyebrow.

“Janus and Dad and kindergarten taught me to read,” he says proudly. “And we ran out of books for me, so I’ve been reading the dictionary when we can’t go to the library!”

“That is very impressive,” Mr. Logan repeats. “What’s your favorite book?”

“It’s-” he starts, but then remembers Mr. Logan is the enemy. “None of your beeswax!”

Mr. Logan doesn’t seem as hurt by that as Roman would have expected, and silence reigns over the living room for a few minutes (save for when Patton and Remus come sprinting in and out of it). Roman finally lowers his sword, putting it beside him. 

“I can teach you to use that,” the atrocious antagonist says finally, gesturing to the sword. 

“What?” Roman asks, immediately on the defense. “I can use it fine, Padre’s poisonous partner!” 

“I’m sure you can,” Mr. Logan says, adjusting his glasses, “and a very good insult, by the way, but I took fencing for many years. I can at least give you a few tips, hm?”

“...Fine,” Roman agrees, intrigued despite his best efforts.

Besides, how bad can loathsome Mr. Logan be if he likes Starbursts, anyways?

—

Janus knows he has lost Roman when he comes bounding into the room when Dad says “Dinner!” exclaiming “Dad, can I take fencing?” 

“Logan Abbott,” Dad says, far too affectionate, “have you been teaching my son sword-fighting?”

“Maybe just a bit,” Logan says, not-so-subtly returning the broom to its place near the back door. “Is that… Is that alright?”

“Of course it’s alright,” Dad replies, handing him a plate of grilled cheese, complete with tomato soup. “It’s very sweet of you. This is all he’ll be talking about for months, though, I hope you know that.”

“It’s so cool, Dad!” Roman exclaims, proving his point. Remus is already sitting besides Patton, tearing into his grilled cheese, and Janus feels something cold settle into his stomach. 

“Brothers conference, now,” he declares, standing up and marching towards the living room. He’s gratified to see that the twins still follow him, at least, even if they have been swayed to the side of Logan Abbott. 

“I like him, Jan!” Roman says immediately, eyes wide and pleading. “He’s nice! And Dad likes him, and Remus does too!” 

“And Patton’s great too,” Remus adds, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t wanna be mean to them!”

“What about Dad?” Janus exclaims, desperate. “Remember the last time we liked one of Dad’s dates?” 

He’s referring to She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named, who had looked so nice in photos, who Dad had spoken of like an angel, but who had met them with a fixed smile and broken up with Dad only a few weeks later. Remus’ face falls, but Roman’s expression only hardens. 

“Logan’s not like that,” he insists. “We won’t help you anymore, Jan.” 

His brothers leave him alone in the living room, and Janus scowls at the ground. Fine. If they won’t help him, he’ll do it himself. He doesn’t need them anyways!

He ignores the choking feeling in his chest and the burning at the corners of his eyes as he returns to the table. 

Fine. 

—

Patton likes Virgil and his family. 

Remus is funny, and Roman knows all about all the princesses, and Janus, for all his grumpy-wumpies, has the best costume. And Virgil is so nice, and makes the best jokes, too!

Patton is all of four years old, and he, quite honestly, finds himself liking everything and everyone. But he especially likes his Papa’s boyfriend’s family. 

They’re nice. And they make his papa happy, too, and he doesn’t feel scared around them at all. He’s pretty sure Janus could beat up any monsters in his octopus — no, kraken — costume anyways. 

Janus looks sad when he comes back to the table, face all red and angry, and Patton reaches across to pat him on one of his tentacles. “You’re a very good kwaken,” he says.

Janus just stares at him. “...Sure, whatever,” he answers, turning away and taking a huge bite out of his grilled cheese. Patton is impressed, frankly. 

Papa has told him that Virgil being his boyfriend means that he and Virgil are like Nate-from-daycare’s parents, romantic partners. Patton asked if that means if he and Virgil are gonna get married someday, like Nate’s, and his dad’s face turned all red. “Maybe,” he said. 

Patton hopes so. He’d like to have Virgil as his other dad, he thinks. Virgil is nice. And Patton has begged for siblings so many times that getting Janus and Remus and Roman in the bargain is like what his dad says about cool things — bee’s knees. They’re like the bee’s knees!

So, Patton is hopeful. 

He pats Janus’ tentacles once more. Hopefully, his maybe-future-big-brother will feel better soon. 

—

“I just want to stay up for an extra hour, Dad,” Janus says, nearly pleading. “It’s Halloween! Just until Mr. Logan goes home.” 

His dad looks desperately between him and Logan, who is sitting in the living room with Patton in his lap, snoozing against his chest. The twins had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, and Dad is holding Roman in his arms, Remus already tucked in upstairs. 

“It’s alright, Virgil,” Logan says. “It is Halloween, and I’m trapped here anyways.” He gestures to Patton on his lap, and Dad laughs at that. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you so much, L,” Janus’ dad says, obviously relieved. “I’ll be right down, okay?”

“Okay,” Logan nods, returning Dad’s smile with one of his own. 

“You should just go now,” Janus says once his dad is upstairs. “You ruined Halloween. And Dad hates you, and we hate you, so you should just go home!”

“I am aware that you don’t like me, Janus,” Logan tells him softly, far too nice. He’s the kind of wonderful guy that would have Dad making omelets for days afterwards, unbearably sad. “And… I must confess, I do not understand why. Do I truly make you that uncomfortable?” 

“I don’t care about you,” he snaps, sinking back into the couch cushions, refusing to look at Logan, eyes on the credits rolling across the TV screen instead. “But I won’t let you hurt my dad.” 

“Hurt your father?” Logan repeats, eyes wide. “Why on Earth would I do that?”

It is late, and Janus is tired, and he still feels like crying. And so he finds himself spilling it all, from the omelets to She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named to his dad’s calls with Uncle Remy. He’s crying, he finds, partway through, and Logan doesn’t reach out to hug him or anything like that, but he listens. He nods, and he asks questions at all the right times, and passes Janus the tissues from the coffee table whenever he needs them. 

“Janus,” Logan Abbott says when he is done, and he looks like he wants to cry, too, “may I promise you something, now?”

Janus nods, too tired to do anything else, and he gets the feeling that if he had shaken his head, Logan would have respected that, would have remained silent. 

“I swear,” Logan says, fiercely passionate, “I have no intention of hurting your father, or your brothers, or you, in any shape or form. If I should do so, I would be a person who does not deserve you, your father, or your brothers in any shape or form anyways, as family or friends or even acquaintances.” He takes a deep breath, and Janus realizes his eyes are glittering with tears when he lifts his hand to wipe them away. “I did not mean to intrude on your family, and if you fear for your father around me, or dislike me that much, it is not my place to remain here. You will always be Virgil’s priority, as you should be, and I would never keep myself in his life if I made his son that unhappy.” 

“Okay,” Janus says, voice small. 

There is silence, after that, and much sniffling, and Janus thinks. 

He thinks about his brothers, who have taken to the Abbotts so quickly. He thinks about Patton who, in the end, isn’t such a bad kid. He thinks about his dad, who seems so happy around Logan, who had asked them to keep an open mind that afternoon, who would be so sad if he had to break up with Logan, even for Janus’ sake, though he’d never say it.

He thinks about Logan, who seems so sincere, and who isn’t really anything like She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named, or any of the others who had made his dad cry, who Janus thinks he could like one day, who could maybe be his dad too. 

“I guess you can stay,” Janus says, watching the TV carefully, and in the reflection, he can just barely see Logan relax. “For now.”

“Thank you, Janus,” he says. 

“If you hurt my dad, though, I’ll kill you myself,” Janus tells him, and means it. 

“I’d deserve it,” Logan answers simply, and for that, more than anything else, Janus starts to like Logan. He doesn’t laugh at the threat, or threaten him back, or even ignore it. 

He takes it seriously. He considers it. And he finds it justified. 

Yes, Janus thinks. With enough time, and maybe a little candy-related bribery (it is Halloween, after all) he could like Logan Abbott. 

—

“I had a lovely time tonight,” Logan says. Patton is in the car, strapped into his carseat with the driver’s door open just in case, still sleeping away, and Virgil has long since put Janus to bed, too. 

It is late. The moon is full overhead, a watchful eye on a quiet world, and it shines down on Logan and Virgil, who linger still in the doorway. 

“I’m glad,” Virgil smiles, though the expression falters quickly. He reaches up to Logan’s cheek, finger brushing at a stray tear track. “Have you been crying?”

“Janus and I had a bit of a heart-to-heart,” he explains, intertwining his own fingers with those of Virgil’s free hand. 

“The boys seemed to like you,” Virgil says, and though he looks no less concerned, he smiles anyways. 

“I liked them too,” Logan laughs, a shy, soft thing. “And Patton adores you, of course. I knew he would.” 

“I’d say I’m amazed they warmed up to you so quickly, but I’m not,” his boyfriend tells him, and grins, truly grins, mischievous and light and so full of love that it makes Logan feel dizzy. “You’re so wonderful, I’m surprised it took even that long.” 

“Flirt,” Logan accuses, but he steps closer anyways. The night is chilly, but he hardly notices next to Virgil Carroll, who seems to exist to provide warmth and light to the universe. “They were very protective of you.”

“Perhaps they have reason to be,” Virgil says thoughtfully, smile widening. “What with you around, standing on my doorstep in the dead of night, not kissing your boyfriend goodbye. That ought to be a crime, I think. Look at me, associating with criminals. You’ve turned me bad already!” 

Logan rolls his eyes but leans down to kiss Virgil anyways, a chaste, sweet thing that still manages to take his breath away. “You are incorrigible.” 

“You love me and you know it,” Virgil tells him. 

“I do,” Logan agrees. “Very much.”

They hug goodbye, and steal one or three or eight more goodbye kisses, and before he knows it Logan is driving away, off into the quiet of the moonlight. 

There is something magical about Halloween, he has always thought. A magic of change, and of tricks, and of trust, too. 

Virgil’s sons like me. A change. 

They attempted to drive me away, but Virgil had warned me ahead of time that might be the case, so I did, admittedly, have the upper hand. A trick. 

Janus, as of now, will let me stay. A trust, the trust of a boy who will do anything to protect his father. 

Above all else, Logan decides, he will not betray that. 

—

There are other Halloweens, of course, and there are other holidays, too. There are presents, and laughter, and the occasional argument, but one that is always resolved by the next day, and Janus receives that candy bribe, as well.

There are still omelet nights. There might always be. But now, instead of calling Uncle Remy, Virgil starts to call Logan, on these nights, seeking comfort when work goes badly or one of his sons is hurt or in the midst of just a truly bad day. And eventually, there will be no need for calls at all, for Logan is there to make toast and offer cuddles and tuck the boys in bed on those rough days, and, after he is supposed to be asleep, Janus will see his dad and a man who is almost, maybe, very close to being his father too, curled up together, offering support and comfort and love. 

Logan has his bad days, too. And so do Janus, and Roman, and Remus, and Patton. But none of them have to face them alone. 

One day, many Halloweens later, Janus will call Logan ‘Papa’ for the first time, sleepily, halfway through Hocus Pocus, and they will both cry, just a little bit. 

[prompt-master]

Bear Trap (Part 1/3)

Request fill for @hibiscuswolverine and art done by @doodles-by-noodles

The world was starting to heal.

Little by little, everyone who survived Hope's Peak Academy's killing game was bringing about change to the world. It had only just started, and they likely wouldn't live to see their vision fully realized, but there was hope. Hope the world hadn't seen since the tragedy broke out in the first place.

Yep, Naegi Makoto had a lot of work to do, but he also already had so much to be proud of. He and the survivors had already proven themselves to adapt to a world that was nothing like the one they left behind. They had been given a warning from Enoshima Junko herself, but even with the knowledge of killer robots and rampaging despair-induced rioters nothing could really prepare them for life on the outside.

Honestly, they had never expected to make it to where they were right now. Proud members of the Future Foundation, able to work together with the higher ups to take down the biggest threats against the world's progression. It felt like just yesterday they were sleeping in the rubble of what once were apartments, tightly packed together in case anything were to break in. And now Makoto stood proud and tall, going over his next mission on video call with a member of one of the higher divisions.

"I suppose I shouldn't be terribly surprised that the Ultimate Hope would be so adamant on these matters."

Makoto smiled, still as strong and inspiring as it had been back in the killing game, "Really, you don't have to call me that. I'm nothing special, just Naegi is fine."

She completely ignored him, looking over the notes he'd sent to her one last time. He and Aoi had accidentally discovered a distress call from a group of survivors in an unsafe area. There was no way he could ignore something like that, he wouldn't ignore any possibility that someone was suffering like his class did. Even if there was an equal possibility that it was a trap.

"Well, your plan asks for Ultimate Detective Kirigiri Kyoko and Ultimate Affluent Progeny Togami Byakuya to go with you. With those two, plus the Ultimate Hope, equipped with hacking guns then I see no reason to be concerned for any mishaps. Your mission is approved."

Makoto's smile widened at that, feeling a rush of pride and hope at her words, "We won't let you down! Promise!"

She didn't even look up at him, simply humming to let him know she heard. But he could tell, there was a slight smile on her face. Makoto managed to melt his fair share of hearts even if he couldn't explain how. The call blinked off, and Makoto shut his laptop gently, but with no regard to what it was running.

He let out a loud sigh, slouching back into his chair. Any and all office calls felt so nerve wracking. Each one held its own weight in importance. Every exchange oversaw the future. He pulled his arms over his head, stretching them as far as they could go.

He could already feel himself getting pumped up. A small, prideful smirk snuck it's way onto his face. The plan wasn't anything extreme, but he knew with his friends by his side it would all be ok. They were meant to go together in a group so that they could protect themselves in the event of a trap or other unforeseen circumstances. The distress call came from a fallen city mostly blocked off by a collapsed building. They would drop off inside the city's bounds, and continue on foot to find any survivors they could. They knew there would be some despaired within, but that was a given anywhere they went now.

It would all be worth it to save them.

Now he just had to tell Byakuya and Kyoko the good news

It was clear to anyone near the survivors that Byakuya, Kyoko, and Makoto were a force to be reckoned with. While the general public has no qualms with calling Makoto the leader of the group, it was more so all three of them were coleading. Each taking charge in their own way, from the start of their new lives to now. The three of them were all incredibly smart in their own ways and their combined skills lead to a team that could likely conquer any despair they faced. But it took an even closer eye to see the emotional connection the three shared with each other. 

Makoto walked in front, leading since he had heard the distress call in the first place. It was certainly an interesting relationship that the three had. Although Makoto certainly didn't see himself as the leading type it seemed that Byakuya and Kyoko both trusted his guidance entirely. And he did the same for them. There was no way to describe the significance that lay underneath the floorboards of their bond. For the two most emotionally shut off of the survivors to so openly trust him? To Makoto that was enough to lay their hearts out in the open for him to see. And not to mention…

Makoto glanced back at the two. Byakuya was messing around with his hacking gun, glasses slipping down his nose, and hair nearly hiding his eyes from Makoto's view. Kyoko was taking in her surroundings, trying to figure out sooner rather than later if this whole thing was just a trap as suspected. Her eyes may be void of emotion but the color and warmth was vast. Makoto faced forward again, his face feeling just a bit hot. 

They were both really pretty. 

No, no he can't focus on his silly crushes. Yes, crushes plural. Because Makoto's sensitive heart was so big he managed to give it away to two different people. That didn't matter right now though, because the focus was on the mission. 

The town was about as decimated as it looked from the outside. It reminded him of his first experiences out in the new world, making him wonder how many survivors might be hiding under rubble, scared to come out. So far they hadn't run into any sort of trouble. No robots, no despaired, no survivors. There was really...nothing here. It was starting to look more and more like a trap. 

Makoto stopped walking at a split path, "The call said to find the convenience store but...I can't tell where to go since everything's been destroyed." 

Byakuya came to stand by his side, "Not that it should matter much all things considered. Let's just get this over with so we can clear out those insane idiots and rebuild this place already." 

"Togami-kun!" Makoto pouted, Byakuya may have softened up but he still had a habit of harsh thinking first, "don't say that. I'm sure there has to be someone here who needs saving. There's people who need to be rescued everywhere we go!" 

"Indeed" Kyoko chimed in, "but it's not a bad line of thought. If we stage a rebuilding operation here then that increases our chances of finding survivors then if only a search team walked around." 

Byakuya smirked, pushing up his glasses in that annoyingly arrogant way of his, "And to do that, we need to weed out the problems first no?" 

"Yes...yes we do." 

"Besides what would you rather do? Try to talk to the despaired? And get clubbed again?" 

"It was one time, Togami-kun!" 

Byakuya laughed, placing his hands on his hips as he looked around, "Come now, this way. All these buildings are too destroyed to make any sort of distinctions regardless. And by your sentimental logic we should be checking more than just the given location, wouldn't you agree." 

Byakuya didn't wait for an answer, he walked ahead to begin searching the first building to their left. Makoto had to break into a light jog to catch up to him; damn your long legs Togami! 

That marked the start of their exploration, building after building. They found nothing. Not to mention everywhere seemed like it has been residential, no sign of the store they were told the survivors were. Even Makoto felt like something was a little bit off but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. Regardless he kept up hope, he had heard those survivors speak with complete clarity in their voice. They had to be here. He wouldn't give up over a simple bad feeling. 

Byakuya stepped over broken glass, moving further into the crumpled home he was currently inspecting. A surprisingly intact kitchenette caught his eye, and decided a thorough search was necessary without telling his company. Although they didn't need much prompting to understand when he went off trail again. Kyoko thought if he was going to focus on possible material goods stored away in this forgotten piece of life, then she could at least see if there was any current piece of life hiding away as well. Makoto stood at the door of the house. He'd given nothing more than a glance to Byakuya before turning toward the outdoors again. Looking for anything. Any sign of life lurking under the foreboding red sky. 

Nothing. 

He sighed, turning his attention down to what used to be a grass area. Not much was left of that, in fact it looked almost like any plant life besides the weeds in the street cracks were...set on fire. The ground had this grey ashy feeling to it. And when Makoto scuffed it with his shoe….yeah, that was definitely the remains of something burning. That was a good sign right? It meant that someone was alive. This couldn't have been that long ago. 

Makoto opened his mouth to call for his friends, when a cold hand slapped over his mouth and forcefully tugged him backwards. 

Huh

Huh?!

Makoto was immediately kicking and yelling. He bucked like a disturbed wild animal, trying everything he could to get out. Wiggling, kneeing, elbowing, even trying to bite the hand over his mouth but none disturbed the individual. The house was getting farther and farther away but his voice was too muffled to ever reach it. There was heavy breathing in his ear, the air wet and warm against his skin in a way that made his body shudder. He forced himself to look up at his kidnapper. An individual with a wide smile on their face and eyes that spoke of a spiraling psyche. Everything about them...from their expression to their actions to their lack of reaction to pain...it all said despair. 

Eventually Makoto was dragged into the street and thrown down like a slab of meat. Makoto was about to scream again for help, when a hand quickly reached out for him. He couldn't help but flinch back, shoulders bunching up in an attempt to shrink away. His tie was yanked off, the force pulling his body upwards. When the tie snapped off he fell back again, he could feel rocks digging into his skin from the fall. Then his hands were tied behind his back. This was bad. This was so bad. Bad didn't even BEGIN to cover it. 

His captor came uncomfortably close, having lost all concept of personal space in the madness the end of the world has provided. Makoto tried his best to keep calm as they placed their arms to either side of him so that they were above, staring down below. There was a tense moment where neither moved, they simply tried to catch their breaths so that the silence would stop being filled with panting. It felt like a test. Like they were waiting for him to even dare to try to escape. They wanted to show Makoto what happened when he disobeyed! He could see it in their eyes! In the manicale look, in the smile that kept opening and closing like a strange gutted fish. The way their arms trembled and shook by Makoto's head, just waiting with the high of excitement.

Arms still shaking, mouth overflowing with spittle and pupils pinprick sharp, they began to slowly lower themselves. Makoto held his breath, willing his body to sink further into the concrete. His heels scraped against the ground, but he willed himself not to move in fear that any sign of escape would reward him with a slit throat. Their noses pressed against each other. The captor let out a shaky relieved sigh, as if the contact was the greatest thing they'd felt in a long time. Their eyelids fell half lidded, their smirk from excited to downright sadistic.

"I've got you now, Mr. Ultimate Hope."

Stay calm. You've dealt with this kind of person before. 

Makoto's nails gave a tug as he ran them against the concrete in an attempt to ground himself, dirt filling the space between skin and keratin. His heart hammered in his chest as if he were a scared rabbit, but there was no time to panic here. His life depended on it.  The despaired were completely delusional...which meant..

Makoto felt a laugh rise out of him, nervous and high in pitch.  A bit too high in pitch. He scraped the ground again, enough so that it began to hurt from the force. Calm down. Stay fucking calm. 

"Heh...heheh! Yeah! You got me..!" A smile graced his face, "what did you...get me for?" 

They pulled back, but not enough so that the pungent smell of smoke and ash left Makoto's nose. Their head tilted, daring to make an innocent face, "You know who you are, right?" 

"I do. And who are you?" 

Their body moved back and forth as they laughed with everything they had, their knees closing in so that Makoto could feel it against his leg. "Me? Me? Mememe?? Forget that! You're the Ultimate Hope!"

"That's right…" 

"I wonder what Miss Junko would say right now. Seeing you pinned down like this?" Their eyes flickered to the sky at the fantasy that no doubt filled their mind. 

Makoto tried his hardest not to cringe, and just attempted to change the subject instead, "Do you want me to do something for you?" It was a loaded question. One that made Makoto feel like he was picking all the wrong dialogue choices. 

"I do!" 

Progress. He wasn't sure if it was good progress, but it was, in fact, progress. 

"What's that?" 

Their voice dropped to a whisper, waning and cracking in excitement once again. They reached into their pocket. 

"I want you to watch this" 

They pulled out a little remote that looked horribly put together. Even with how much their hand trembled he could see that it was made of what seemed to be the remains of a torn apart scrap pile. Before Makoto could ask what they meant, they pressed the only button built in. 

What ensued was a large explosion. 

------

BOOM 

A loud eardrum breaking noise filled the previous silence. Byakuya was forced to grip the kitchen countertop as the world around him shook, a sudden intense burst of wind following soon after. The heat uncomfortable against his face. He made his way to the open wall, Kyoko not far behind him. 

"Was that an explosion?" Kyoko asked, not wanting to waste any time. 

Byakuya looked outside at the smoke and fire that overtook the sky. It was suffocating just to look at. Shit, it was definitely a trap then. "Looks like it" 

They watched frozen, transfixed on the horror as a building toppled from where it was standing, joining the others as rubble for them to walk on. They still stayed in place. They knew there was nothing they could do to prevent or help the issue. 

Byakuya was so focused on the sight, thinking about how he had to call for an early pick up that he didn't even notice until Kyoko asked. 

"Where's Naegi?" 

------

Makoto gasped and gasped as he ran for his life. After whatever that person had rigged went off he found himself surprisingly not being pinned anymore as the person sat cackling nearby. He had managed to slip away when more despaired came over and argued with the individual who had been pinning him.  Now he was running as fast as he could hoping he wouldn't get caught once again. 

He struggled against his traitorous tie, feeling it chafe against his wrists uncomfortably. Untying it would have been enough of a challenge without the running aspect. Now he found himself tripping over his own feet trying to think about the two things at once. 

Before he knew it, his feet had slipped right out from under him and he barely caught himself before faceplanting. 

Taking the fall as a hint, he stopped to catch his breath, looking around the area to gauge where he was. It seemed like more of the same until he saw a rather structurally sound convenience store. It was surprisingly big too for how little damage it had. A smile overtook his face. Aren't I lucky? Maybe the people inside can help me get this dang tie off. 

After letting his breathing calm down he made his way toward the store. Elation filled his heart, a familiar hope that kept him going. He knew it couldn't have all been a trap! Almost there now. Once inside he'd have someone untie his hands, and then he'd find his friends and-

His friends. He hoped Byakuya and Kyoko were safe. He had no idea how far the damage of the explosion traveled, but if it was enough to collapse an entire building there was certainly the risk of them being in hot water. Not to mention the multiple despaired that were walking around, who knows what sort of danger they could walk into. Then again, if anyone was capable of holding their own it would be Byakuya and Kyoko. But he should probably focus on his own safety instead of imagining Byakuya and Kyoko taking down their enemies in the most attractive way possible-

He was right there. He'd reached the convenience store. All the windows were covered up so that he couldn't see inside, but he knew someone inside was waiting. He just had to- huh? What's that? 

Makoto looked down to see a familiar, very unwelcome sight. It was a Monokuma with yellow and black stripes. At the top of its head was a red siren. And they were making eye contact. 

"Shi-" 

Instinctively he reeled back at the loud, sharp noise. The sound raised and lowered it's pitch smoothly, reminding him of tsunami drills he had to do back when he was in school and the implications it brought were similarly horrifying.

So much for being lucky. Makoto felt himself panicking again, the siren was loud enough to hurt his ears. He couldn't tell if his ears were ringing or if the siren was just that obnoxious. But he didn't have time to complain about that. The noise and the light… no doubt others would be coming soon. 

"Shh...shhhh!! Stop it!" He couldn't break the machine with his hands the way they were...he had to settle for getting help. 

Makoto stopped in his tracks before he could approach the door of the convenience store however, because there was someone watching him through the window. They'd opened the curtain to check what the commotion was. Makoto saw no madness or instability in their eyes...the survivors really WERE here. Makoto smiled, wishing he could wave and gesture for help, but he had to hope his expression was enough. 

The survivor frowned, eyes fixated on the Siren Monokuma. Without looking at Makoto again they closed the curtain.

No one was coming to help. 

Makoto backed away. That's ok. There was still a chance. If he ran quick enough maybe he could get away before reinforcements arrived. 

The growling he heard mocked his fruitless thoughts. That was the deranged sounds a Beast Monokuma made…he couldn't hope to outrun one of those. They were like real rabid bears but worse because they never got tired. They never stopped running once they had you in its sights, just like this one. 

But Makoto tried anyway to flee, only to end up taking a riot shield to the face from a Guard Monokuma. 

"Oof!" 

He fell back hard feeling all air leave his lungs. The snarling and pounding of the Beast Monokuma was getting louder. Too loud. Makoto rolled onto his side, scrambling to get up. He winced as a claw grazed his cheek, first blood of the night welling up. 

He felt like an insignificant worm with how he desperately rolled on the floor, hoping to find good enough footing in his panic to stand. But when he got to his knees he was met with another riot shield. He almost didn't react in time to dodge another slash from the Beast, managing to get the tie around his wrists cut. 

He'd never gotten to his feet so quickly before in his life. Bits of gravel stuck to his palms and blood ran down his right arm. He scrambled to find something -anything- to defend himself with, but he was already surrounded. It was too late to even bother going for the Siren Monokuma. How the hell was he supposed to-? 

He yelled out as sharp metal claws dug into his back, seemingly deep enough that he feared for his spine. The claws rake along his back as the beast removes them. If that wasn't enough to bring him back to reality, he was quickly overwhelmed, bruises being beaten into every inch of his skin from the shields, and slashes from regular Monokuma's on his arms. And worse of all the Beast Monokuma that was trying its best to chomp his head off with it's twitchy manic movements. He tried his best to fend it off, pushing at it personally with his bare hands despite the continuous relentless assault he was receiving. 

Another good hit with a shield and his hands slipped. In a split second moment that he didn't even get to think about, he reached a leg up and kicked at its face. He only had a moment of victory.

It bit down on his leg and didn't let go.

Now the interesting thing about Makoto is that even though he doesn't seem capable, he's grown to be able to keep himself calm when it mattered. Even at his own execution, where he was slowly heading towards his untimely demise, With frequent reminders of what was about to come, he had managed to keep as calm as possible. Even well he fell stories down into the garbage. He refused to make a peep and panic when every one of his friends could see. But right now no friends were watching.

Naegi Makoto screamed.

-----

"I'm going to kill Naegi my damn self for running off when we find him." Byakuya was, as per usual, annoyed as hell. 

Kyoko sighed, "Calm down. I'm sure there's a reason, you know he isn't like that." 

Byakuya rolled his eyes, but didn't say a word. Kyoko was completely right, but he would never give her the satisfaction of admitting that. His silence was enough. 

They had made way for the source of the explosion only to find the path to the other side of the city was completely blocked off by the collapsed structure. Due to the closed off nature of the cities remains that left them with only one option: go the long way around and hope those entrances aren't blocked as well. 

When it was just Kyoko and Byakuya there was always this weird silence. Sometimes comfortable, sometimes tense. Makoto was always the one to fill it, he was like the bridge between the two. Kyoko wished he could tell Byakuya to cheer up -his attitude was getting on her nerves- but Makoto's absence was the whole reason for it in the first place. 

"Keep your guard up" she reminded, her own hand staying close to the pouch strapped to her thigh. Inside was an all weather purpose mini notepad and a handheld taser. She quite liked her taser, it was both heavy hitting and satisfied Makoto's wish to not kill anyone: even the despaired. "I'm certain that explosion was rigged up by a person." 

Byakuya scoffed, "I am Togami Byakuya" he kindly reminded her. Kyoko rolled her eyes, she'd heard that way too many times to count. "My guard is always up and my reaction time is perfect. Maybe you should worry about yourself instead." 

"Incorrigible as usual, I see." 

He glared back down at her, still walking forward with overconfident strides, "I'll have you know-" 

There it is. Another rant which consisted only of Byakuya boasting about his own skills. She shut him out without a second thought, focusing on her surroundings instead. It's not as though Byakuya would provide any sort of new information anyway. 

"Wait." She interrupted, which Byakuya hated, but his feelings be damned, "do you hear that?" 

Byakuya paused, facing towards the direction she was looking. There was a sound in the distance, something familiar. It was far, but if he focused hard enough he could figure it out. 

Kyoko and Byakuya looked at each other, both having recognized the siren's undeniable screech at the same time. With a nod, they began to run. Makoto or not, whoever was caught by that Siren Monokuma was in danger. Byakuya steadied his hacking gun in his hand and Kyoko effortlessly pulled her taser from it's bounds. Despite their great desire to find Makoto meer seconds ago, they hoped that anyone else would be caught by the Monokuma's. But, this was Makoto after all. 

It took an undetermined amount of time for them to loop around to the convenience store, but the time spent felt uncomfortably long to them both. When they did arrive they found it was a chaotic mess. There was a group of Monokuma's huddled together over one unseen person. There was blood scraped across the concrete as though someone was dragged with their horrible injuries and all. But there were no sounds of a struggle. The sight was more akin to school yard bullies gathering to kick a victim than a genuine fight. 

Without wasting much time Byakuya fired at the Siren Monokuma, destroying it without a second thought. "Damn noise was getting on my nerves" He said. 

Kyoko shook her head, "Focus" she pointed her nose towards the pile up. Byakuya's uncaring attitude toward the situation showed that he believed the person was already dead. One by one the machines fell apart or destroyed themselves. And in their wake was a small, bloodied mess in human shape. The smell of copper and the sickening sight of messy pink was one they had gotten all too used to over the years. But that didn't make it easier when you recognized one of those bodies as someone you cared about. 

Byakuya felt harsh, furious breaths of air pushing in and out of his nose. The action was an almost unconscious response. He couldn't help but let anger well up at the sight of Naegi Makoto laying on the ground curled up on his side.

He grit his teeth, "Is he…?" Dammit. A Togami didn't hesitate. Certainly not Byakuya.

"No." Kyoko's voice was barely more than a whisper, and for a split second he thought she was simply in denial. But no, she had caught  sight of Makoto's chest moving up and down. She made way to him, hands hovering over him unsure of how deep his injuries ran. The first thing she saw were vicious claw marks running down his back. There were bits of debris clinging to the wound. They were ugly and jagged things. She wanted to roll him onto his back to get a better look at him but was it even safe to move him at all? She didn't want to risk paralyzing him. Not to mention she'd be pressing his wound to the ground. She glanced to his leg. A complete mangled mess, she could tell the unit that attached itself to his leg was relentless in its attack. Shaking and thrashing and the like. The fabric that once covered his leg was all but torn to shreds leaving the whole injury on brutal display. There was blood pooling underneath where he lay on the ground. His skin was pale from blood loss, breaking into a cold sweat that made her certain shock was already setting in. Almost all exposed skin was blossoming into a different, unnatural color indicating a plethora of bruises. His breathing was quiet but heavy, he'd already lost a lot of blood. When her eyes finally trailed up to his face she felt a small bit of relief that his features were marred by only a small cut on his left cheek, with a lazy stream of blood pouring from it. 

Byakuya and Kyoko were two individuals with a massive disconnect of their emotions brought about by their upbringing. Byakuya turned any emotion he felt into anger and disdain. Kyoko snuffed out most emotions she felt so that nothing would show. They had the emotional resolve of steel, it wasn't easy breaking down their walls. Makoto was that strange part of the equation that ruined all of that. He managed to get Byakuya to be intrigued by someone so seemingly insignificant and he managed to get Kyoko to act pouty and almost childish during the game. Yes, their entire lives were spent crafting these defenses. And now they had to fight to keep it all together with only elmers glue in their arsenal.

Kyoko was up close and personal with all the gruesome details of his attack. She tried to shove it all down so that she could completely focus on ensuring Makoto's survival. But he was looking up at her with a dazed half lidded look, as though any second the world would slip away from under his feet. And despite that Makoto smiled when he caught eyes with her. Kyoko's heart cracked. 

Byakuya could only watch with his fists by his side. He had set out to ensure all the survivors of the first killing game continued to survive and here we are. He forced all these feelings to be translated into anger. But he knew the underlying causes. He knew there was a part of him that simply was scared for his friends sake. 

The two of them both understood the others emotional grievances. And that's exactly why Byakuya's heart skipped a beat when Kyoko looked up at him with fear vibrant in her eyes. 

"It doesn't look good." 

[maandarinee]

what are all the podcasts you listen to?

anon I'm so glad you asked

Since it is a pretty long list including synopses (stolen from the podcast feed or website because I'm Bad at summaries and in some cases it's been a while since I listened) I'm going to put it under a cut.

I've separated the list into "Complete" (either finished or cancelled) and "Ongoing" podcasts. Some have additional comments by me. Current favorites are marked orange. My eternal beloved are Our Fair City and Wolf 359.

Complete

ars PARADOXICA: "When an experiment in a time much like our own goes horribly awry, Dr. Sally Grissom finds herself stranded in the past and entrenched in the activities of a clandestine branch of the US government. Grissom and her team quickly learn that there's no safety net when toying with the fundamental logic of the universe."

Blackwood: "Five years ago, Molly Weaver, Bryan Anderson, and Nathan Howell started a podcast focused on the local legend of a monster called The Blackwood Bugman. Quickly, the investigation grew out of their control, as they discovered that, not only are the legends seemingly true, many people in Blackwood have turned up dead or disappeared without a trace." --> [this feels like the Blair With Project, but as a podcast. Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

Dreamboy: "Dane, a spun-out musician spending the winter in Cleveland, Ohio, has two main goals: keeping his job at the Pepper Heights Zoo and trying not to waste all his time on Grindr. What he doesn’t expect is to get swept into a story about dreams, about forevers, about flickering lights, about unexplained deaths, about relentless change, and about the parts of ourselves that we wish other people knew to look for. Oh, and also a murderous zebra." --> [very NSFW; does cool things with music! Didn't get a second season due to no funding, but it works as a standalone]

King Fall AM: "...centers on a lonely little mountain town's late-night AM talk radio show and its paranormal, peculiar happenings and inhabitants." --> [cancelled after 100 episodes, ends on a huge cliffhanger]

Our Fair City: "A campy, post-apocalyptic audio drama." --> [I know the description sounds like nothing but just trust me, I love it so much]

Steal the Stars: "...is a gripping noir science fiction thriller in 14 episodes: Forbidden love, a crashed UFO, an alien body, and an impossible heist unlike any ever attempted."

Stellar Firma: "...a weekly Science Fiction, Comedy podcast following the misadventures of Stellar Firma Ltd.'s highest born but lowest achieving planetary designer Trexel Geistman and his bewildered clone assistant David 7. Join them each episode as they attempt to take listener submissions and craft them into the galaxy's most luxurious, most expensive and most questionably designed bespoke planets. However, with Trexel's corporate shark of a line manager Hartro Piltz breathing down their necks and I.M.O.G.E.N., the station's omnipresent and omniinvasive stationwide A.I. monitoring those necks to within 3 decimal places, they'll be lucky to make it a week before being slurried and recycled into raw human resources." --> [semi-improvised, I thought I'd have a problem with the improv bit because that's not usually my thing, but no, I absolutely devoured this]

TANIS: "...is a serialized docudrama about a fascinating and surprising mystery: the myth of Tanis. Tanis is an exploration of the nature of truth, conspiracy, and information. Tanis is what happens when the lines of science and fiction start to blur." [+ spinoff The Last Movie] --> [I have no clue what the hell is going on here]

The Black Tapes: "...is a serialized docudrama about one journalist's searc for truth, her enigmatic subject's mysterious past, and the literal and figurative ghosts that haunt them both."

The Magnus Archives: "...is a weekly horror fiction anthology podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organisation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird. Join new head archivist Jonathan Sims as he attempts to bring a seemingly neglected collection of supernatural statements up to date, converting them to audio and supplementing them with follow-up work from his small but dedicated team. Individually, they are unsettling. Together they begin to form a picture that is truly horrifying because as they look into the depths of the archives, something starts to look back…"

Time:Bombs: "...a new audio drama podcast about the hilarious world of bomb disposal. Ride along with EOD technician Simon Teller on the busiest night of the year for him and his team - when business is, quite literally, booming."

Wolf 359: "Life's not easy for Doug Eiffel, the communications officer for the U.S.S. Hephaestus Research Station, currently on Day 448 of its orbit around red dwarf star Wolf 359. He's stuck on a scientific survey mission of indeterminate length, 7.8 light years from Earth. His only company on board the station are stern mission chief Minkowski, insane science officer Hilbert, and Hephaestus Station's sentient, often malfunctioning operating system Hera. He doesn't have much to do for his job other than monitoring static and intercepting the occasional decades-old radio broadcast from Earth, so he spends most of his time creating extensive audio logs about the ordinary, day-to-day happenings within the station. But the Hephaestus is an odd place, and life in extremely isolated, zero gravity conditions has a way of doing funny things to people's minds. Even the simplest of tasks can turn into a gargantuan struggle, and the most ordinary-seeming things have a way of turning into anything but that." --> [starts funny, turns very intense]

Ongoing

Alba Salix, Roya Physician (+ The Axe & Crown): "A witch, her apprentice, and her fairy herbalist treat the ills of a fairy-tale kingdom." + "Gubbin the troll tavernkeeper deals with his clueless new landlord, his shady niece, and some new competition."

Archive 81: "A found footage horror podcast about ritual, stories, and sound."

Arden: "A (fictional) true crime podcast about cold cases and the reporter and detective who try to solve them."

Brimstone Valley Mall: "The year is 1999. Lurking somewhere between Hot Topic and the food court, five misfit demons from Hell kill time inciting sin in a suburban shopping mall. When the lead singer of their band goes mysteriously missing, the demons only have two weeks to find him before they play the biggest gig of the millennium - or face the wrath of Satan herself."

CARAVAN: "First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary." --> [also pretty NSFW and horny in general]

Death by Dying: "The Obituary Writer of Crestfall, Idaho finds himself deeply in over his head as he investigates a series of strange and mysterious deaths… when he is supposed to simply be writing obituaries. Along the way he encounters murderous farmers, man-eating cats, haunted bicycles, and a healthy dose of ominous shadows." --> [I had to stop listening to this in public because it kept making me undignified laugh and snort noises]

Desperado: "Blood magic, Voodoo magic, old gods, new gods: We've got it all! Follow the story of misfits from all over the world, as they try to survive and protect their heritage from modern-day crusaders."

EOS 10: "Doctors in space, a deposed alien prince, a super gay space pirate and a fiery nurse who'll help you win your bar fight."

Girl In Space: "Abandoned on a dying ship in the farthest reaches of known space, a young scientist fights for survival (and patience with the on-board A.I.). Who is she? No one knows. But a lot of dangerous entities really want to find out. Listen as the story unfolds for science, guns, trust, anti-matter, truth, beauty, inner turmoil, and delicious cheeses. It’s all here. In space."

Janus Descending: "...follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place. Told from two alternating perspectives, Janus Descending is an experience of crossing timelines, as one character describes the nightmare from end to beginning, and the other, from beginning to the end." --> [absolutely harrowing horror]

Love and Luck: "...is a fictional radio play podcast, told via voicemails and set in present day Melbourne, Australia. A slice of life queer romance story with a touch of magic, it follows the relationship between two men, Jason and Kane, as their love grows both for each other and their community." --> [soft and gay, feels like a warm hug]

Potterless: "Join Mike Schubert, a grown man reading the Harry Potter series for the first time, as he sits down with HP fanatics to poke fun at plot holes, make painfully incorrect predictions, and bask in the sassiness of the characters." --> [the only non-fiction podcast on the list]

Primordial Deep: "When a long extinct sea creature washes up on the shores of Coney Island, marine biologist Dr. Marella Morgan is contacted by a secret organization to investigate the origins of the creature’s sudden and unnatural resurgence. Soon, she and a team of experts find themselves living on the research station The Tiamat, traveling along the abyssal plains as they search for answers far below the waves. But there are dangers in these ancient waters. Reawakened, prehistoric monsters are rising from the deep -- jaws wide and waiting, and in the darkness, something is stirring."

Red Valley: "No one at Overhead Industries wants to talk about defunct research station Red Valley, and account man Warren Godby is out of his depth. When he meets Gordon Porlock, a disgruntled archivist with a bag of tapes from the station’s last known occupant, they will begin a journey to the limits of experimental science, confront horror and trauma from the past, present and future, and try to remember the cheat codes from Sonic the Hedgehog 2."

Rusty Quill Gaming: "An actual play podcast following a mixed ability group of comedians, improvisers, gamers, and writers as they play through the extended, tabletop roleplaying campaign Erasing the Line, an original game world of the GM’s crafting." --> [took me a while to get into because I have trouble focusing on non-scripted things, but eventually I got really hooked on the plot and attached to the characters. This podcast is really fucked up at times if you think about it]

SAYER: "A narrative fiction podcast set on Earth’s man-made second moon, Typhon. The eponymous SAYER is a highly advanced, self-aware AI created to help acclimate new residents to their new lives, and their new employment with Ærolith Dynamics." --> [feels like Welcome to Night Vale but narrated by GLaDOS from Portal]

StarTripper!!: "Join Feston Pyxis on a road-trip through the cosmos, as he leaves behind his old life in search of the best and wildest experiences the galaxy has to offer!"

The Amelia Project: "...is a secret agency that fakes its clients' deaths, then lets them reappear with a brand new identity! A black comedy full of secrets, twists... and cocoa."

The Big Loop: "...a biweekly anthology series. Each episode is a self-contained narrative exploring the strange, the wonderful, the terrifying, and the heartbreaking. Stories of finite beings in an infinite universe." --> [I don't like anthologies, except this one]

The Bright Sessions: "Dr. Bright provides therapy for the strange and unusual; their sessions have been recorded for research purposes." --> [think X-Men, but with therapy instead of a school]

The Deca Tapes: "Recordings have surfaced of ten people that are locked into the same space together. We don’t know where they are, or if they'll get out. But the answers must be somewhere on these tapes."

The Silt Verses: "Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories."

The White Vault: "Follow the collected records of a repair team sent to Outpost Fristed in the vast white wastes of Svalbard and unravel what lies waiting in the ice below."

Tides: "...is the story of Dr. Winifred Eurus, a xenobiologist trapped on an unfamiliar planet with hostile tidal forces. She must use her wits, sarcasm and intellectual curiosity to survive long enough to be rescued. But there might be more to life on this planet than she expected." --> [think The Martian, but on a water planet]

Unwell, a Midwestern Gothic Mystery: "Lillian Harper moves to the small town of Mt. Absalom, Ohio, to care for her estranged mother Dorothy after an injury. Living in the town's boarding house which has been run by her family for generations, she discovers conspiracies, ghosts, and a new family in the house's strange assortment of residents."

VAST Horizon: "Nolira is an agronomist tasked with establishing agriculture in a new solar system, but when she wakes up on a now- empty colony ship, the whole of her plan disappears. The ship has been set adrift, with numerous mission-critical problems requiring immediate attendance outside of her area of expertise. Nolira is aided by the ship’s malfunctioning AI, which acts as her confidant and companion during the fight for survival."

Victoriocity: "Even Greater London, 1887. In this vast metropolis, Inspector Archibald Fleet and journalist Clara Entwhistle investigate a murder, only to find themselves at the centre of a conspiracy of impossible proportions."

We Fix Space Junk: "...follows seasoned smuggler Kilner and reluctant fugitive Samantha as they travel the galaxy, dodging bullets and meeting strange and wonderful beings as they carry out odd jobs on the fringes of the law."

Welcome to Night Vale: "Twice-monthly community updates for the small desert town of Night Vale, where every conspiracy theory is true. Turn on your radio and hide."

Within the Wires: "Stories told through found audio from an alternate universe."

Wooden Overcoats: "Rudyard Funn and his equally miserable sister Antigone run their family's failing funeral parlour, where they get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. But one day they find everyone enjoying themselves at the funerals of a new competitor - the impossibly perfect Eric Chapman! With their dogsbody Georgie, and a mouse called Madeleine, the Funns are taking drastic steps to stay in the business…" --> [one of THE funniest podcasts I have ever listened to]

[hongism]

classified document: class system

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤: Do not read the information contained within this document if you are not a member of the Royal Military of Aurum. Reading the following information will put you at risk of imminent danger or death. If you have stumbled across this document by mistake, please report it to your local authorities. Honor and glory to our High King Alaric - may he rest in peace.

𝔑𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔦𝔢𝔰:

Normal people born without any special abilities or advantages, Normies are considered a dying breed of people who have little to no use in the world. 

A harsh and cruel truth, many Normies work as simple workers or farmers on highly inhabited planets to avoid danger.

The Royal Military refuses to accept Normies into their squadrons and ranks as to keep their ranks limited to the best of the best.

Pirates, bandits, and the like tend to be Normies that want to break the expectations set of them. They do grunt work in the crews, always under the lead of a higher class. There is no known Normie pirate captain in the universe.

Normies tend to live out their lives staying in the sanctity of one planet, never exploring or setting foot into space unless captured and sold as a slave. 

Normies are picked last when it comes to the slave trade, and many slave traders will avoid or lie about the Normies in their stock as to sell them off easier. They disguise them as Sirens more often than not, drawing crude and temporary tattoos on the back of the Normie to cover their lie as best they can.

The epitome of ‘normal’, Normies are considered to be ‘lesser’ people because they lack abilities like other classes.

𝔈𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔰:

Elitists are typically believed to belong to the upper class or have high rankings in society, however, elitists can come from any place in society. It is merely believed that they come from high society because of their title. 

Elitists have high egos and arrogance because of the way their brains are wired. They believe themselves to be better than those around them who are not Elitists as well. 

This arrogance causes divisions in class where Elitists from high societies look down upon and do not accept those from lower class societies.

Elitists have special abilities that aren’t seen to the naked eye. They tend to have elevated mental capacities and are naturally much smarter than other people, leading them to be able to lead well and be in positions of power. 

Elitists have a special sense of how to operate ships and weaponry, as well as how to navigate. Skilled pilots and soldiers, many elitists are recruited into the military or to the government to be in positions of power. 

They tend to have strong moral compasses and understandings of how to get what they want, thus they tend to be on the right side of the law and avoid dealing with pirates, mercenaries, or bandits.

A majority of the pirate and bandit population are Elitist defectors. This is due to their desire to reach the top and be better than those around them. If they see a leader failing to do his job, they will take it upon themselves to do the job and take matters into their own hands.

An Elitist can be found to have skewed morals; however, all Elitists are known to be crudely logical and will forgo emotions in favor of being rational when it comes to decision-making.

𝔅𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔯𝔰:

Berserkers are some of the most fearful and terrifying beings across the universe. 

Known for their behemoth-like strength, many Berserkers also tend to share in short tempers and short fuses, leading to an explosive personality both in conversation and in the battlefield for pirates and the military.

The Royal Military has developed special weapons to help deflect Berserkers, using electrocution as a regular method of attack against Berserkers to debilitate them. This weapon can be considered to be a glorified stun gun - the Fulmensory Rifle.

Typical pirates on the other hand tend to not keep Berserkers in their crews simply because of their short tempers and the lack of need for physical strength when on a ship.

All Berserkers bear red eyes. No other class in the universe has this same gene trait. The general rule of thumb for the public is as follows: see red eyes, turn the other way.

Berserkers absorb the emotional auras of those around them and channel those emotions into violence and aggression. 

They can be trained and conditioned over time to become insusceptible to these effects, but it is a long and arduous process. Physical conditioning with rods and rifles is a quicker and easier method.

𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰:

Spectres are named as such for the quick speed and natural stealthy abilities. There one second and gone the next.

Very useful and promising for pirate crews, Spectres can use the shadows to their advantage in every way. 

They bear only one power, but it proves to be an effective one - shrouding themselves with shadows to remain hidden in plain sight for long periods of time. This ability is quite draining and exhausting, and a Spectre will typically need a long recovery time after using this power. 

They have a natural speed and agility, which proves useful for almost all situations. With this enhanced speed though, they tend to be more likely to fall ill or get injured more easily.

Spectres tend to be assassins because of their natural affinity for shadows and stealth, and the military uses them as such. They are perfect for covert units or assignments.

Pirates use Spectres for assassination and stealth missions, or thievery. Occasionally, pirates will use them for raiding missions, but never alone. They are typically always accompanied by people of other classes.

Spectres are most common among pirate and bandit crews as they are often taken young to be groomed into slaves as soon as possible. Many planets house so-called ‘Spectre Orphanages’ which are grooming stations for Spectre slaves. 

Spectres are rarely given names — merely titles instead, similar to how Sirens are treated. Spectres are considered objects, weapons to be used for that purpose alone.

𝔖𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔰:

Sirens are a unique and dying breed of people as well, very few sirens are left in the universe, primarily due to the fact that pirates and the military capture sirens. Almost all remaining sirens are kept as slaves, used as objects to do their master’s bidding or used as a source of energy and power. 

The military uses sirens as siphons for weaponry. Every siren is born with a special mark between their shoulder blades, the sweet spot for the military to plug in their machinery and siphon a siren’s powers.

The powers of a siren vary depending on the person. Some have been noted to read minds and emotions, although that seems to be a rare genetic mutation in sirens. Most have the ability to alter the density of objects and bodies, which is why sirens are so valuable to pirates and thieves. They can easily morph through objects, tear hearts out, or slip into places unnoticed.

It is said that five sirens together can unlock one of the universe’s most secret and valuable treasures, although no man has ever laid eyes on it or lived to tell anyone where the treasure may be. Captain Kim Hongjoong of The Horizon is reportedly in search of the treasure.

Each Siren bears a special title, a moniker assigned to them at birth in place of a real name, something akin to a status symbol.

Sirens are connected through the Dreamscape. Whenever a Siren is nearby, they go to the Dreamscape together and can meet each other in dreams.

Through the Dreamscape they can learn about each other and know what the other is thinking and feeling. It’s called a Siren’s Intuition in the real world, where a Siren can sense another’s distress and provide comfort. Comfort provided through the Dreamscape is considered to be far more potent and effective than real world comfort.

Find further information here

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

After watching Lip’s HoS, I’ve been doing some thinking. I think it makes a lot of sense that Ian and Mickey addressed monogamy at that moment in 11x01, and I’m really glad they did.

I forgot that Lip and Tami were in a rough spot when they were sort of together but hadn’t discussed what that meant. To us, it’s logical: you’re together, so you aren’t with other people. Of course! That’s not what happened for them, though, nor is that the culture of sex that most of the characters grew up with. They didn’t set boundaries, so Tami slept with Boone and Lip with her sister. Both were bothered by it, and they had to talk that out.

Come now, Noelle. They’re not Ian and Mickey!

No, they’re not. But while their relationship has more history and they certainly love each other more deeply than Lip or Tami felt at that point, they likewise never set any solid boundaries. It was an unspoken thing that while Mickey was locked up, they were free to sleep around. They mentioned that in s10. There wasn’t any waiting for one another prior to that point, at least not where sex was concerned. It was simply meeting physical needs, nothing more. On that, they agreed. Now that they’re married, of course they won’t do that. On that, they should also be agreed.

Except Ian told Lip earlier the same day that he assumed they were on the same page with money and was upset to discover that they weren’t. It makes sense to me that he would realize there are other, non-monetary things they haven’t addressed and worry they’re not on the same page with those too—and he’s got the rest of the afternoon to think about what those things are. He’s also Ian, who so frequently gets in his own way when he is faced with emotionally challenging things.

But why then, Noelle? It was so random for him to bring it up in a conversation about money. He must have done a Google search for common relationship stressors, right?

Well, look at that very morning. Look at the whole season thus far. Ian’s pretty terrified that one slip-up will take Mickey away from him again, and he just realized that they didn’t finish that conversation on what happens if one of them is locked up and the other isn’t. That automatically intensifies the urgency to address that matter because as usual, Ian assumed they were on the same page. Ian assumed that he would be waiting until Mickey got out, and that Mickey would find him when he did. And that didn’t change in 11x01. He was clear: he’d be visiting Mickey, and divorce wasn’t even an option in his mind. It seems obvious that they wouldn’t sleep with anyone else this time—obvious like the fact that married people share their money.

But it’s another assumption. They didn’t discuss it before, partially because that isn’t how they used to operate, and partially because Mickey seems quite content to do whatever Ian wants or just not think too hard on it. In prison, we didn’t see them really talk it out before Ian was released, and I doubt they did. They assumed. Now that they’re both free, to Mickey, it wouldn’t matter anyway: he fully believes he can fly under the radar and not get put away again, so that conversation is a moot point. If Ian wants to have it, then Mickey will just focus on the “right” answer, which is so very common in relationships.

Originally, while I felt it was of great value, the turn of the conversation did seem a bit random, owed to Ian growing flustered and just blurting it out. Now, I don’t think it was, nor have I ever believed that it stemmed from anything they did to each other in s5. This interpretation made a lot more sense to me since it’s been very relevant to their story that they tend to communicate without talking things out, they’re trying to improve on that this season, and Ian was just now forced to reckon with the downsides of their old methods in a way that is very much tied to his fears of what happens if Mickey is arrested.

[caffeinated-yearning]

Confessions and (Bad) Dancing

In which pieces of the puzzle slot into place, feelings are lain bare after a year of working together on cases, and some people are better at dancing than they have any right to be (but unfortunately I am not one of them).

Word Count: 2103 Warnings: uhhh aside from crippling embarrassment as a center-stage piece, none I can think of.

“Slow dance? No, sorry, I don’t know how.” It was ironic, the tone Mark used- but he was sincere; not for lack of trying, but a waltz was simply outside his dancing expertise. So was pretty much every dance step ever; he had never been very skilled with dance. I’ll step on your foot and scuff your shoes, or I’ll fall into you, or “it will be unsightly,” and that’s a promise. A low hum as the half-smile fell from something almost sincere into a flatter expression that looked more unyielding than it was.

Mark’s eyes remained on the offered hand, still outstretched as Mr. Edgeworth spoke; “I promise it’s easier than you think.” For one half-second, Mark actually considered it. Considered it carefully, from every angle- and from all perspectives foresaw himself getting embarrassed. Either through his own inexperience, or some comment thereupon. If nothing else, being that close to Miles- to Mr. Edgeworth would destroy the easy-going facade that he so carefully kept. A quick one-two and done, Mann overboard. 

Miles added, after a half-second of silence; “consider it a request; it has been a while since I’ve had the opportunity, and I can think of no one I’d rather share it with.”

…

What?

Operation ‘try not to think gay thoughts’ has been blasted wide the fuck open, and all smashed to smithereens; what does that mean? What does that mean?! Dumbstruck, feeling his hands and feet go ice-cold and at the same moment his chest and face start to burn, Mark was… Passingly aware that he’d accepted Edgeworth’s (Miles’?) hand. 

-

What???

What a terribly foolish thing to admit. Miles chewed his lip, hoping that that specific admission would pass cleanly over Mark’s head. The opportunity, hah! No one he’d rather share it with— a request?! How utterly embarrassing to have said so much. He considered himself lucky, and unlucky, that this Mann was so incapable of noting any act of affection leveled toward him.

Not… not that Miles was well known for being terribly affectionate. Still.

And, likewise now, Mark seemed wholly preoccupied with other things. Perhaps his utter obliviousness would continue to spare Miles the indignity of having to discuss any matters of the heart. 

… That there were matters of the heart which needed discussing was… well. It certainly wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge.

-

Mark didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to hold his head up on the path to the dance floor- normally he wouldn’t dream of hanging his head, but the ground became very interesting when one needed to focus on one’s step, and even if he didn’t need to focus, meeting the eyes of (not allowed to think ‘crush’ but) Miles Edgeworth was dangerous enough.

Ah- oh no. They really had crossed that distance rather too quickly for Mark’s liking. Hand-on-back that rested warmly against this, his body, and it suddenly felt cumbersome to be- just to be. Mark’s own hand held feather-light over Miles’ shoulder; unwilling even to touch- to touch Miles. His hands were so cold and his face so warm- God, if there be any mercy in the world, may lightning strike me down here and now. 

Alas, no such luck. 

As the music started, step-one-two, don’t mess this up and stumble as Miles pulled him closer-; hand landing like lead to stabilize himself, and Mark felt his brain go absolutely empty- empty and full of static at the same time. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, pulling back just to see where he was stepping- to see he was trodding on Miles’ feet and step-step stumble off. “I’m sorry—.” Sorry sorry sorry fuck.

-

“You really are unfamiliar with this,” Miles almost found it amusing, how little coordination there was. It- the dance- was all an excuse to be close to Mark in an otherwise over-crowded venue; he almost certainly should not have done this, should not even have admitted that he wanted to do this, but he had. While it was clumsy, it was still enchanting- just to be there together. 

If only Mark were slightly more aware of the situation. 

Miles sighed lightly, watching Mark glance one way, then the next- evidently searching for something, though what exactly he was looking for was beyond Miles’ kenning. Looking up, then down, then up again; it was a wonder he didn’t get dizzy.

A tense voice, anxious; “I said I’m bad at dancing.” Not exactly… ideal, for a (not a date but) dance.

“You’re not the worst,” Miles offered.

“But I’m not the best.” Quickly dismissed.

“Do you need to be the best at everything?” 

“You can’t tell me you disagree- that you don’t want to be the best at everything you touch.”

That was… A fair enough point, he supposed. “But it’s an unreasonable standard to hold yourself to.”

Mark laughed at that- rude enough, tonight; “from you? From you?? We’re the same in that regard, at least. Neither willing to be less than the best, and neither expecting the world to live by the same standards.” At least he wasn’t still so stressed. And he’s back to watching our feet.

-

Mark felt himself pulled along at an unfamiliar speed; again he had been pulled a little too close, the dizzying steps tossing him face-first into Edgeworth’s cravat with a muffled ‘oomph.’ Despite all his struggling, he managed to scowl up into the grey above when he recovered his legs. So much struggling, with this dance thing. Struggles to meet a gaze, struggles to match the step. Infinite struggles, it seemed. Terrible! 

Miles looked away too quickly when the glare was cast- had he been looking at me? “It gets easier with practice, you know.”

Mark grumbled and huffed and felt very inelegant as he tried not to step on any shoes without looking. “Which is useful if you are inclined to practice- so, not useful to me.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you would be so inclined if you had someone to practice with?”

Mark glared back at his feet with that; to look at Miles when his face was this bright (step over, Rudolph,) would convey only that he found the notion embarrassing- and master of logic that Miles was, surely if he didn’t put it all together by now, he’d have the final piece of evidence in the long and storied history of Mark has a big ol’ stinkin’ crush on pretty boy Miles Edgeworth like some kind of gay dweeb or something. Mark was sure he hadn’t been found out, but just as sure that it was only a matter of time. Damned if he would speed that along by actually showing off his embarrassment like some neon sign over his head. Over his face. Whatever.

“What-? Practice with you?” He tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

-

“Is that so bad an idea?” Oh Miles was on fire with suggestions that would be impossible to explain away in the future, when they had work tomorrow and had to act like nothing happened. 

“It’s a terrible idea!” Despite the words, Miles could hear the smile in Mark’s voice; like it was all a joke. 

“Oh?” He tried not to take offense to that- the offer was genuine, even if it would have been hard to explain away in the future. “And what’s so terrible about it?”

Mumbling, as though trying to speak under his breath and not accounting for the fact that they were less than arm’s distance from each other; “I’m gay; you figure it out.”

This time when Mark walked into Miles’ chest, it was less because of his own inexperience, and more to do with Miles coming to his own screeching halt. 

“… What?”

“What?” Mark looked up, and reflexively Miles looked away again. 

While blushing might have been a bit too strong a word for it, Miles felt his throat, face, and ears burn with… hmmm, embarrassment? Something more akin to sudden, unwanted understanding, as all the pieces fell in place. “Wh-?! What does- what does that have to do with it?!”

“I said I’m bad at dancing! You’ve noticed!! You can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed. Perhaps I am completely without rhythm, perhaps I am wholly incapable of such things as stepping around a room elegantly!”

“That’s definitely not what you said,” he started moving again- but this time, it was less of a dance and more of an attempt to hurriedly get out of the center of the room, get off the dance floor and into a place slightly quieter, slightly less in the view of everyone around. The appreciation in Mark’s expression was subtle, once he realized they were leaving- only for it to get suddenly screwed up into apprehension. 

Miles supposed it was probably because Mark had put together that they were leaving for the sake of a slightly more serious discussion.

-

The evening breeze was lovely, Mark supposed; it was cool enough that he could almost radiate away all the embarrassment without having to go shove his entire head under a cold tap.

Almost.

“Now,” Mark refused to look at Edgeworth- not that looking would have been so difficult in the dark of the night, but the idea that Edgeworth would be able to see Mark’s own face was enough to keep him looking to the side. “Mr. Mann, please.”

He glanced over in spite of himself- and though it was dark, something in Miles’ stance, or gestures, conveyed the same unease. “This is he who’s speaking.”

“This is not the time for jokes, sir.” 

Miles groaned, and despite the fear sense in the air, Mark cracked a smile. “But I am such a jester! It’s only natural that I crack a joke to lighten the mood.”

“I— even so,” Miles sat on the steps, gesturing for Mark to join him. “Please explain why your being gay is relevant.”

“You’re clever; can’t you figure it out?” Mark had almost sat down, and then the question (request?), and he elected instead to lean against a pillar and not, in fact, sit at all. “Surely something like that is obvious.” The smile had faded, that much was obvious in his tone.

“You’re not afraid to fall in love with me,” Miles posed it as though it was a question, rather than a statement of fact; attached to the end was an ‘are you?’

“Far worse,” Mark breathed; a whisper directed away that didn’t land upon any ears at all.

“Since that’s not an issue, I’m afraid I don’t see the logic.”

“I already…” have. 

“Hmm?”

“Your logic is faulty. It’s well past your statement.” 

“My… Do you mean ‘afraid to fall in love’?”

“That one, yeah.”

“Well past, then…” The silence sounded almost like disbelief; not that Mark was going to look over and see for himself. “You—?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t—!”

“For a long time!!” Mark wanted to laugh and scream all at the same time. God, what a terror this was! To admit to a crush one’s feelings, to acknowledge—.

“You didn’t notice either—?”

Wait what??? Mark turned around so fast he got dizzy and fell over. Miles was standing, having stood up at the revelation, and now he was leaning over Mark to help him get back up on his feet, and oh what a humiliating thing— “what do you mean ‘notice either’??? What’s that supposed to mean???”

“I knew you were oblivious but I was certain at least by tonight you’d have figured it out-.”

“Figured WHAT out?! What are you talking about?! Is this a dream? Am I dying and dreaming or something??”

“When I asked you to dance I was certain that would have clued you in-.”

“Oh my GOD whAT no I’m surely dying this is it, goodbye sweet world!”

“I can’t believe you would just throw away all evidence that pointed to my liking you at all!” By now they were both standing, and the panicked stream of words that had seemed never-ending had slowed to a point where they once again took turns speaking. “You really had no idea, then?”

“No. I’m a clown, remember?”

“Hmm. Well.”

“Regretting saying anything?”

“No, I think not.” 

Hand in hand, a moment’s pause before clearing of throats and suggestions that perhaps they ought to return inside.

“I still think I’ll simply die if you try to teach me how to dance.”

“Well we certainly wouldn’t want that. Very well, you are free of such an obligation.”

“Good. I’d rather not have any more heart-attacks for a while.”

[vgckwb]

ML: Isolation Chapter 23: Like Clockwork

It was Friday, the day of the charity auction. While Adrien was hoping for a surprise this evening, something happened after school that took the entire class by storm. “Um Mylene?” Ivan asked. Mylene looked up. “Um, before we head to the shelter today, I...oh boy, I need to say something.”

Mylene grabbed Ivan’s hand. “What is it Ivan?”

Ivan’s face grew beat red. “Um, well, uh….” He took a breath. “I know I’m a bit rough around the edges, and sometimes I find it hard to say what I mean, and I can be intimidating, but I’ve felt like this for a while now and spending time together only amplified everything. So um, what I’m saying is, um, Mylene, would you...be my girlfriend?”

Mylene was now blushing. The entire class was looking at her. She gazed upon Ivan. His size was imposing, but she knew him well enough to know that this wasn’t to be intimidating. She looked at his bashful smile and found her answer. Mylene hugged Ivan. “Oh Ivan,” she began, “of course I will.”

Ivan was surprised, but smiled, and hugged her back. The entire class started cheering. As they cheered, Ivan and Mylene stopped hugging fully, looked into each other’s eyes, and gave each other a kiss. They leaned on each other and headed out.

Adrien smiled as they left. What a lovely couple. Hopefully, things will go just as smoothly with Marinette. Of course, I have to wait. Tonight… He turned to see Lila. She waved. He waved back. Tonight I have to handle her. Let’s hope it goes well.

While that was happening, Lila was thinking. Hmm, I guess Ivan was braver than I thought. No matter. They can be a couple. After all… Lila noticed Adrien’s eyes were on her. She waved seductively. Adrien waved back. I’ve got my eyes on a bigger prize. Adrien and I would make a great power couple. I just gotta make him see that. Still, I’m sure he’ll see things my way soon enough. Especially after tonight. Soon after, the entire class disbursed.

Everyone was getting ready for the big night. Adrien had just finished putting on his formal wear. There was a knock at the door. “Come in, I’m proper!” he said. Nathalie walked in. “Oh, hi Nathalie,” he said, “ are you attending as well?”

“Yes Adrien” Nathalie said.

“Good” Adrien responded.

“Although I am wondering why you decided to come along” Nathalie interjected. “When this was first brought up, you seemed hesitant.”

Adrien froze. Right… I forgot to tell Nathlaie about all of this. After being taken aback, he just said the first thing that popped into his mind. “So um do you want the truth?”

Nathalie facepalmed. “Adrien… Please tell me you’re not doing a Cat Noir thing.”

“Well, I’m not” Adrien said, “but Kagami is.” Nathalie sighed. “I’m just there to suss out information.”

Nathalie looked up from her palm. She glared at Adrien, then walked to the door to lock it. She walked back. “We have half an hour before your parents are ready to leave, so start talking.”

Adrien was nervous, but he had total faith in Nathalie. He sighed, calmed down, and explained the entirety of the plan. After Adrien explained the ins and outs of what tonight would entail, Nathalie looked at him. She sighed. “Honestly, sometimes it seems like this is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Trust me Nathalie” Adrien said, full of confidence, “it’s worth as much trouble as it takes.”

“What makes you so sure?” Nathalie said.

“Because…” Adrien began. “I know what it’s like to be truly and wholly alone. And I don’t want anyone to feel like that. So, I’ll do whatever it takes to help Marinette out of this.”

Nathalie smiled. She nodded. “Very well. I just wish you would have told me so I could help you more.”

“Sorry” Adrien said. “I’ve been a bit distracted with a few things. We would have liked your help tonight.”

“Oh, I’ll still help,” Nathalie said. Adrien was surprised. “I’m not your father’s assistant for nothing.” She walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it. Before she left fully, she asked “Are you coming?” Adrien was befuddled, but upon hearing the question nodded and hurried out the door as well.

Meanwhile, as Tom and Sabine were packing up to deliver their treats, Marinette approached them in her going out look, carrying a duffle bag filled with Kagami’s costume, as well as the sign. This took them by surprise. “Sweetie…” Sabine said.

“Hey…” Marinette replied. She stopped.

After a few seconds, Sabine asked “What’s going on?”

Marinette hesitated a little, but then said “So, um, I guess I haven’t told you yet…”

“Told us what?” Tom asked.

“Well…” Marinette began. She then proceeded to stumble through an explanation of what was going on. “So, yeah… That’s, um, that’s been happening…”

Tom and Sabine were shocked. Marinette was a little ashamed and embarrassed. However, her parents gave her a hug. “We’re so proud of you,” Sabine said.

“I’m glad you’re starting to experience the world again,” Tom added.

Marinette felt immensely relieved. She gave her parents a hug back. “Thank you. For always being there for me.”

They broke the hug. “And don’t worry,” Tom said. “I’ll make sure that that Adrien boy likes you back.”

“DAAAAAAAD” Marinette said, embarrassed.

Sabine giggled. “Well, I think it’s time we get going. Are you ready?” Marinette nodded. Tom and Sabine finished loading their desserts up, while Marinette snuck into the car.  Just by chance, she checked her phone.

Adrien: Hey, uh, Nathalie is in on this as well now.

Chloe: Your dad’s secretary?!

Chloe: How?

Marinete: She’s known about this for a little bit.

Chloe: Oh…

Kagami: What does that mean?

Adrien: I’m not 100% sure myself…

Adrien: BUT she did say she would help somehow tonight.

Kagami: Well that’s...good I guess.

Marinette: I like it.

Marinette: I like having another layer to this.

Marinette: That way if anything goes wrong, we’ll have more protection.

Chloe: Well, when you put it like that…

Kagami: It never hurts to be a little more prepared.

Adrien: True.

Adrien: Well, best of luck everyone.

Kagami: Thank you.

Marinette: Thanks.

Chloe: Thanks.

They put away their phones, as they set off to fulfill their mission.

Marinette’s parents were unloading their sweets, while Marinette herself snuck into the Louvre. She was careful enough to not get noticed by any of the staff, as they were preoccupied with many other things.

However, just as she was almost to the ladies’ room, she heard a voice from behind her. “Ladybug?” they called out. Marinette turned around. It was Ondine, Kim’s girlfriend, dressed to the nines in an elegant dress. “Is that actually you?”

Marinette panicked for a moment. “Umm, yeah” she answered. Why did I say anything? She’ll figure me out for sure!

“What are you doing here?” Ondine asked.

Marinette was confused. Oh, right, Ondine doesn’t really know who I am… “Well, uh, I’m helping Cat Noir” she answered nervously.

“Cat Noir? He’s here?” Ondine inquired.

“Well, he’s going to be,” Marinette responded. “I’m going to be laying in wait until the perfect moment presents itself.” Why am I saying all of this? I mean, it seems to be working, but still…

“Cool” Ondine said. “Um, why is Cat Noir coming here?”

“Well, that’s kind of complicated,” Marinette explained. “Basically, something happened a while ago where something went missing, and Cat Noir is investigating to see if he can find it.”

“I see…” Ondine responded. “Why not investigate during normal hours of operation?”

“Well, that’s also a little complicated…” Marinette stumbled. “But, I guess the best way to put it without ruining the surprise would be that the opportunity presented itself.”

“Woah,” Ondine said. She got energized. “This sounds amazing!”

“Well I’m a bit nervous about the whole thing” Marinette unloaded. “We’re not sure if we’ll be able to find anything, but we’re giving it a try.”

“Well, good luck,” Ondine said. Marinette nodded. As she was about to head into the bathroom, Ondine asked “Is there something I can do to help?”

Well, she’s already this far in. Might as well bring it on home. “Actually yes. Follow me.” Marinette led Ondine into the restroom. They approached one of the stalls. Marinette rummaged through her back and pulled out the Out of Order sign and some tape. “Here.Once I’m inside, could you tape this to the door?”

Ondine nodded. “Sure thing Ladybug! But, um, what’s this for?”

“Oh, well, this is going to be my hiding place,” Marinette explained. “Cat Noir is going to meet with me here once everything is set.”

Ondine seemed confused. “I mean, I can’t say I don’t understand the logic. No one would expect Cat Noir in the women’s restroom, but um, isn’t this a bit too bold?”

“Well, this whole plan is bold, so we figured ‘let’s go the whole nine yards’, you know?” Marinette rationalized.

Ondine smiled. “I get it.” Marinette smiled and nodded. She entered the stall and Ondine placed the sign on the door. “There.”  She slid the tape under the tall. Marinette picked it up.

Ondine got a little embarrassed. “You know, I have to thank you.” Marinette was intrigued. Ondine smiled. She started fidgeting. “For a while, people have only seen me as being, well, sporty. And I agree that that’s a part of me, but I never really felt...cute. I always thought that since I wasn’t like the typical cute girl, I thought I couldn’t be.

But then I saw one of your designs. I was amazed. I tried it on, and for the first time ever, I felt adorable. I felt like I could be the person who I always wanted to be. Sporty, yes, but also cute and adorable, and well, girly at times too. It was such an eye opener. And even this dress I’m wearing now is a Ladybug original, and I feel like I couldn’t look cuter if I tried.

And that confidence instilled in me gave me the courage to say yes when Kim finally asked me out. I’ve been pining for him forever, but until I tried on your designs, I thought it was a dream that could never be. So, thank you. For everything.”

Marinette’s eyes were welling up. She sniffed. “Thank you,” she said.

Ondine was a little surprised, but quickly understood that that kind of compliment was something Ladybug needed to her. She smiled and said “You’re welcome Ladybug.” She started walking out. “And good luck on this endeavor with Cat Noir.” She left.

Marinette sniffed again. “Yeah.”

As the charity auction began, more guests started appearing. Soon, the Agrestes arrived. Adrien looked at the Louvre with a smile on his face, and determination in his heart. His father noticed. “Well, this is certainly a surprise.”

“Indeed” his mother added. “I haven’t seen you smiling at an event like this unless you were trying to run away from it.”

“Tell me son,” Gabriel asked, “what about this event makes you feel like this?”

“Well, uh” Adrien began, not knowing how to answer.

Nathalie placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not necessarily the event itself” she answered for Adrien. “As good a cause as this is, this is also Adrien’s first high society outing since you let him attend school publicly. Adrien has a new found energy he can bring to events like this.”

Gabriel and Emilie were stunned. “Oh. I see” said Gabriel.

“Well, if Adrien’s this excited, I think we made the right choice” Emilie added.

Gabriel smiled. “I should have figured. Remember how fed up you were with events like this until we had Adrien?”

“Gabriel” Emilie whined. Gabriel laughed.

“You didn’t like these kinds of events either?” Adrien said.

Emilie turned to her son. “Well, maybe a little. But I never did any of the shenanigans you used to pull.”

“The closest she got to anything like you did was drag me into a closet” Gabriel mocked.

“Gabriel!” Emilie whined more sternly.

Gabriel laughed slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Emilie smiled. She kissed Gabriel on the cheek. “I forgive you.” She moved in closer and whispered “You know, I’m not opposed to the closet idea tonight either.” Gabriel chuckled, delighted, and pulled Emilie in for a tight embrace. Adrien was confused, but decided to leave it be. The family continued walking in.

Soon, the evening was in full swing. People were socializing left and right. People were enjoying the provided food, and in particular, people were starting to realize just how much they missed the desserts from the Dupain-Cheng bakery.

Meanwhile, Adrien was wandering around. “Adrien!” Lila called out. Adrien turned around, saw Lila, and proceeded to walk over to her. “I’m so glad I found you. I can’t wait to show you around.” She reached out, then stopped. “Um, may I grab your arm?”

Adrien smiled. “By all means, lead the way.”

Lila smiled, grabbed onto Adrien’s arm, and said “Great! Let’s go!” Lila started walking, and Adrien followed in step.

Alright Adrien. This is all to figure out where she may have hidden the piece. Just endure it like you have before. Besides, he thought about Marinette, he looked at Lila, they say it’s always darkest before the dawn. Tonight is about facing this darkness, so I can face the beautiful dawn of tomorrow. The two kept walking.

As this was happening, Chloe was walking around as well. She was comparing the guard’s positions to her notes. She noticed nothing out of the ordinary and was relieved. “Chloe?” Sabrina said, sneaking up on her.

“Ah, Sabrina!” Chloe yelped, turning to face her. “Eh heh.”

Sabrina smiled. “Are you working on that thing you told me about?”

Chloe smiled nervously. “Ha ha, yeah.”

“I hope it goes well” Sabirna said sweetly with a smile. Chole was surprised and started blushing. “Where is Cat Noir anyway?” Sabrina had a look of realization. “Oops. I wasn’t supposed to say his name, was I?”

Chloe relaxed and smiled. “You’re fine. I don’t think anyone heard you.” She looked at Sabrina. She thought about Lila’s threat. She was scared for a second, but then thought No, it’s OK. I’m working with other people to make sure that doesn’t happen. … “Other people” huh…

Chloe reflected on this. The only other person that would even think of helping her before all of this was right in front of her. But now? She has the support of a small circle of friends. And they had hers as well. I guess I really am growing.

“Chloe?” Sabrina asked. “Is everything alright? You seem kind of worried.

Chloe shook herself back to reality for a bit. “Ah, yes, well, this mission is kind of stressful.There’s a lot to it, you know.”

Sabrina simply smiled and said “It’s OK.” She picked up Chloe’s hand. “I believe in you.”

Chloe was stunned. She relaxed a little, and then said “Thanks.” I can’t. Not now anyways. She looked back at Sabrina. But soon.

As the night progressed, the auction started. Meanwhile, Lila led Adrien around to some places around the Louvre, describing things she enjoyed. While Adrien was smiling on the outside, inside he was dying. Ugh! This is awful. Lila is just plain miserable. She’s describing everything here as if she were the authority on it, but has as much knowledge of history and art as a Capuchin monkey. Maybe less.

He glanced at Lila as she was explaining something, smiled, and let out a chuckle. Lila let out one in return. I know misery likes company, but I don’t think company likes misery back.

Despite his best efforts to pay attention, nothing Lila pointed out seemed like she had an affinity to it. It was just stuff she liked. Maybe this was a dud. Ugh. While Lila was explaining something, Adrien interrupted. “Ahem.” Lila turned her attention towards him. “Maybe we should head back.” He checked his phone. “The auction’s been going for a bit. Our parents might be worried if we’re not back before it’s all done.”

Lila smiled. “You’re right. Thanks for keeping me in check.” They started walking. “I just love art and history so much, I can’t help but get lost in it.

I wish! Adrien thought to himself.

“Still, we should come again sometime. I haven’t even shown you my favorite piece.”

Adrien was alerted. “Favorite piece”? That’s something. “What is it?”

“Well, I don’t wanna ruin the surprise…” Lila said. “Oh, what the heck. My favorite piece is the portrait of Napoleon in his regalia.”

“Why is that?” Adrien said.

“Well, I feel like it just has this energy to it, you know?” Lila answered. “Like, he is the thing he embodies in that image. The power, the prestige. It’s just amazing. Just looking at it, I find something new every time. It has many secrets, you know?”

And that was enough for Adrien to feel confident enough to pursue this lead. He smiled. “I think I do.”

Lila giggled. “I’m glad. Let’s keep going.” Lila started walking. Adrien got out his phone and started walking as well, while messaging everyone.

Adrien: I think I have something.

Adrien: The portrait of Napoleon in regalia.

Chloe: Ugh, finally. Took you long enough.

Adrien: Normally I’d shrug that off, but I’m not in the mood right now.

Adrien: You don’t know what I had to do to get this.

Kagami: That bad, huh?

Adrien: It was awful.

Chloe: ...Sorry

Adiren: It’s fine.

Adrien: Kagami, do you know where to go?

Kagami: Roger!

Adrien: Great. I leave the rest to you and Chloe.

Marinette: And ME!

Marinette: Don’t forget about me.

Adrien paused for a moment.

Adrien: Right. Sorry.

Marinette: Thanks.

Adrien put his phone down and continued walking back. Once he got to his table, he noticed it was only Nathalie there. “Where are my parents?” he asked.

“They followed through on their earlier plans” Nathalie explained. Adrien seemed confused. “Don’t worry about it.”

Meanwhile, Kagami broke off from her table. “I’m going to use the restroom,” she told her mother. “Is that alright?” Tomoe nodded. “Thanks.” She proceeded to leave. She made her way to the specific restroom Marinette was hiding in. Once inside, she found the stall and knocked on it. “Marinette, it’s me.”

Marinette opened the door. Kagami slipped in and closed the door. She started undressing. Once her dress was off, she looked at Marinette. Marinette was blocking her view with the bag. “Marinette, it’s fine. Besides, I need you to see so you can hand me my disguise.”

Marinette lowered the bag. She was blushing. “Oh, uh, OK.” She unzipped the bag and started handing Kagami her costume piece by piece.

“Thank you” said a still half-naked Kagami. She handed Marinette her dress. “Here. Be careful with that.”

“Of course,” Marinette said. “What kind of a fashion designer would I be to ruin something like this?” Kagami nodded. She got changed into her Cat Noir outfit. She grunted in confidence and headed out.

While making her way to the painting, Kagami messaged Chloe.

Kagami: I’m en route. Anything I should look out for?

Chloe: At the moment, not really. There are a few guards, but you should be able to avoid them just fine.

Kagami: Thanks.

Kagami kept moving. She encountered one or two guards, but was able to sneak past them with ease. She made it to the picture Adrien had mentioned. She looked at it for a second. Of course it wouldn’t be in plain sight. She began to feel around the frame. As she lifted it, something fell to the ground with a light ting. Kagami let go of the picture and looked down. She picked up the piece, and recognized it as part of a pocket watch. Bingo!

“Hey! Who’s there?!” A guard yelled. Kagami looked at where the voice was coming from, and then headed the opposite way.

Meanwhile, the auction was going off, and Gabriel and Emilie had returned looking a bit messy. Alix’s dad was heading the auction, while Alix and her brother sat at his side. “Alright everyone, it’s time for our final piece of the night.” Some handlers brought it out. “This is an 18th century grandfather clock, adorned with gold. It was commissioned by a count, and it still works. Let’s start the bidding at 75,000 Euros.” The bids started going up. Once it reached its apex, Mr. Kubdel said “Going once...going twice…”

Before he could bang his gavel, Kagami came rushing in. One by one, everyone was glancing at the figure running through the Louvre. Behind her, a pair of guards were chasing her. Kagami grinned. Almost there. She dramatically leapt onto the stage where the Kubdels were. She dashed over to Alix.

Alix looked up. “Cat Noir?” Kagami took the piece out of her pocket and showed Alix. Alix was in awe. She grabbed the piece. “Where did you find this?”

Kagami smiled. With her voice modulator on, she said “I found it behind a ruler.” Alix was slightly confused, but didn’t have time to process it before Kagami left the stage and started running again.

“What is it?” Alix’s dad asked her.

Alix was still in shock, so it took her a few seconds to answer. “It’s the missing piece,” she said. “Cat Noir found it.”

Mr. Kubdel was shocked. “You mean, from the watch?” Alix nodded. “HA! I don’t believe it!”

“Neither do I” Alix said. She looked at it and smiled. “But it’s right here.”

“Well this is splendid!” Mr. Kubdel said. Just as the guards were continuing to follow Kagami, Mr. Kubdel stopped them. “Halt!” The guards looked at him. “Where did that person come from?”

“Ehe?” the guard answered. “Um, we found them messing with one of the Napoleon portraits.”

“I see” Mr. Kubdel said. “Remember that incident from a year ago?” They nodded. “Well, it seems the missing piece has been found by that mysterious Cat Noir.”

“Oh!” said the guard.

“Although we don’t know how it ended up there” Mr. Kubdel said. “Please, investigate this as soon as possible.”

“But sir. Wasn’t it the young girl who broke it?” the guard asked.

“No” Alix said, surprising the people around her. “Our focus was on her the entire time. She had no time to hide it.” Alix looked a little frustrated.

“...I guess that’s true” the guard responded.

“Now then, we should look into what really happened” Mr. Kubdel said.

“Roger sir!’ the guard said. They headed off.

Mr. Kubdel turned his attention back to the audience. “Well, pardon the interruption everyone, but I think we can agree that that was worth it. Or at least better than last time.” The audience chuckled. “Now then, where were we?”

Kagami was rushing to the restroom. At this point, no guard was following her, but she was feeling it. She made it back and again, slipped into the stall Marinette was in. “How’d it go?”

“Perfect” Kagami siad, as she started to change out of her Cat Noir costume and back into her dress. “I’ll come pick up the costume at a later date.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Marinette said. Kagami left.

Just as Marinette was about to leave, she got a text from Nathalie. “Marinette. Don’t leave just yet.”

Marinette texted back “OK”.

After the auction was over, everyone started leaving. Alix was still staring at the piece. “Isn’t it just great that Cat Noir found it?” Mr. Kubdel asked.

“Huh?” Alix said, caught off guard. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

“Here” Mr. Kubdel said, holding his hand out. “I’ll fix it up right away.” Alix smiled and gave the piece to her father.

At the Agreste family table, Nathalie got up. “I’m heading to the bathroom before we go” she said. She left abruptly.

Adrien smiled. “Adrien!” Lila said. Adrien turned around. Lila rushed up to him. “I had a wonderful evening. I can’t wait to do something like this again.”

Adrien smiled. He could tell Lila was throw off a little bit. I’m not sure if she’s suspicious of me, so maybe I should just add a little more charm to throw her off the scent for a bit. “Neither can I” he said. He grabbed Lila’s hand, and gave it a kiss.

Lila blushed. “Oh my.”

“Farewell” Adrien said. Lila walked off to meet up with her mother.

Meanwhile, Gabreil turned to Emilie and said “They seem cute together, don’t they?” Emilie giggled.

In the restroom, Marinette heard a knock. “It’s me,” Nathalie said.

Marinette opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Move” Nathalie said. Marinette did. Nathalie revealed a hidden wrench she had on her. She got down and toyed around with the toilet. “There.”

“Um, why did you do that?” Marinette asked.

“To throw people off further,” Nathalie said. “We can leave the sign up, and the people who saw this sign will think it’s for that instead of nothing, should anyone b suspicious after what happened tonight.”

“Oh I see,” Marinette said.

“Anyways, people are leaving now,” Nathalie said. “It’ll be the perfect time to get away.”

Marinette nodded. “Thank you Nathalie.” Marinette ran off. Nathalie left soon after.

As soon as Adrien got home he rushed to his room. His parents were a little slower going to their room, as they were gearing up to continue what they were doing in the closet. Nathalie stayed downstairs to work on a few things.

Once Adrien got to his bedroom, he headed to his bathroom, found a bottle of mouthwash, and started gulping it down. After five or six gulps, he had to breathe. “Blagh! I can’t believe I kissed Lila’s hand like that.” He downed some more mouthwash. He breathed again. “No matter. Tomorrow, I’m meeting with Marinette.” He smiled. “Let’s hope it goes better than tonight.” He changed into his pajamas and went to bed.

[rosaguard]

❀ . ━  ❛ ON AERIS’ DESI IDENTITY.

for the sake of making this question easier to answer, I’ll be breaking it up into parts ( yes, i tend to ramble about other things before fully getting to my overall point ). as always, i’m black - not south asian - but i do my best to research before speaking about a culture i do not belong to.

verumking asked : some questions about brown aeris because i'm. forever heart eyes tbh. // you've drawn a lot of parallels between hinduism and the cycle of life on gaia, and also the conflict between aeris' human desires and her duties as a cetra. is her desi identity something she specifically attributes to her cetra heritage? does she begin to embrace it in her day-to-day life at all-- i.e. making and wearing henna, cooking traditional food, etc? how do her views on her identity change with each incarnation? 

          this is a somewhat difficult question to answer simply because fin.al fa.ntasy often picks and chooses which game is going to be the one™ where the culture and identity of the people within the game actually matters and when it does not ( on a side note: the series in general has a bad habit of using real locations with brown people as inspiration for settings in the game and not reflecting the real people and culture of those locations within the games. half of xii’s party being white people from a desert region literally inspired by the middle east is a glaring example of this ). anyway, i would say vii itself easily places itself within the category of there not being any real sense of culture - or at least nothing of any real substance in my opinion. by that i mean things like how the sector 5 and 7 slums are essentially the same in the remake ( outside of the former being ‘greenier’ ) even though it doesn’t make sense for the equivalent of two mini-cities that are kind of semi-lawless / mostly left to fend for themselves by shinra to not have more of a difference regarding their identities: how they operate, how the people act within them, etc.

         there’s also the fact that one of the most well known locations within the game is a christian-styled church within the sector five slums...and yet no religion is ever mentioned within the game’s worldbuilding. the church’s very existence could be seen as ironic if there was actual commentary on humans ( unknowingly ) building a false religion over time as a result of the void created after their ancestors willing choose to abandon their connection to the planet but there isn’t any. humanity, at least within the context of this universe, are essentially treated as the equivalent of atheists that don’t ‘believe’ in the planet being a living organism that deserves to be respected. meanwhile the cetra, the closest thing the game has to a religious group, don’t really seem to follow any specific tenets of a faith outside of protecting the planet and cultivating life on it. basically, i find it weird that a human-made structure and the symbolism that comes with it is imprinted onto aeris of all characters. 

        on one hand i get the logic behind it: she’s easily the most ‘spiritual’ character of the group ( if not the whole game ) and is canonically white / ’western’ inspired as nom.ura put it so western concepts of what is pure / holy is going to be applied to her from a pure aesthetic standpoint alone. from the church, to her somewhat overused prayer pose™, and her own final limit break which has white angels taken straight out of christian art descend from the heavens in its animation sequence, this specific imagery is given to her a lot - even if it doesn’t make sense from an in-universe perspective. the reason i even bring any of this up is that i think how culture is used and applied to certain characters is already inconsistent which is worth pointing out. aeris’ own identity already clashes with itself in canon - some of it being fully intentional and a part of her arc ( her desires as an individual vs her duty as a cetra ) while some of it ( basically everything stated above ) is...definitely not? 

✿ : is her desi identity something she specifically attributes to her cetra heritage?

        yes and no. however, before i fully elaborate on why, i have to touch on how i view the cetra as a whole. i’ve always saw them as people who, while nomadic, still have individual ‘tribes’ they belong to / travel with and it would’ve been common for members of one group to branch off and intermingle / travel with another ( or even just travel on their own for a while ). the more the cetra travel and expand their ‘network’ across the entire planet, it’s only natural that groups are going to start forming their own unique differences, whether it’s with looks, how they speak, and their culture, with their bond to the planet and their duty being what ties them all together. the cetra being separated into specific tribes is also directly supported within canon: 

ifalna: 2000 years ago, our ancestors, the cetra, heard the cries of the planet. the first ones to discover the planet's wound were the cetra at the knowlespole*. 

ifalna: then, just as it had at the knowlespole. it approached other cetra clans...... infecting them with... the virus.

while the cetra capital, the city of the ancients, is in knowlespole ( the modern equivalent of the region that the icicle inn and the northern crater is ), ifalna confirms that other clans beyond it exist. although the details around jenova’s arrival and defeat are unclear, from ifalna’s retelling of what happened ( and her distraught response while doing so ) it seems as if all of the cetra that first encountered jenova were either killed or infected before jenova moved on to do the same to other clans. this more than likely results in entire sub-cultures and histories lost before jenova is sealed away by the cetra aeris descends from ( which would explain why there’s not much recorded information on the cetra within the universe ). 

      one also has to remember the groups of cetra that branched away from the others and become humans. although they abandoned their duties, it’s very likely that they still retained aspects of cetra culture and it just changed / adapted over a period of two thousand years. with the cetra mostly wiped out and forgotten about, i don’t find it realistic for aeris, at least at the beginning of the game, to really know which ‘parts’ of herself come from where; especially since there would realistically be desi-coded humans that haven’t had ties to the cetra in thousands of years. although i headcanon both her mother and father as brown / desi, aeris doesn’t know who her father, professor gast, even is and the years she spent with her mother were in complete captivity. based on aeris’ ignorance about the white materia ( ex. her thinking it was useless originally ) and the cetra in general, one would assume that ifalna wasn’t able to teach aeris much due to not wanting to reveal anything to shinra since they were likely under constant surveillance. there’s also the fact that aeris outright rejects being a cetra as a child and tries ( yet fails ) to assimilate into ‘human’ culture:

“well…” kyrie replied. “there’s a crumbling church in the slums, where we played together. we did things like pretending to hold wedding ceremonies. aeris was always in the church, taking care of the flowers on her own. sometimes we talked about it. one day, aeris told me to go home quickly. i thought she was being mean because i stepped on her flowers.”

“when i got home in a bad mood, my parent’s bodies were being carried to the house. i heard it from my grandmother. about the lifestream and the ancients. i thought it was just a fairytale at the time, but after that— i figured aeris was an ancient. ...hey, what do you think i said when i met aeris after that? i said ‘you creep me out’.” - kyrie revealing her relationship with aeris after learning of her death in the kids are alright novel.

     i guess the real world equivalent of what i’m trying to say would be similar to how i’m black / african american but do i really associate myself and my identity with africa beyond a surface level? the answer is no. how could i when i don’t know anything of my ancestors, african americans are generally robbed of learning about our history, and i don’t even know what ‘part’ of africa i come from. navigating your identity, your culture, and your heritage is extremely complicated and i don’t really see it being any different for aeris. she doesn’t have any way to truly ‘discover’ and connect with her cultural identity - even if she wasn’t actively rejecting it. 

✿ : does she begin to embrace it in her day-to-day life at all? i.e. making and wearing henna, cooking traditional food, etc?

      she does - although it’s a gradual process that doesn’t start until she leaves midgar. canonically, it’s not even until cosmos canyon that aeris finally begins to ‘connect’ to her heritage and fully understand what it means to be a cetra:

aeris: i learned a lot. the elders taught me many things. about the cetra... and the promised land...i'm...... alone... i'm all alone now... 

however, in between chasing sephiroth, almost dying, and then saving the world, she doesn’t have much time to come to terms with everything that she learned there. in my blog canon, she does eventually leave edge a few years after its built to begin traveling on her own and eventually finds herself back in cosmos canyon. realistically, the elders there don’t have all the answers for her but her simply studying there is an important stepping stone to reclaiming a part of herself that she never got to know - or really accepted ( her parents also studied and met there so her life would be coming full circle in a way ). 

      so with all that said, i see aeris’ ‘embracing’ her desi heritage the most with fashion at first since she technically already does - regardless of whether she realizes it or not. the ultimania for the remake includes concept art for the cetra ( which can be viewed fully here ) and they’re specifically said to have been designed to have similarities to aeris - meaning that aeris’ current style of clothing is meant to embody her ancestors. highlighting a cetra design that looks weirdly similar to aeris herself, this cetra’s outfit - at least to me - feels similar to clothing popular in india and other parts of south asia: 

if the dress was taken out and a few alterations was made to her top and half-skirt, it could easily resemble how a lehenga choli piece is worn. the top piece of her half-skirt also resembles the look of an oddiyanam, a type of waist ornament that women in south india wear.

there are other cetra’ accessories that resemble jewelry common in india as well: the armlet on the unnamed cetra resembles a bajuband ( a similar one can be found here ) and bangles similar to a kangan or churi, commonly worn by women across south asia, are prominent in both aeris and the cetra’s overall designs too. 

     with mehndi / henna, i definitely see her wearing it across her hands and feet but it’s mostly similar to whenever she wears traditional dresses: it’s reserved for special occasions / celebrations. with that said, that’s more so when she’s grown accustomed to applying henna herself without messing up or someone else is doing it for her. it wouldn’t be uncommon to see aeris’ hands decorated with different patterns every few months: a direct result of using her own body as practice when first learning how to draw designs ( if you want to get full fantasy with it, the designs glowing against her skin when she uses magic would be neat ). as a side note: for those who don’t know, there is a short story about aeris’ time in the shinra labs. it contains a drawing by her, which is also in the remake, that has more designs for the cetra ( you can see the unedited version here ):

     also aeris cooking? l o l. joking aside, in my three years of writing aeris i’ve never really put much thought into her style of cooking, what type of food she specifically likes to eat, etc. outside of the fact that i don’t think she is much of a cooker at all ( probably because i’m not one either ). however, i cannot let a question go answered so! i’m probably going to sound redundant mentioning cosmos canyon again at this point but it really is due to the fact that it’s specifically the source of her connecting to who she is. the drawing she drew in a trance as a child even includes a location that is more than likely cosmos canyon ( and yes, i checked to compare ). the most notable npcs there are all brown and i do see them all being people of color that have come from different parts of the planet to share knowledge and learn amongst each other. although her main purpose of living in cosmos canyon the years she’s there is to study her people and record her own knowledge ( i’ll touch on this later ), it also provides her with an opportunity to connect with other people that are desi-coded like her on a more personal-level. 

     am i basically saying she probably tasted some type of chaat ( dahi vada specifically ) for the first time after leaving midgar and never looked back? yes. it’s not until aeris leaves midgar that she gets to experience trying out various food from her own culture as well as food from cultures outside of it in general ( not that these foods didn’t exist in midgar but she’s poor and doesn’t really have the means / opportunity to try them before ). aeris definitely becomes a fan of dishes that are savory with gravy, can be eaten with sauces like chutney ( she likes red chili, spicy coconut and mango chutney the most ), or dishes based around vegetables ( although if there’s spinach it, don’t tell her because ew ), fish or lamb. dishes such as rajma, samosas, sambar, biryani ( it’s probably one of the first desi dishes she would cook on her own ), pakora ( she’s definitely eaten chili pepper pakoras without a sweat ), etc. are all up her alley. aeris admittedly also has a sweet tooth so snacks like kozhukkattai, gulab jamun served with ice cream, etc. also appeals to her greatly™.

    the process of eating these dishes when they’re made by other people vs actually introducing them into her day to day eating habits are two different things though. not to say that she wouldn’t make an effort to try - she definitely will but learning how to cook these dishes takes time ( especially if you’re already not much of a cook. ). incorporating them into her daily lifestyle wouldn’t be an instant process but it will happen eventually.

✿ : how do her views on her identity change with each incarnation? 

     as the embodiment of the lifestream, aeris is constantly consuming information between each reincarnation. the lifestream houses memories and knowledge since the planet’s very inception so she literally has thousands of years of information to sort through and process between each new ‘life’. the different cetra clans that were mentioned earlier? aeris would technically have the ability to trace back the memories of her entire lineage and discover which clan she’s from if she wanted to. with every incarnation, she’s learning a little more about her people, where she comes from, etc. and being a cetra starts to feel like less of a burden to her and a role she starts to embrace / actively take pride in. while there will come a time where she’s not the ‘last cetra’ anymore, aeris essentially becomes an eternal record keeper for her people.

once she begins working with the WRO, it’s actually her idea to start an annual celebration event ( or festival ) during the anniversary of meteorfall. despite her people being nomadic and spread out, the cetra had a capital city and it’s not far fetched to assume that it was used as a place for the cetra to converge during important events, celebrations, etc. through aeris, aspects of their culture begin to live on in new ways such as the meteorfall festival which becomes a celebration of life and the planet itself. while the festival isn’t intended to have any real world parallel, i do think the symbolism of the diwali festival is fitting for the events of sephiroth’s defeat / lifestream and holy destroying meteor:

 diwali symbolizes the spiritual victory of light over darkness, good over evil, and knowledge over ignorance.

overall, no matter how many times she reincarnates, aeris always returns to cosmos canyon to record everything she knows, whether its her own life experiences, the memory of her people, or their culture, so that her children, her grandchildren, and so on can always have knowledge of their history and identity in a way that she wasn’t able to.

✿ : brown aeris says thanks for reading!

i hope this was a satisfying answer to your questions! i try to do my best with honoring the cultures i’m talking about and not treating them in a haphazardly and/or lazy way. i wanted to explain her journey of being someone not really connected to their heritage at all and explaining the process she goes through in a realistic way without..making it surface level? hopefully i achieved that!

[bimboamyrose]

Unfamiliar (Ch. 12)

Unfamiliar - A Metamy Fanfic

First two chapters

Previous (Ch.11)

Ch. 12 - Everything Has Changed

There was a long tradition of wearing white during the vernal equinox. While Amy had always celebrated on her own, not having known anyone in the occult community personally, it didn’t stop her from wearing a floaty white gown to welcome the sunrise most years. And just her luck- it was meant to be warm the next day during the festival! She had just the dress.

She pulled a gauze sundress from her wardrobe, hanging it on the back of her door in preparation. She smoothed out its long, sheer sleeves and flowing skirt, admiring its pristine appearance. It had been purchased over a year earlier for a picnic that never happened- date plans that fell through or were possibly never really finalized. It was typically how it went with Sonic.

With a sigh, Amy set out the rest of her outfit and changed into loungewear for the evening. It wasn’t late, but she also wasn’t doing anything until morning- very early morning. She had already decided to welcome the sunrise on her own, but it was going to be a long day at the festival nonetheless.

The living room was empty when she stepped out. Metal was reading on the back porch when she slid through the doorway, and he acknowledged her with a quick glance and nod. Amy had handed him the 300-page novel about an hour earlier, but the page was already turned halfway through the book. She probably shouldn’t have been as impressed as she was, Amy thought, but it was still a sight. I thought I was a quick reader.

After a few minutes of breathing in the night air and listening to the quick page-turning behind her, Amy turned to Metal’s cross-legged figure on the floor of the deck. “Are you enjoying it?”

Metal nodded without returning her gaze. Another page turned.

Amy leaned on the deck railing, listening as distant waves crashed ashore. It was a pleasantly cool night- she wasn’t shivering without her blanket as she had been for months. She also welcomed the faint scent of rosemary that sprouted from her small garden, having smelled nothing but salt and snow since last autumn. Another crisp page turn.

“You don’t have to finish it in one sitting, you know.” No response. She faced him. “Do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

Metal held up a pointy index finger, signaling to give him a minute. Amy couldn’t help but snort at this gesture, knowing he’d seen someone do it on TV not long ago and was quick to pick up communication cues. There was another brief silence before Metal closed the book, having reached the end of the chapter.

“Do you like it so far?”

Metal gave her a pronounced nod. He was intrigued, reading about the long chain of events leading a triumphant hero home after a conquest overseas. The many adventures and accomplishments described in the writing were compelling, and Metal found himself engrossed in the power fantasy.

Amy nodded. “Thought so. It’s one of my favorites.”

The first time she’d said this, Metal was surprised- but after seeing another side of her at the arcade, he understood. The book’s protagonist was powerful, clever, determined... perhaps she related. Or maybe she was just a fantasy adventure buff; He appreciated the recommendation either way.

“So, about that movie-” Amy was interrupted by a loud ringtone coming from inside. She hurried back into her room to pick up the call.

Admittedly, a movie sounded pretty mundane after everything Metal had read that evening. Most of what he’d done in the last weeks had been mundane. It was strange, being directionless, just waiting for the opportunity to recover his memory. And then what? He was getting used to experiencing unfamiliar affairs; the novelty was wearing off. He could continue waiting for something big to happen- to remember his past life, or have an encounter with his creator- but he knew it ultimately wasn’t what was keeping him there. The real reason peeked through the back door and beckoned him in.

“Tails wants to talk to you,” Amy said as she handed him her device.

“Oh- hi Metal.” Tails still found a certain degree of awkwardness in speaking to the robot directly. He had hoped for Amy to interpret. Metal raised a hand in greeting from the other end. “Hey, would you wanna come over tomorrow so I can take a look at a few things?”

“Tails...” Amy scolded gently from off-screen.

“O-oh right. Uh… how are you?” After seeing Metal look off past the screen with a confused beep, Tails continued. “There’s this chat function if you need it- here.”

A speech bubble came on screen. Tails: Hi!

Metal was less worried about how to communicate than what he would actually say. How do people usually answer that question? He tapped gingerly at the screen.

Amy: Operating normally.

“Ah, that’s good.” There was a pause. Amy had insisted Tails talk to Metal personally, emphasizing that she thought it important to let him speak for himself. Manners and pleasantries were also mentioned, but Tails had a feeling Metal didn’t have a lot of those skills going for him either. “Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better myself…”

Metal didn’t have a lot of experience with conversations, but it did seem logical to repeat the question. He made a note to do this for next time. As for answering Tails, Metal held his hand in a thumbs-up on screen. The signal seemed to him quite versatile.

“Okay. Anyway, I was wondering if you could come over tomorrow for a checkup? And, maybe we can replace your, you know.”

It had been on Metal’s mind ever since he began to remember seemingly random moments from his past. And he would be in need of recharging and refueling soon, anyway. There was, however, a conflict- he looked up at Amy.

“Are you okay with going to Tails’ by yourself after you drop me off?” she asked.

Though he’d promised her a ride, Amy would be away for the afternoon either way. It didn’t seem to interfere with her plans, so he nodded at Tails and typed a short message.

Amy: 1:25 PM

“Oh,” Tails responded, “that’s… precise. Works for me, I guess.” Another uncomfortable pause. Usually one would continue the conversation in some way, at least acknowledging the agreement, but neither Tails nor Metal really understood what the other was looking for. “Okay, well, see you then. Bye.” Tails chuckled awkwardly before hanging up.  

Amy clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “Looks like you have plans for tomorrow! Great.”

Metal wasn’t sure if he considered sitting idle in a lab “plans,” since Tails deactivated him last time and it wasn’t the most pleasant feeling. It was just simple maintenance in his eyes. He shrugged casually, placing the communicator aside.

Hands innocently clasped behind her back, Amy leaned in with her usual charming grin. “Still up for a movie?”

--------

Amy’s taste in films ws, evidently, not like that of her favorite novels. She shoved popcorn into her mouth absent-mindedly as they both sat watching from her couch, Metal’s  perpetually confused state causing him to shift focus from the television to Amy and back. “It’s a romantic comedy,” she’d told him. “The main characters are work rivals who really like each other but neither will admit it. It’s pretty funny!” It was no wonder neither of the characters admitted their affection for the other- they were constantly at odds, combative even. Amy swooned every time the two leads competed or argued over something petty and one became flustered.

Perhaps it was his limited understanding of relationships or romance but Metal had been under the impression that couples generally enjoyed one another’s company. But when the film’s protagonist decided to move far away and faced little opposition from the romantic interest, the duo seemed to compete over who could appear more cool and unphased. Just as Metal thought he could predict the ending, Amy chimed in. “Oh, here comes the grand gesture!” Sure enough, one of the characters stopped the other from leaving at the very last moment and feelings of affection were finally shared. “Aww,” he heard Amy sigh dreamily. Watching 86 minutes of tension between those two only to become a couple in the end was beyond vexing.

Amy stretched her arms as the credits rolled. “What did you think of the movie? Cute, right?”

Cute wasn’t the word he would have chosen. Did it really only take a single gesture for people to fall in love? No, they were hiding their affection- but why? He scratched at his forehead instead.

“Confused? Is it ‘cause they were rivals?” she chuckled. Metal bobbed his head around, thinking that was pretty obvious. “Love is complicated,” she stated as matter of fact. “Trust me…” Amy trailed off with a huff before hopping off the couch. “I’m not very sleepy, can we watch another?”

There wasn’t much point in disagreeing, so Amy quickly put on the next film and made herself a hot cup of camomile as the intro began. “This movie’s also a romance, but it’s more of a drama. It’s kind of a tear-jerker,” she giggled.

Did that mean she was going to cry? Why would she be so cheery about that? Whenever Metal thought he began to understand, some little, bewildering nuance made itself known. He would have been annoyed had Amy not plopped herself back down next to him with a flushed smile and excitement in her virescent eyes.

The leads in this film did look to be more interested in each other than the last. They’d spent some time together one spring before becoming separated, and the romantic interest then spent the rest of the movie trying to recapture the protagonists’ affections. It was incredibly long- much slower paced than the last. Amy began yawning about an hour in, and by the time the second act was wrapping up, she’d laid her head on the couch. “I’ll head to bed after this…” she started, but ended up fast asleep on a throw pillow just minutes later.

Metal couldn’t keep himself from glancing at Amy’s sleeping form every few minutes.  It became increasingly difficult to concentrate on the television the more he checked on Amy- noting her breathing pattern, heart rate, temperature. A bit cold. He pulled the blanket she kept draped on the back of the couch over her body, resting his head in his hand as he observed her. U nable to focus, he wondered why he was even still watching the film at that point and was about to switch it off when the current scene caught his eye. The couple must have reconciled, as they were now sitting together on a picnic blanket, one’s head laying in the other’s lap. The love interest’s fingers were buried tenderly in the protagonist’s hair as they enjoyed the scenery together.

He gazed back at Amy. She lay with her head inches from his lap, curled up comfortably in her warm blanket. Breathing steadily. Hair splayed out over her makeshift pillow. Metal had to stop himself as he lifted a hand in her direction, shaking his head and fixing his eyes back on the TV. The last scene had apparently been a flashback, as the leads were now much older. One sat at the other’s bedside in a hospital, recounting the memory. The protagonist died moments later. That was… certainly a dark turn. It must be what Amy meant when she mentioned the sorrowful theme.

Metal laid eyes on his friend once more as he contemplated the ending. At least, he attempted to. The scene of the lovers on a picnic blanket was the only thing capable of occupying his mind at that moment. It seemed so peaceful, so quiet. Metal found himself enjoying those tranquil moments during his own day; doubly so if Amy happened to be near. It was what one could call relaxing. And she did seem incredibly comfortable around him - as he did with her. As credits rolled on the screen, he leaned in a little closer to Amy, inching his hand toward her tousled hair. It looked soft and silk-like; inviting even. Would this wake her?

As gently as possible, Metal touched the end of Amy’s quills with his fingertips. They were smoothly brushed down, tapered bluntly to be minimally prickly. He’d often noticed her combing her hair so it laid sleekly out of the way, even seeing her trim the ends once. Though her quills couldn’t scratch or prick him, the mildly wooly texture felt pleasant in his hand. Metal’s fingers crawled up the length of her short bob and towards her scalp, where he combed down any stray pieces that had slipped out of the neatly styled locks in her sleep. Amy stirred slightly and Metal swore his engine stopped functioning for the split second he thought to have awoken her. To his relief, she just nuzzled her face into the cushion a bit before laying still once more.

Her bangs covered her sleeping eyes now. Metal brushed the short wisps away from her face and gazed at her reposeful expression. This is what regular people look like when they rest- tranquil, relaxed, with small, gentle movements. Still but alive. Metal supposed his own idle body was more of a lifeless prop and tried to imagine what actual sleep felt like as he separated thin strands of her hair, letting them glide between his fingers until the ends slid out of his grip and floated back down.

After some time, he checked his clock- it was just past 2:00 AM. Metal was unsure what it meant, but he’d understood Amy wanted to “welcome” the vernal sunrise. He doubted she’d hear the alarm from inside her room. Sunrise would occur at 7:34 AM. She took about 30 minutes to get ready, on average. A few more minutes to travel to the appropriate location. Setting his internal alarm for 6:15, Metal resolved to ensure Amy awoke in time for her strange ritual. He smoothed down any quills he’d misplaced on her head and switched off the TV. It was probably time for him to “rest” as well; but something about Amy sleeping at his side kept him lucid and he sat awake with his thoughts for hours, peeking over at her when she entered his mind. He did this every few minutes.

There was still so much for him to consider. He hadn’t remembered anything new since Amy recounted their last story back on Angel Island. She’d even told him about other times they encountered each other over the years, though they didn’t interact with one another directly for some time. It was fruitless. To Metal, it sounded as if he’d been dragged along on his creator’s various schemes only to lose every time- but none of it was familiar in his mind. If he could think freely, if he could crave autonomy, then why had he stayed with Eggman for so long? How did the man manage to keep Metal on his side for nearly ten years? There must have been something in his memory that could provide an answer. He needed to understand his past perspective.

Metal’s alarm was due to go off in another minute. It was the longest he’d sat on his own, just thinking- no, not on his own; with a friend by his side. Even separated by consciousness, Amy’s presence felt comforting and provided him some fortitude. Metal heard Amy’s alarm go off faintly from her room. He was pleased with himself for predicting just the time she planned to wake up. It didn’t seem to reach her ears, as she continued to snooze, so he tapped her on the shoulder softly until her eyes half-opened.

She grumbled groggily for a moment before shooting up unexpectedly. “Did I- is it the next day?” She looked around frantically. Metal chimed to get her attention and she whipped her head around as her face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh my gosh- did I fall asleep here? I’m so sorry!”

Metal watched her scramble out from under the blanket and grope under the couch for her missing slippers. He was waving his hands in front of him dismissively, but Amy was too panicked to notice. “I probably missed my alarm,” she thought aloud. He finally took hold of her shoulder to get her attention. Then he cocked his head in the direction of the digital clock beneath the TV. 6:17 AM. It was early.

“Oh, I still have time,” she exhaled. Wearing an apologetic smile, she turned back to her friend. “Thanks for waking me. Sorry I kinda took over your bed…” It wasn’t the most eloquent way to put it. Amy could feel her cheeks warming up again. “I should go get ready!”

Amy’s exit from the living room was never complete without tossing the blanket over the back of the couch, which she did more haphazardly than usual before slinking away into her bedroom. Metal sank back into the cushions, now staring out the back door into the predawn darkness. Well equipped to see through the night, he watched absent-mindedly as some palm trees swayed in the distance. The sunrise “woke” him daily, but he supposed this would be his first time observing it. He was sure he’d get a front row seat of the dusk horizon first…

In her room, Amy groomed her hair hastily, still red-faced and slightly shaken. Falling asleep on the couch when you live by yourself is one thing, but it was definitely rude with a roommate present. Wait, roommate? Was Metal living with her really becoming that official? She did her best to perish the thought as she combed her lashes with mascara.

Amy dug up an old wood-beaded necklace and tan belt from her wardrobe, accessorizing her otherwise monochromatic outfit. She slipped on her lightweight dress, tugging on the underskirt as she noticed it bunching in the mirror. She spent far too long adjusting the billowy sleeves and repositioning her belt, still a bit embarrassed to face her house guest. It was a quarter to seven now. Time to get outside and start the ritual before it became too late.

Pulling a small saddle bag over her head, Amy stepped out of the room quietly. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said as she scuttled toward the back door. To her surprise, Metal was waiting for her just by the exit, leaning against the wall.

Amy floated into the room, looking ethereal in the airy ensemble. Certainly a change from her usual colorful garments and the bulky outerwear she sported to keep her warm. Metal tried to hide the strange delight he felt at the sight of her and casually pointed a thumb out toward the dark outdoors, offering her a ride. She lit up.

“Oh! Did you want to come?” Amy hadn’t expected him to join her, much less after worrying about the awkward situation she found herself in that morning. Finding that Metal didn’t seem to mind was a weight off. ”Well, it’s nothing fancy since I’d have to hike pretty far to get to where you can see eastward clearly. I usually just do it from the beach,” she shrugged, not wanting to get his hopes up. “It’s still nice to watch the sky, though.”

A small miscalculation. Metal assumed Amy would ask for a ride and already knew where they were going- it was obvious to him, anyway. The taller hills on the other side of the valley gave an unobstructed view of the eastern coastline, and there was still time to fly there. He shook his head, offering Amy his outstretched palm. She understood immediately.

“You wanna fly somewhere? Is it close?” He nodded. “Well…” Amy placed a hand over his, feeling herself blush for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning, this time backed by a much more pleasant warmth.

-----

Dawn’s first light illuminated the horizon in soft gray tones as the sun got ready to emerge. Amy’s pale figure practically glowed against the dim morning. She’d adorned herself with a light shawl against the cool air and every inch of her attire trailed behind in the gentle breeze. Metal watched as she wrote in a journal and took clockwise steps around an imaginary circle before sitting on her heels to meditate. It was an unusual ritual, the point of which was lost on him; but learning about the tradition was interesting to Metal, if only because it was so to Amy. After a few minutes, she invited him to sit with her and wait for sunrise.

Metal crossed his legs as he sat by her. He looked ahead into the horizon, but was still observing her rhythmic breathing and occasional soft sigh. “Thanks for bringing me here- it’s definitely a step up from sitting a few feet from the house,” she chuckled. “I usually do this alone. It’s kinda nice having someone to share it with, though.” He nodded at this with a soft, mechanical tone. She turned to him and continued. “The point of doing this isn’t just to watch the sunrise, you know. It’s supposed to help you reflect and get in touch with your surroundings. You’re pretty attentive already- maybe you can try seeing how many sounds you can hear.”

On the surface, it sounded silly; There was hardly a moment when Metal wasn’t contemplating something or listening to his surroundings. Yet he recalled the first time Amy advised him to reflect all those years ago, when the world was new to him. He was just as directionless again now. Back then, he’d ignored all the signs, all the guidance- and from what little he could remember, it didn’t appear to land him anywhere worthwhile. Metal glanced at Amy momentarily before concentrating fully on listening to what occurred around him. Despite the overall quiet, leaves rustled and birds chirped in the distance. The ocean swayed calmly below as little animals scuttled about high in the trees behind him. And then there was Amy- her steady respiration and the light billowing of her dress in the breeze. It was grounding, somehow- Metal’s mind was clear for what felt like the first time in his life.

“It’s rising.” After spending quite some time mostly listening, there was now something to see as well. The sun inched over the horizon, warming the sky with its red and orange light.

Amy pulled out her small journal and scribbled some notes before raising her face toward the rising sun. The sunrise was beautiful, but Metal found himself watching the scene through the reflection in Amy’s shimmering eyes rather than putting much attention to the sky.

“I’ve been thinking,” she finally faced him, “it feels like everything has changed lately. Having you here has been really… different. In a good way.” She paged back and forth through the book with her index finger absently. “But, change can be scary, sometimes. I remember one time...” Amy shook her head anxiously, staring straight out into the ocean. “Well, I guess you could say... you rebelled? Against Eggman.”

Metal listened to her with intrigue. He had hoped that the next thing she’d recount would lead to answers, but so far it was only causing further confusion. If he had rebelled against his master at some point, something in her nervous eyes told him it wasn’t for the better.

The colors up ahead shifted steadily from magenta and lilac to greyish blue as the sun made its way past the horizon. A bright golden column shone in the sea and as Amy squinted in the yellow light, she lowered her eyes to its watery reflection below. Just as she parted her lips to continue, a distinct ZIP came from behind the pair. Amy jerked her body around to look over the other side of the cliff. Metal’s engine was already whirring in annoyance as he predicted what came next.

The breeze turned to a whirlwind momentarily as Sonic skidded to a halt in front of Metal and Amy. The sudden gust sent her dress billowing wildly and the shawl she wore across her shoulders floated up and away, past the eastern edge of the cliff. “Woah!” Sonic jumped for the scarf but it was out of his reach before he could catch it. “Uh, oops,” he chuckled remorsefully.

Amy was about to bemoan the loss of her silky stole when another sudden gust blew back her hair and skirt once more. Metal propelled himself off the cliffside to go after it. Amy and Sonic watched as it drifted just out of Metal’s grasp a few times. Sonic received a dirty look from her when he appeared far too amused at the sight. Metal finally managed to catch it, returning it to its owner.

“Thanks, Metal,” Amy reached out and took hold of her scarf, which, to her dismay, made a harsh ripping sound as she pulled it back toward her. She gasped slightly when she realized it had become  unfortuitously caught in Metal’s claws when she attempted to take it back. A lamentful ring came from him in realization. “It’s okay! I can fix it when we get home, don’t worry.”  Amy gave her friend a reassuring smile, dawning the scarf over her shoulders once more and folding the tear out of sight. “Thank you, really.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” Sonic apologized from the sideline.

“It’s fine,” Amy exhaled. She didn’t want to sour the tranquility of the morning altogether by having a tantrum. All in all, it was still a nice surprise to see him. “You’re up early.”

Sonic rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s 7:30 in the morning. You really haven’t slept all night?”

“Nope,” he snickered. “Hey, am I interrupting? I need to talk to you.”

“Well,” Amy sighed, turning back to Metal. “Let’s talk later, okay?” If Sonic was looking for her, it must have been important.

Metal looked from Sonic back to Amy with crossed arms. He would have made some sassy response if she didn’t return his gaze so pleadingly, preemptively beaming with gratitude. With a nod, he offered her a hand getting up that she graciously accepted.

Sonic cleared his throat. “Sorry, mind if we get a little privacy? I’ll walk you home so we can chat.”

Even though she knew his intent wasn’t malicious, Amy still frowned at Sonic’s request in the wake of how rude it must have sounded to her friend. “Could you meet me back home, Metal?” He simply returned with a reluctant nod which she thanked him for. Amy waved him off as her and Sonic started down the hillside.

“You’re good with walking, right?” Sonic nodded toward Amy’s open footwear, which didn’t seem the most comfortable for a hike.

“I’ll be fine! Is everything okay?”

“Well…”

Their voices drifted away before Metal could catch anything significant; not that he was looking to eavesdrop. It would be at least a 30-minute hike down, then another few minutes before they arrived at the beach. Metal stared into the horizon for the better part of that time, trying desperately to remember something- anything- about what Amy had begun recounting. He’d rebelled. It was as Metal suspected: he hadn’t remained completely loyal all those years. Wasn’t it the same as what he was doing now? Why hadn’t Amy said anything earlier? Metal raised his palm to eye-level, examining his sharp fingers and wondering uneasily what suffering came at those cold hands.

.........................................................

hi babes- thanks for reading as always. reminder i’m adding songs to the playlist each chapter and if you have a suggestion, shoot it my way

oh and someone asked if this is on a03 and it is! in case you’d like to bookmark it. i post here first though!

xo

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 14: Commend

Esredes liked to consider himself someone who could break the world down into things that made sense, or at least identify where they did not.

Everything had to fit neatly into preexisting pieces. This is how one thing operated, this was how another functioned and went. People often defied this in various ways- in romance, especially, for one, throwing themselves at the worst possible matches and declaring it love, or in various other areas that should require logical thinking, and instead he watched everyone flounder.

Esredes himself tried to make sense too, and he liked to think he made perfect sense until a giant wrench was thrown into his entire life, multiple times. An ordinary noble man serving his duty as a Temple Knight, there was nothing to misunderstand. He would fight and die for his city, and that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t leave behind things undone in a trail of misery, it would all wrap up in a neat little bow and be laid into the ground, for he wasn’t composed like a civilian with more to offer.

A soldier that wasn’t a real person, through and gone. Simple.

And then he was a harrier, and then he was a citizen again, and if things hadn’t stopped making sense before, they absolutely did by the time he regained legal person status. Now everyone wanted different things out of him.

During the war, he had at least been exactly as he was before- a soldier, designed to die on the battlefield. Even if his halves got muddled and mixed into a pool of confusion at times, he had that.

But being forced to accept a civilian role left him lost. People told him so many different things, more than usual. “You should be allowed to live your life. You’re a real person, Esredes. You deserve happiness.” Put together, that was the summary of what everyone said- he should try to be a real person now. Ever a skeptic, this did not make sense to Esredes. People weren’t simply born with the capacity to become true people- they either were or were not. He had felt that emptiness inside him for all of his life, and everyone else had noticed he wasn’t real too. You could tell in the way people looked at and responded to you, that they noticed something was missing, no matter how much you tried to shapeshift around it. The insults were just one of many parts of it- stick in the mud or up somewhere specific, no fun, boring, filthy traitor, bastard, disgusting, brat, idiot, snake, manipulative, untrustworthy, and the ever present times heretic was used as an insult, that was just every day, something to absorb to prevent a real person from taking it.

Hm, Esredes thought to himself. No, he didn’t believe what all these people said, but perhaps if only to see if there was a chance in hell of their idea being logical, he considered their arguments, and tried testing them through shapeshifting. “You’re not a monster,” people often told him when he tried to say the obvious. “You’re just someone who fought for what was right and made the hard choices.” Those he loved most would tell him in soft tones how much he meant to them and how he was capable of so much more than he thought. “Please, Esredes. Live for yourself.” How would that ever be possible? He went out every day and people were immediately hostile, even if they didn’t know anything about who he was. They did not see a real person when they looked upon him, and he couldn’t magically make himself one, not like this. Strange things did happen, that was true. Like Heilyn. Heilyn was a useless bastard who hated him for being a heretic who actually did something. There was no convincing Heilyn otherwise- how could he after he had manipulated his son into helping him?

Except Esredes kept forgetting Heilyn was one of those people who never made sense. "I just don't understand why we can't just both give each other more of a chance.” Heilyn had told him during those first couple weeks of them being stuck together in the same job, with Esredes trying to torment him into quitting. “That goes for both sides. I was an ass in the past sure, but... doesn't wanting to make up for that count for something?" "You want to make up for it?" Esredes asked back with an eyebrow raise. "What motivation would you have for that besides that you're forced to now that you can't get rid of me?" "Trying to be a better person? Right my wrongs? I actually care? All of the above?" Esredes’ brow raised up even further. “You actually care about what.” “You, this, all of it?” Heilyn spoke as if this was supposed to be obvious. “Is there something wrong with that?” “…Yes? That doesn’t make any sense.” God, why did this broken stupid tall man constantly fail to have any form of sense? It frustrated him to no end. “Explain which part doesn’t make sense and I’ll gladly explain it to you.” "You claiming you care about me. I don't get it. Are you really suggesting that you give any ounce of a shit about the man you've put a dagger to, insulted relentlessly, know berated your son, and sold your soul to as your last ditch way out? Because that... is just straight up lying to yourself to make this situation more tolerable. Even I know you better than that." "And if I'm not lying? What then Esredes? I... learned a thing or two from Alastor. Changed my mind a little. Thus, I want to make up for past things said. Its that simple." Esredes just stared at Heilyn for a moment. "...Nope. That still makes the least amount of sense possible." Heilyn shook his head. “Did I... not phrase that right? I thought I was finally getting better at my shitty phrasing." "I... I don't even know. Phrasing or not, that just doesn't make sense." "I'm... pretty sure I spoke plainly? I've been told I don't make sense often because I don't do that. Or... wait. Do you just not believe it at all?" "No I don't believe it all. What reason would I have to? You already know how horrible I am." "I learned? I listened? Perceptions can change feelings you know." "What the hell are you talking about. We didn't speak between you asking me for help and now. And in that time, you've seen and heard nothing except me insulting you. You still believe me to be the devil you sold your soul to willingly." Because Heilyn could be nothing but a fucking idiot. "Alastor didn't," Heilyn replied plainly as he looked across the table at Esredes’ eyes with conviction. "He didn't and told me all that he could about you. Insisting I shouldn't hate. So I listened, and I learned, and my perception changed."

Still, he didn’t want to get it. A few days later and Esredes was bringing up the same thing. "So. You claim to have changed your mind... after Alastor told you. Which must have been after it happened. And yet, you still acknowledged me as only a devil when you sold yourself to me. You were only using me as a way out. So, I still don't really have, any sort of reason to believe you. And so I suppose that is my question. Why, Heilyn? Why does nothing about you ever make any sense? Why is it that you think in such an incomprehensibly impulsive way that I have no hope of understanding? How are you supposed to work, really? Is there any method to the madness, to how you just flounder and scream in your own head? This is a genuine question, I assure you."

Heilyn was silent for a good few moments before he finally sighed and spoke. "So, the answer is probably going to piss you off, but when we met before taking on that bitch, that was the longest period of time I'd spent in this area in ages. I was under a shitton of stress, and on top of that the song was just raging like hell in my ears. I hardly had clarity until the first time Alastor helped kill that monster. Then there was just a bit of sweet relief to ease the mind. Bottom line? I was stressed, and just pissed that nothing was going right all the while just making sure that my stupid son who got accused of murder was okay. The plan wasn't even to come back here until I heard that he had no place to go that was safe aside from my family's manor. Figured he was lost, scared, and needed me, so I took the risks and paid the prices." "Yeah. Yeah, you did. But that still doesn't answer part of the question. Do you understand why it's extremely hard to believe your claims from the other day?" "Oh yeah, I totally understand. My mind... was- is like a storm some days. And I'm like a little boat just trying to make it through. Find the eye of the storm, or have someone guide the boat to it. Alastor told me things, and that started getting me to that place. seeing you again though, while my mind was clear, I think that's when it clicked in a hundred percent on the things he said." And when Esredes asked him to elaborate, he continued on. “Well, one, I can't see Ferrant asking for your help unless he was damned sure you meant no ill will. that meant you were strictly here to help make this city better for heretics and shit post-war, right? Second, they wouldn't even let you in the city if you were as awful as I'd thought you at first. Third..." Heilyn hesitated. "You looked lost. Very lost. A little flicker in your eyes that didn't look at all like before. And I've known that kind of pain all too well myself, so I recognize it quickly. Couldn't hate after seeing that in the slightest." “When the hell did I look lost?” "Its not... a physical look. More like... a feeling you get? When you look at that person? Like... there's something important missing from their very spirit. That sort of thing." "I've always had a lot missing from my spirit. That's nothing new. And certainly not something worth deeming me unhateable." "Then take the rest of it as my answer if you don't want to take that part." "Well at that point, all you're going off of is evidential assumptions. And here's the problem with your logic. If it's based off assumptions, then it breaks apart the moment you're wrong about anything. Therefore you don't actually care, do you? You just want to know something isn't dangerous and going to stab you." Heilyn tilted his head. "Look, you didn't use my Nidhogg notes against me, you were willing to compromise and use the notes system, you realy honestly haven't done anything so far to make me actually think you're too much of a bastard. I'm willing to trust you unless you prove otherwise and frankly? I don't believe you will. You’re fine, in my book at this point.” Still, the conversation went on and on and on. “You have no evidence I’ve changed. What reason do you have to forgive anything? How am I not that shitty given everything else? I don’t believe I meet your definition of not dangerous, you know what I am capable of.” Thing after thing Esredes threw out, forcing Heilyn to continuously keep trying to explain himself, and yet somehow by the end of the conversation, they had come out being nice to one another.

Still, Heilyn was an exception who defied logic. It didn’t matter that Alastor took his apology and said he believed he was good with little effort, or that Yulionne saw the best in him despite what happened, that Ferrant believed wholeheartedly in him, that Murielle’s adopted son of all people came to him and asked if they could talk about everything they had to discuss civilly, that the very man who betrayed him and sold him out as a heretic came around to apologize, or that some people immediately saw him as a heroic or positive figure, included but not limited to an atoning shiny and green celebrity performer, a Garlean defector who Esredes had originally insulted, the one member of the Temple Knight Company that all hated Esredes who for some reason treated him like a real person, and a High Inquisitor of all things who praised him for his independent service before asking it of him.

The fact still remained he was an empty being, and why had the world ceased to make sense so much people kept trying to defy that? Of course his loved ones wanted to insist on a false narrative because they cared about him, but why did all these other people want to tell him so much of why they saw good in him?

Ah, that swirling red fog was annoying to see through. You are, you aren’t. He would continue to watch the most unlikely people come to see what he wanted them to, the others see right what he knew was true, and unknown to himself, he had ceased to make just as much sense as the people around him.

I want to know what it’s like to live. I am delaying the inevitable. When will it finally come? I’m a monster. I’m not a monster, can’t you look around you and see how many worse people are right there? I merely did what was right, and you are assigning more blame to it because it’s not your side. You shouldn’t be around me. You can trust me, I’m here to help you.

I’m still not a real person, was the one thing that remained when the various voices came and passed. As he hyperfocused and leeched on to the next person to come along and give him praise to fill that incessant hunger in that never ending cycle, he certainly must be at peace with it.

The world had stopped making sense. He had stopped making sense. And while Esredes could not fully give up his nature of trying to make sense of things, he ultimately decided to exist in a nebula, for now. Wind blew past him, and dubiety persisted like an old friend, wrapping itself all around the man with a whisper of I told you so.

—-

@thecalmnessandthestorms / @heartofthefury Heilyn, Alastor, Ferrant, Murielle, Trystan (unnamed mention), Raulin (unnamed mention)

@eternal-finis Yulionne

Zenith Alphinoix (unnamed mention)

Fern Cinnieux (unnamed mention)

@emeraldeorzean Kalas (unnamed mention)

Forte Tertia (unnamed mention)