#and these three kids have nearly died 6 FUCKING TIMES???

[greetings-humans]

no but if every near death scene gets the seriousness that the ones we've seen so far have I will lose it omg

like even as it fades in time, as they get more used to them (and the fact that they will is insane) and they lose some of that weight,,,

that's still a lot of near deaths happening for T W E L V E YEAR OLDS

[damianwayne0]

Minecraft || (4)

(part 4) part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5 | part 6

Jason who had held nearly 10 trader captive. With name tagg of course , was just chilling in his wooden mansion. When he suddenly hear the bell ringing. He comes at the door to see his adoptive brothers . As soon as he opens the door they let themselfs in

Jason was already stressed from coming back from nether and now his three idiots brothers are at the door, for who knows what.

Jason: *cough* *cough* what do you guys want?

Dick: little wing not even a hi?

Damian, ignoring dick says : we don't want anything. Its all drake who brought us here.

Tim to Damian: hey! Don't blame me.

Tim to Jason: umm someone actually stole my 6 stacks of cobble stones . Did you stole it?

Jason : why would I steal your cobble stones? I can mine them myself.

Dick, crossed arms : hmm He has a point tho.

Damian : why should we believe you Todd?

Tim , agreeing: why should we?

Jason, sassy: well I don't know and I don't care.

Dick : let us check u then.

Jason , shrugging: sure. Go ahead.

2mins After searching the whole mansion.

Dick , exhausted : what the fuck dude, all this big mansion but you ain't got anything?

Tim , penting : And you should lesh your stupid dogs.

Damian, sparkling eyes : How many more pandas do u have?

Jason, shrugging : ten or 15 something like that .

Dick , confused: if I didn't take , Damian didn't take, Jason didn't take it then who took it?

Tim , frustrated: i don't know! Who could take my cobble stones!?

Jason : seriously no like seriously? Who broke my beaken?

Both dick and Tim point at Damian.

Damian, raised an eyebrow: what? Ain't my fault that you had a chicken stuck underneath it.

Jason, long gasp : You freed the chicken!? How could you!? I killed the zombie kid that was on it with my bear hands!

Tim , squinting his eyes : you kept it as a prize?

Jason : yeah do you know how many times I died trying to kill that motherfucker!?

( side note from me : Won't lie I died like 20 times because the zombie kid was on my spawn point)

Jason, looking at Damian: now back to you, you ugly ass gremlin! Who gave you permission to destroy my stuff!?

Damian , clearly not interested: First of all you can't call me ugly when you look like something Grayson drew from his right hand. Second of all did you forgot it's my server?

Before Jason could pounce on Damian, Dick stopped them. Tim cleared this throat to get their attention.

Tim : let's go to Y/n house maybe she can help us?

Damian: beloved will definitely help your ugly ass.

Tim : you-

Dick , interrupting Tim : Than what are we waiting for let's go.

Jason : yeah I am coming also . Sitting here all day hurts my butt .

Damian, mumbles : like you have one.

I hope you guys liked this part 4 . Don't forget to like and comment. Part 5 will be coming soon ✨^⁠_⁠^

[g0dspeeed]

OC Interview

Tagged by @cassietrn 💕

Taggin' @strangefable , @noodlecupcakes , @la-grosse-patate , @ladyoriza , @voidika , @inafieldofdaisies , @strafethesesinners , @v0idbuggy , @socially-awkward-skeleton , @direwombat , @shallow-gravy , @simplegenius042 , @adelaidedrubman

CAPPIE DE LA COSTA

Name: "Wouldn't you like to know? Only like, three people know my actual name, and you ain't one."

Nickname: "Cappie. Because obviously."

Gender: She/Her

Star Sign: "Scorpio, I guess."

Moral Alignment/Personality: Chaotic Neutral

Height: 5' 7"

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Nationality/Ethnicity: "I was born in Yara. En El Valle De Oro."

Fave Fruit: Red apples

Fave Season: "Whatever that sweet spot is between Summer and Fall. I like a breeze when I skinny dip."

Fave Flower: "I just like wildflowers. Don't know all their fancy names."

Fave Scent: Amber, anything warm with a hint of spice

Coffee, tea, or HC: "Coffee with honey and cream. Fuckin' sweet as hell."

Average Hours of Sleep: "Never been a good sleeper, so I'd say about 6 hours, but with all this Eden's Gate bullshit, I just do drugs about it. Gone almost a week straight without sleep."

Dog or Cat Person: Dog

Dream Trip: "I wanna go back. You know, to Yara, 'cept without all the war and shit. I wanna see Eli all tan and, and safe. I wanna see a sunset."

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: "Satan. Okay, fine... Um, I used to really like all the old stories with Greek myths. All the gods, so high and mighty but just as fucked up as all the rest of us."

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: "I dunno. That's a weird thing to ask someone. Two?"

RANDOM FACT: "I have an ass tattoo. Wanna see?"

RIVER PALMER

Name: “River Stace Palmer, at your service.”

Nickname: Golden Boy, Rio (friends and family only)

Gender: He/Him

Star Sign: “What’s that?”

Moral Alignment/Personality: “Well, as the Golden Boy of the Whitetail Militia, I am nearly perfect.” (Neutral/Chaotic Good)

Height: 6’ 6”

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Nationality/Ethnicity: “Dad’s white. Mom’s Latina.”

Fave Fruit: Red apples

Fave Season: “Mm, a toss up ‘tween Spring and Fall. I like it when all the flowers bloom. Quite a sight.”

Fave Flower: Sunflower 🌻

Fave Scent: “My Dad’s barbecue, for real. Or I guess coffee in the morning?”

Coffee, Tea, or HC: “Coffee. With sugar.”

Average Hours of Sleep: “Mm, depends. If things are peaceful and my kids are mindin’, then maybe I get a good 7 or 8 hours. Probably only 5 or so on average.”

Dog or Cat Person: “Wolf. I got me one. Her name is Lady.”

Dream Trip: “Texas. It's where my Mom grew up.”

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: “My Dad.”

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: “Why?”

Random Fact: “Pfft, I hate these things. This whole interview is stupid. Um, shit, I guess… I’ve almost died three times? Is that interesting? No? Fuck off.”

✨

[92fs]

I’m curious about how you’d write/work with Matt’s character in that case. I rarely see anybody talk about his fanon characterization with an actual critical lense rather than people just complaining about his presence in general.

Thank you for giving me a reason to complain, I'll put it under read more:

First, I don't think Matt is an unnecessary character. I see how anime-watchers might think that considering his cut-down screentime, but manga isn't much better either. Still, I don't think he's an unneeded character. I think he was written in at a later stage of plot development and then he wasn't really properly added into the story.

Let's assume I'm dealing with the plot of DN how we know it. How I would fix the issue of Matt's written off/killed off character? I'd take what we have in the manga and amplify it, then develop his individual self a little more.

So, Matt's given a very particular role. He's Mello's right hand, practically. But we barely see it even though I do not believe Mello would let go of his first/only friend so easliy. For all the talk about how Matt was "written in so Mello isn't lonely", there's barely any fucking interaction between the two.

Changes that I would make to canon Matt:

1. Write Matt into more scenes at Wammy's.

Childhood-teenagehood are important phases in a story that spans over nearly three decades in the manga (if we count additional one-shots). Seeing more of Matt at that stage would be detrimental to his idea as a character.

2. Actually let him interact with Mello at a near-constant basis in adulthood.

They are implied to be close yet there are only so many scenes of them interacting in canon. I really fail to believe Mello wouldn't have a plan for Matt to leave the orphanage and contact him. Matt should be actively there from the beginning of Mello's arc.

3. Give him at least one-two private scenes with Near.

Near is one of the prisms through whom we learn about other characters: he narrates L, Light, Mello from perspectives that no one else has. He'd be vital to help narrate Matt, but we don't even know what he thinks about him.

4. Let him have a memory-sequence/flashback in at least one chapter where we learn how he felt about being next if Near and Mello die.

When you think about it, if not for Mello's thinking, Near would have died. Matt was next in line. I know that fandom doesn't give his intelligence credit for SOME reason, but there clearly were at least a couple dozens kids at the orphanage at the time of their stay. He was next if Near died, too. I'm actually incredibly curious to know how he felt about it, how he would have dealt with Light. Matt is so elusive, not unlike blunt Near or brash Mello - or direct L. I genuinely wonder what he would have done if he was next L. If he even wanted to.

Comment here: I know he died before them, but I think it was a kill-off. Plus, he had plenty of time to consider his chances before.

5. Maybe let the reader hear his thoughts on L. It can even be indirect, through Mello's voice.

We know that Mello sees L as an ideal to become. That Near first doesn't care much, but then grows curious about L's result-matters kind of approach. What did Matt think? Did he know about Mello's meeting with L (if we consider LABB canon)? Did he share his passions? Did he feels suspicious? Did he not care? Is he even apathetic?

6. Show the reader his individual interests outside of being Mello's assistant.

This reminds me a little bit too much of cases when a girl character is characterized primarily through being someone's girlfriend first and her own person second. This shit is tiring. We know what Mello is outside of Near. We know what Near is outside of Mello. Where the fuck is Matt's personality? Why do we know of the SPK members and the Police Department more than we know of someone in similar position? We know he's quiet and avoidant, and seems to joke to handle stress. What else?

Overall, I would add depth to him. But, this is about expanding on scarce canon. Fanon-wise, I would give him a spine. We know nothing about him in the years of Mello's absense from the picture, and he apparently did not stay in contact with Near. How did he get where he was? I doubt that Mello would carry anyone if they couldn't handle themselves, so clearly Matt's not his lap dog. He's his own character, and a damn adult too. I don't like the headcanons of him being that pathetic submissive dog that needs guidance. I think he's fine on his own.

[lcv3lies]

009 — i’m sorry !

ariel had arrived at stray kids dorms, and was waiting for someone to open the door. she knocked again, thinking no one heard her the first time.

the door was opened after a few knocks, but ariel did not expect to see who she did when she opened the door.

“ariel unnie?” luna had said shocked when she opened the door.

“luna???” “what are you doing here…” the elder girl had said while stepping inside.

“i was going to ask you the same thing.” luna said as she closed the door behind her member.

“luna, i was looking for you. i had a weird feeling you would be here.”

“how did you know ari?”

“i overheard that y/n saw you and hyunjin together at the vending machine the other day. ever since then i knew you had something going on with him.”

“right… i still have to figure that out.”

“well, that’s not important right now.” “why haven’t you been answering your texts?” “we have been texting you for HOURS.” ariel said with slight annoyance. she was starting to get mad.

“my phone had died. why? did something happen??”

“yes, luna. something did happen.”

the younger girl stayed quiet, opting for staring at the floor rather than her beloved member.

“we have been trying to contact you since 6. you promised to be back by then.” ariel said while taking in a deep breath. “y/n had pushed the practice to 6:30 hoping you would be back, but you weren’t. we practiced without you. and it was like hell. manager chae was annoyed, we were tired, and you weren’t there.”

“i-i’m sorry…” luna spoke though her voice was cracking.

“are you really?” “you know how much we love you, but seriously? we waited three hours and didn’t hear a single word from you. we were all worried, eden was about to cry seeing you weren’t back.”

again, the younger girl kept her stare on the ground.

“listen… what’s in the past is in the past. please gather your stuff and wait in the car outside. i’ll come in a few minutes.”

luna muttered out a small ‘okay’ while going to get her stuff.

about five minutes later, luna was out the door, going to the car just as she was told.

ariel and lee know sat in the living room of the stray kids dorm, talking.

“so why exactly are you here again?” “not that i mind it, of course..” lee know spoke nervously.

“i was trying to find luna, i thought she would be here.”

“luna was here? i thought i heard noises from hyunjins room but i assumed it was his video games.”

“ahh yeah she was with hyunjin.” “i’m sorry about that, even i was surprised when she opened the door.”

“don’t worry about it, ari.” the boy said while smiling at her.

ari. she liked the way her nickname sounded when lee know said it. it was different from the way her members said it. it sounded… endearing.

the two leaned closer, faces nearly touching.

“can i kiss you?” lee know mumbled.

ari nodded her head, brushing her lips over his.

lee know softly put his lips on hers, carefully but with excitement.

“what. the. FUCK?” hyunjin said as he walked into the living room.

a/n: hyunjin mf always ruining everything 🤨🤨

prev. | 010

taglist ˖◛⁺ @moasworld @stopeatread @hyunxo @qimmylol @luvhyun3 @soobin1uvs @wondering-out-loud @reverbtunes @hyunjinhair @muffin-man-is-sad

☄︎. *. ⋆ ࿔

until next time,

naomi <333

[legthief]

I posted 570 times in 2022

That's 570 more posts than 2021!

136 posts created (24%)

434 posts reblogged (76%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@7000f1

@akkivee

@averagejakuraienjoyer

@knowyourwrights

@flingpoly

I tagged 496 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#hypmic - 108 posts

#hypnosis mic - 74 posts

#legsbian containment zone - 52 posts

#ramuda amemura - 42 posts

#i see ramuda i reblog - 39 posts

#jyushi aimono - 21 posts

#sasara nurude - 18 posts

#jakurai jinguji - 17 posts

#hifumi izanami - 12 posts

#samatoki aohitsugi - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#i think it’s going to be fling posse and mad trigger crew because they’re the ones most deeply tied with the “take down chuoku” rhetoric

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

83 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

#4

i love the shuffle divisions, particularly jakurai and ichiro’s teams.

jakurai’s is saburo learning what it’s like to have parents via hitojaku being divorced-but-still-in-love dads. the board game was too funny guys it’s like when your mom starts telling a story about your dad at family game night that he doesn’t want you to hear. died when jakurai said he called hitoya “heaven the magic king” because he respected him and you could tell he was genuine about it. saburo experiencing the same turmoil as rei (third wheel)

ichiro’s is ichiro hanging out with two intimidating 6′1 guys who are actually afraid to ask for more ketchup. like rosho could fuck you up and has a death glare comparable to samatoki and jyushi looks like That when he’s in full vkei but both of them would rather send ichiro up to tell the mcdonalds employee that they asked for no pickles

104 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

#3

a family doesn’t have to be a mom and dad and some kids. a family can be three really close brothers, a yakuza who hates bugs and vegetables, the yakuza’s younger sister who could beat the absolute shit out of you, a cop who has committed almost every crime, a navy vet who lives in a tent out in the woods, a doctor who used to be a hitman, his assistant/son, a host who is afraid of women, literally just some guy, a fashion designer who is a clone made under incredibly dubious circumstances, a writer who is stealing his twin brother’s identity, the twin brother, a gambler who is actually the prime minister’s son, a monk who bites but might be the greatest person ever, a visual kei musician who cries a lot and loves his plush pig but is also ridiculously strong, a cringe fail lawyer with a pompadour who rides a motorcycle and can breakdance, a comedian who can probably see your soul without opening his eyes, a math teacher with stage fright, and a conman who is definitely not a mad scientist

152 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

#2

sasara nurude is the scariest hypmic man let me elaborate

unkillable (like just in general)

he has nearly the same typology as ramuda (entp...)

beat the shit out of samatoki

no one knows whats going on inside his head except for maybe rei

keeps his eyes closed. he looks almost identical to gin ichimaru and that alone terrifies me

clown

no seriously. you literally cannot embarrass him. man clowns himself whether it's for money or not. he'd be in the top three most bullyable hypmic characters with jyuto and hitoya if he wasn't impossible to bully.

you physically can't lie to him. he can see your soul even with his eyes closed

catboy

he's from osaka i do not pick fights with people from osaka ever.

5'8

wears the most atrocious outfits on a daily basis

born on halloween

he's not like other hypmic characters like rosho, jakurai, doppo, etc., who are only scary when they're angry. this man will choose violence at any given time if he wants to.

230 notes - Posted August 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

one of my favorite things about hypmic is how integral hair colors are to the character design. their hair colors all mean something and they’re so deliberate.

yamada brothers all have black hair to match their normal ass names and remind you that they are, really, just normal kids.

samatoki and nemu have white hair to contrast them. i could talk forever about how samatoki and nemu are designed to directly contrast ichiro but that’s for another time. jyuto is the Normal One, hence the normal brown hair. rio is ginger just to remind you that he’s white lmao.

all the members of matenrou have dual-colored hair to match their dual personalities, with a more normal color of hair layered over the more absurd one. this is important, because their more socially acceptable personality is what they are more like most of the time. (they are autistic) people perceive them as completely normal functioning adults before finding out that they are, in fact, not at all normal.

ramuda is pink because of his chuoku affiliation BUT! there’s more! his hair is dual-colored, but fades to purple rather than having a hard switch from pink to purple. much like i said about matenrou, the dual hair color is indicative of a dual personality. ramuda’s dual personality is different from matenrou, however, because the distinction between his cute persona and his darker persona as his real self kind of doesn’t exist. instead of drunk jakurai, host hifumi, or angry doppo, which are all not the true personalities of the matenrou members, dark ramuda and cute ramuda are equally the real ramuda. gentaro has brown hair so not to clash with his clothing, but also to emphasize that he’s supposed to be more of a narrator-type character, to fade into the background and let the story unfold, to finish his brother’s work and then vanish as though he were never there. dice’s hair is blue to oppose chuoku’s pink and his mother, while still being a link to her, and to contrast ramuda.

kuko’s hair is red, and i like to believe that it’s supposed to be like fire, connecting him to his sun motif but also to ichiro, who is often associated with fire. i sound ridiculous, but let’s keep going. bringing back the dual-colored hair i talked about before, jyushi’s odd hair color is outside, completely opposite from matenrou. jyushi’s chuunibyou personality only appears around people he doesn’t know, or doesn’t feel comfortable around (like a mask. autism), so naturally his hair’s eccentric accents are outside, rather than inside. hitoya is yet another case of the Normal Guy, but this time i want to say it’s because of jakurai. hitoya’s hair color is so incredibly common and average, two words i believe hitoya hates. you know who has a unique hair color? jakurai. hitoya is average, jakurai is not. sorry i get more insane the further down the post goes.

sasara is like ramuda, and i hate to break it to you, but we don’t actually know sasara that well. he’s definitely a many-layered character, and the fact that he will hide what he’s thinking and put on the mask of a silly guy makes me believe that his hair going from dark to light is deliberate. rosho is yet another dual-colored hair case, but he’s special because he’s only got a few streaks of lighter purple. these few streaks sort of symbolize how he gets when he’s mad, or maybe even how he’s a completely different person speaking to a crowd versus speaking to an individual. there’s nothing i can say about rei that i didn’t cover with the buster bros.

this has been division all-stars posting with leg, stay tuned for more. i am writing this while incredibly tired so assume any error i make in my grammar or typing is a result of that.

237 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[asphodelical]

The Great Anime Rewatch of 2024 - Part V

Casshern Sins

First watched: January 2014 Rewatched: January 2024

Original rating: 6 New rating: 4

Prior to this rewatch, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you anything about Casshern Sins. It might’ve been better if it had stayed that way. While watching the first episode, I couldn’t stop complaining how bad the writing was. It feels like the creative team was banking on the show’s style and atmosphere to compensate for its weak dialogue, and I’m not falling for it. The thing I will fall for is the music. It’s really good. But if I want a post-apocalyptic story about robots having existential crises, I’ll stick with Nier: Automata, thank you very much. I lasted five episodes. 

__________________________________

Claymore

First watched: December 2011 Rewatched: February 2024

Original rating: 7 New rating: 5

The writing is basic and everything is mid. If one of your deuteragonists is an audience avatar with no personality, that’s not good. Then on episode five we completely switched POVs out of nowhere, and we barely know anything about our original duo. It feels like the author was stalling for time while they figure out what do to with Claire and Raki. I lasted five episodes. 

__________________________________

Boku no Hero Academia 1, 2, & 3

First watched: 2016, 2017, 2018 - all original airdates Rewatched: February 2024

Original ratings: 7, 8, 8 New ratings: 7, 7, 4

I remember enjoying BnHA, but I never got swept up by the hype. I’m not really into superhero stuff to begin with, and the sub-genre is so oversaturated, the stories almost feel like parodies of itself. Anyway, let’s try this again, and not on a weekly basis. (I refuse to rewatch season four since I didn’t like it much.)

Season 1 - I find it extremely hard to believe that every single student made it out of that big villain ambush with light injuries. At least one kid should’ve been killed or, at the very least, extremely traumatized. But what I appreciate most is that the characters are smart and actually use their powers creatively and intelligently. I still don’t understand why Mineta exists, though. No one likes him. He should’ve died. 

Season 2 - BnHA’s strengths and weaknesses are in full swing now. Its highs consist of the sports festival/tournament arc, Bakugo and Deku vs. All Might, and the conversation between Deku and Shigaraki. As for the weaknesses? Well, the neglect of the female characters was thriving. I really don’t like Creati (she can create anything except a decent outfit), but I pitied her—getting roped into a hero internship and do nothing but beauty ads? What the actual fuck? After the Stain stuff, my interest was diminishing and I was skipping bits of almost every episode. Bakugo is my favorite character, and fuck that dog police chief. 

Season 3 - Now I’m actively skipping episodes. It’s starting to get redundant at this point (more exams???), the cast is so large it’s collapsing on itself, and there’s no sense of loss. Why should I care about any fight when everyone gets to walk away alive, completely intact, and fine in every sense of the word? This was less evident when I watched these seasons as they aired weekly with lengthy breaks in between. The pacing problem is also exacerbated now, with the stupid forest training bit taking up the first seven episodes, when it probably could’ve been three or four. (I skipped most of them, hence the ‘probably.’) Meanwhile, the villains don’t actually accomplish anything. There’s no reason for me to take them seriously. And the heroes aren’t developing—their powers aren’t escalating or changing, and neither are they as people. The only character who gave me what I want is Bakugo in his fight with Deku. 

BnHA is weird, because in this world where nearly everyone has a power, I think it went down one of the most uninteresting directions possible. The cast is far too large, and can’t juggle them all, despite its earnest effort to do so. And while suspension of disbelief is always required in things like superhero stories, I feel like there’s not enough loss. That’s partially due to the nature of the demographic, but stories like these shouldn’t be so terrified of whittling down/killing off its bloated cast. What if some of the UA students felt traumatized from fighting with real villains, or decide that they want to change career paths? Or a former hero student who turned to villainy? It’s a shame that those things aren’t explored. 

I still had a pretty good time with the first two seasons, but found myself emotionally apathetic to most of the cast. 

The only ones I actively care about: Bakugo, Deku, and Shigaraki. 

The characters I enjoy but am not particularly invested in: Froppy, Tokoyami, Todoroki, Ochako. 

Bypassing season four, will I give season five a chance? Not sure, since season three was painful to rewatch. From overall fan opinion, the story and writing seem to get worse, and I spoiled myself with Bakugo and am very disappointed to see sacrifices gone to waste and being brought back from the fucking dead. 

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. HOW DID ZEUS NOT KNOW APOLLO AND ARTEMIS IS HIS KIDS? Zeus has an affair with Leto and bam she gets banned and bam she has TWO SAME SHADE OF PURPLE KIDS AND ONE OF THEM looks a LOT LIKE HIM. I know at the wah beginning he and Hera were looking at Apollo and Zeus even goes “he reminds me of a young me!” Where I was thinking he lowkey knew and just Apollo didn’t know or something like that since I never saw Apollo call Zeus dad. Like Hera didnt like Artemis for being “unlady like” which I thought meant “my husbands kids from another mistress”. For Hera to be able to ban Leto and then two god children come out right after.

I know Aphrodite is also purple and isn’t zeus’s daughter but her non existent mother didn’t get banned from Olympus for having an affair with him!

I also wanna know how long ago this affair was since Apollo has an adult child. 

2. Did anyone notice Artemis’ outfit changed during the season finally. She had to to jewelry on to exclaim Zeus is her father but take it off when watching Apollo vs Persephone 

3. Does hades gets along with any other female goddesses other than hectate or ones he’s sleeping with? Demeter and him are known to not get along, him and Aphrodite have stepped on each other’s toes. Artemis hates his guts. I guess he gets along with Athena/hebe but that’s cause they have a good uncle niece relationship.

4. there are several instances in the iliad alone of the gods picking favorite mortals, protecting them, and literally weeping when they died. the fact rachel thinkss they legitimately dont care about them outside of rituals (??? what does that mean??) is just her once again admitting she does not actually know what she's talking about and the extent of her "research" is just whatever tumblr said in 2015.

5. the fans saying magically creating a child "isnt the fun way" both confirms they do not actually care about persephone's in comic trauma and fear of pregnancy/birth (I would say sex too, but Rachel seem to have acted one therapy session is enough to "fix" it), but also confirming they will not accept any sort of adoption, so considering Rachel writes off fan reactions just get ready for her to think up a random way to get Persephone knocked up for their weird pregnancy obsession.

6. You guys have to realize LO fans and even Rachel don't care for Persephone, it's really just about making Hades their perfect Emo Husband™️ who they get to live out their fantasies with because the other male gods are too defined, and Hades in myth lacks so much about him they can just impose a any personality on him to make him "perfect", Persephone is just a vessel to live out that fantasy. If they truly gave a damn about her, there wouldn't be romantic HxP adaptions to begin with.

7. I haven't read past the first three chapters of LO because I legit hate nearly everything about it, but I found and plowed through this blog because I find it hilarious how catastrophically bad it is. But I went to check a random late chapter after ppl said the art improved, and Persephone at one point is wearing a backpack?! It's normal in college obviously, but it's such a symbol of academic youth. Old ass man in a suit+backpack girl..looks like dad picking up his daughter from fucking school.

8. TBH the webtoon weekly format is also a big reason why LO isn't very good. Not only is that not enough time to relax and keep up the art quality, but it def seems like a lot of LO episodes is just Rachel thinking "this will sustain them for a week" and that's about it, not that's important to the story or develops anything, but that it meets enough filler until she can think up something else, which isn't good writing. She and many others could benefit from a longer in-between between episodes.

9.  I feel like I would be able to support HxP in this story if it weren't for the fact Persephone has no other options but him, and they're not developed well either. Like if she has a prior dating life and partners before him, it would be more realistic, and more so some actual development in them as to why they'd work as a couple, because all we have is just Persephone with no options, plot forcing them together, physical lust. and trauma bonding. That's not good writing to make us buy the couple

10. Even beyond the atrocious design, are we not supposed to notice Rachel is phsyically incapable of letting GREEK GODS having any negative traits at all? Hera couldn't just throw her child out because she's an asshole, Eris had to randomly want to kill her! Persephone can't have inner darkness, she was cursed by Eris! Hades had to do slavery because "its tradition"! Like if she and her fans can't handle Greek gods being morally complex and even bad, then go focus on Disney movies, not the myths.

[makeste]

So, which of these desperately sobbing children gets to compete for Worst Day? I... think Shouto's our, uh, lucky winner, but I think Deku, Momo, and Tokoyami all put up strong fights

so seeing as we are finally approaching New Chapter Times again after a very long three weeks, this feels like a good time to do a recap of just how much everything currently sucks for our intrepid heroes. it may seem a bit insensitive of me to go through the cast list one by one and arbitrarily assign each character a number score based on how shitty their day was, but... well actually I don’t really have a good defense for that, lol. whatever, let’s just get to ranking these children’s misery (and while we’re at it, some of the adults’ as well).

Midoriya Izuku

current status: unconscious. currently has a pair of those floppy inflatable flailing tube men dealios for arms. had to watch his teacher and his best friends get hurt and nearly die while being helpless to do anything to stop it. has a new quirk which “warns” him of approaching danger by giving him ice pick headaches, as if he didn’t have enough pain in his life as it is. is being targeted by the most dangerous person in the world. and last but not least, is probably on the verge of his super-secret quirk becoming not-so-secret, and having to deal with the fallout of that.

rank: 9/10. hard to imagine how things could get much worse for this little guy atm. NO HORIKOSHI THAT IS NOT A CHALLENGE. YOU LEAVE HIS MENTOR ALONE.

Bakugou Katsuki

current status: unconscious. got impaled by the Big Bad which initially did not look good, but apparently it wasn’t enough to stop him from flying around in drunken loop-de-loops whilst ignoring Iida’s protests, so who knows. proudly announced his new hero name to the world only to be met with scorn and ridicule and hysterical laughter from that fucking Caillou-looking motherfucker whose opinion he never mcfucking asked for, thank you very much. and also his best friend’s self-sacrificing tendencies are giving him anxiety, and his other best friend’s brother just pulled a reverse Darth Vader on Endeavor and upended hero society as we know it. so there’s a good chance he might be called upon to provide emotional support to one or even BOTH of them in the near future. has... has he actually become the stable friend in the trio. fuck.

rank: 7/10 just because he briefly appeared to be in a situationally-inappropriate good mood for those few brief minutes right after Jeanist appeared. you were having too much fun to get a top score, Katsuki.

Todoroki Shouto

current status: not unconscious but probably wishing he was. older brother came back from the dead and revealed that he was a mass murderer and broadcast all of Shouto’s personal traumas to the entire world before earnestly trying to set him and his friends on fire. so is currently dealing with all of the fun fallout from that, on top of watching his teacher and friends all come within inches of death. will probably be dragged into a national controversy against his will now that Endeavor’s past has been revealed. all of it is honestly so shitty that it’s all but impossible for me to put an irreverent spin on this. I honestly can’t think of a single joke to make. goddammit Shouto.

rank: 10/10. a perfect storm of shittiness.

Yaoyorozu Momo

current status: somehow Momo went from having no mentors that we knew of, to having two mentors, and then back to having no mentors, all in the span of a single day. has to be some sort of record.

rank: 8/10. and the worst part of all is that she was a fucking BAMF during this arc, but she can’t even enjoy that now because of all the trauma. I’m still proud of you, Momo.

Uraraka Ochako

current status: mentally and physically exhausted after spending a day out on the front lines dealing with the aftermath of an unnatural disaster. saw things that were canonically enough to make a grown man have a nervous breakdown right then and there. had a really weird and unsettling encounter with Toga who keeps trying to relate to her by telling her things like “hey Ochako, this one time I turned into you and used your quirk to murder someone horribly isn’t that wild.” it’s just been a very long day for her.

rank: 6/10. stressful af but she’s still in one piece and no one was actively murdered in front of her. sometimes you gotta take whatever wins you can get.

Tokoyami Fumikage

current status: his mentor was nearly burned to death in front of him and he was almost burned to death too, and the guy who kept attempting to burn him was all “YOUR MENTOR’S A MURDERER BTW AND SO YOU SHOULD JUST LET ME KILL HIM”, and so he was kind of put on the spot there and he didn’t really know what to do, and somehow he managed to escape with Hawks anyway but Hawks’s wings were all burnt off, and then a fucking video of Hawks stabbing Twice in the back got broadcast to the entire nation and so it’s like, ???? he didn’t sign up for this??? he is just a little birb??? can he live????

rank: 7/10 because he missed out on all of the other traumatizing stuff, but it’s honestly impressive how bad his day managed to be even in spite of that.

All for One

current status: All for One’s day is actually going pretty good.

rank: 0/10. hey but fuck you, AFO.

Shigaraki Tomura

current status: woke up early from his nap which always sucks. only got to enjoy his cool new Transcendent Being powers for a few minutes before the heroes all ganged up on him and incinerated him a bunch of times and fucked up his shiny new cape. has his old mentor currently taking up residence in his head uninvited and trying to boss him around. found out his grandma was part of One for All?? then slept through all of the fun stuff with the Dabi reveal. also a bunch of his friends are either dead or captured. all in all was not really the best day for him.

rank: 8/10 because he was having himself a grand old time for a while there, but once some of this stuff finally sinks in the Suck Factor is going to go way, way up. also, seriously, AFO is currently possessing his body, jesus christ. just leave him alone already.

Hawks

current status: had to make an impossible choice between sitting back and letting an untold number of people die, and turning on a good but misguided man who was only trying to help his friends. has to live with the trauma of literally stabbing his friend in the back for the rest of his life. may have been rendered effectively quirkless. was publicly dragged through the mud alongside Endeavor, and unlike Endeavor he didn’t actually do anything to earn it (though that probably won’t stop him from feeling like he has). oh and speaking of Endeavor, just found out that the hero he looked up to since childhood abused his family and shit, and so now he has to grapple with that on top of everything else. how fucked is it that the minute he finally got to drop his whole double agent balancing act, his life somehow got even more fucked up and complicated.

rank: 9/10. let Hawks rest.

Aizawa Shouta

current status: unconscious. seems to have lost an eye which may possibly affect his quirk. had to saw off his own fucking leg. met the man who experimented on his childhood friend. doesn’t know yet that said man was originally targeting him and not Shirakumo. oh and also his other other childhood friend just died and he doesn’t know it yet. and someone else sacrificed himself in order to save him. and most of his other hero pals are either dead or wounded too, and all of his kids are deeply traumatized. and the guy they went through all of this shit to try and capture in the first place got away, and hero society is now in shambles.

rank: 11/10. Horikoshi. wtf did Aizawa ever do to you.

anyways it’s getting late and I was gonna throw in a few honorable mentions, but I think I’ll just call it a day instead. feel free to weigh in on any of the ones I missed. Dabi for one is having himself a FINE, fine day. but Endeavor not so much. sob.

[milenadaniels]

Actually, Truly, 14k - Buck/Eddie, Helena POV, post-s4 (AO3)

Isabel calls to tell them Eddie's been shot on a Thursday afternoon and by lunch on Friday Helena and Ramon are landing at LAX. When they land, they learn Eddie's already home recovering and has been for two weeks.

----

Or, Helena (and Ramon) tries to find a way back into Eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding Buck around every corner she turns.

Isabel calls on a Thursday afternoon and by lunch on Friday Helena and Ramon are landing at LAX. Their son’s been shot, again, in the line of duty. But this time, instead of being thousands of miles away and out of reach, he’s just a short plane ride away.

Isabel insists they come to her house before going to the hospital but she doesn’t blame COVID protocols for keeping them away from the hospital, so they spend the car ride over imagining the worst.

A complication with surgery.

Permanent damage.

A coma.

The news they receive is that Eddie’s fine, and he’s been home and recuperating for two weeks already.

Helena retreats to the living room while Ramon and his mother fight in the kitchen. They’re yelling in Spanish and for once she wishes she’d never learned.

“Escúchame, Ramon,” Isabel tries to interrupt. Listen to me.

The yelling continues because Ramon doesn’t listen. It’s not his strong suit. Nor is it Helena’s.

Helena paces the length of the living room and holds her phone in her hands, thumb over Eddie’s name in FaceTime, not pressing down.

Eddie’s been home for two weeks.

Isabel hadn’t told them for two weeks.

But Eddie hadn’t either.

They hadn’t seen him in person in nearly two years, and he hadn’t called them since their last fight over a month ago.

Still, Eddie was shot in the streets by a sniper and he didn’t call them.

Mom, listen...

The last time they spoke, it was a phone call, not a video chat, maybe because at that point just the sight of each others’ faces was enough to set them all off. In that phone call, Eddie spoke of a friend whose family was somehow worse off than their own, but who, miraculously, were finally making the effort to fix the broken ties between them in therapy.

“Mom, listen… I spent a long time being angry with Shannon instead of trying to reach out to her and now Christopher is never going to have her in his life again. I don’t want that with you,” Eddie said, his voice brusque but calm, measured. “I don’t want to grin and bear it when you call or when we visit. I want to be glad to pick up the phone, I want to be excited to see you all at Christmas, I want you to be part of our lives. But I can’t do that without you meeting me halfway.” He was resolute, but he was pleading too. “I don’t want to spend the next ten years of our lives like this.”

But the idea of therapy was anathema to the Diaz family and it took only Ramon’s dismissive scoff to reinforce her own distaste of the idea. They called Eddie back to say they had no intention of paying a stranger to tell them everything was their fault and he was blameless.

They didn’t get another call after that.

“— my son!” Ramon yells at Isabel in the kitchen.

“Because, mijo, when you come here, you don’t see your son! You don’t see him living here, growing, Christopher thriving! You don’t see how when you come up here you bring sadness and misery when you should bring joy and comfort.” The words are too close to what Eddie said for them not to have spoken about it together. “By the time I knew he was hurt, he was already out of surgery and doing well. If he wasn’t, I would have called immediately.”

“Oh bueno, so you’ll tell me my son is dying but not that he’s okay?”

“Ramon! Escúchame.” It’s not often that Helena gets to bear witness to the steel in Isabel’s voice, the one she passed down to both her kids. It’s in fine form today. “He was doing well, and had all the help he needed. As soon as things stabilized, I called you. Keep acting like a fool and see if I call you at all next time.”

“If you call? Are you —”

Mom, listen…

“Ramon!” Helena snaps, surprising them all.

“Ramon,” she repeats, more calmly this time. “Listen to her.”

The shock on Isabel’s face almost makes her smile, but her heart is too heavy to commit to it.

“Helena, two weeks she —”

“Our son was shot, and he didn’t tell us.” Helena says, her voice trembling. “Our son was shot, he could have died, and the last thing we would have told him is we weren’t willing to fight for him and Christopher. Weren’t willing to — what? — put our egos aside? Our pride? For one fucking minute to listen to him. To listen to what he needed.”

Ramon’s eyes widen and he hangs his head with a sigh.

Helena faces Isabel, her phone tucked in her palm against her stomach.

“What can we do? We’re listening.”

——————-

Ramon walks it off and Helena helps Isabel in the kitchen in exchange for a promise they’ll go over to Eddie’s for supper. She’s been making care packages for Eddie and Christopher since the shooting, and she’s working on a pasta sauce while Helena starts on her famous banana brown sugar bread — Eddie’s favourite.

“How is he, really?” she asks once her dish is tucked into the oven.

“As well as can be expected,” Isabel replies, throwing spices into the pot with an ease Helena never grew into. “He was tired for the first few days, but now it’s like a broken arm. Uncomfortable but not so painful.”

“How long is it supposed to take to heal?”

Isabel casts a suspicious eye her way as if she can anticipate the date of Helena’s return flight adjusting already, but answers, “they say 6 to 8 weeks. It’s for the bone to heal, mostly, in his back. The rest should be sooner.”

Helena broke her wrist years ago, when the kids were nearly teenagers, and it was three months of hell trying to manage a household one handed while Ramon spent most of that time travelling across Texas.

Who’s helping him? Is Carla back in the picture? Is she working overtime? How can he afford that on sick leave? Is Pepa or one of the cousins going over? Is his girlfriend there? Who’s helping with Christopher? How is he managing?

The questions — all genuine and well-meaning, all a shade too accusatory — are on her tongue, pressed to the back of her teeth to keep from escaping. She’s entitled to answers, even if she doesn’t like them. She knows she has the right to at least know how her son is caring for himself and her grandson while he’s injured. If he’d told them when it happened Helena could have been here in a heartbeat to help, but no, Eddie’s just as stubborn as they are, just as prideful. He’d rather suffer alone than accept their help. Fine. But she’s still his mother, and Christopher’s grandmother. She raised them both. She has a right to—

Mom, listen…

Helena takes a deep breath in, anchors herself in the mixed scents of the rich sauce and the sweet bread cooking, and breathes out. Isabel sends her another look but says nothing.

————-

Helena cries when she sees Eddie, and cries a bit harder when she sees the apprehension in his eyes. Her baby boy looks a bit pale, but he’s standing on his own two feet and answering the door himself.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, wrapping him gently into her arms, mindful not to press into the sling or his back.

“Hi, mom,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to gentle the stiffness in his voice.

She releases him, but not before pressing three kisses into his temple, always three. One for each of her kids.

Ramon steps into the space she leaves when she continues into the house and from the corner of her eye, she sees him cup the back of Eddie’s head and take a good look at him. For Ramon, it’s the equivalent of collapsing to the floor in tears.

Helena quickly toes off her boots and makes room at the entrance for the others behind her, which also puts her first in line to catch a sight that nearly knocks her down.

“Who is this young man I see?” she cries, throwing her hands wide to gesture at her grandson. “Last I saw you, you were just a little tyke. Now look at you, you must have grown three feet!”

Christopher giggles and Helena smiles in return as she folds him into her arms, but it’s forced. She’s not lying — he’s grown so much more than she expected. She hasn’t seen him in person since Eddie’s graduation and while video chats are priceless, they didn’t capture this growth spurt.

She can’t believe she let this happen. That she went from spending most of everyday with this little boy and now she’s missed out on two years of his life. Can’t believe Eddie kept him fro—

Mom, listen...

Supper goes well enough. Eddie never truly shakes loose the tension in his shoulders; he trades many looks with Isabel, seemingly spooked by his parents’ behaviour. He talks a lot more than he usually does, probably out of nervousness. But overall, they let Christopher take the reigns; they’re all more comfortable with that. It’s been too long since they’ve last spoken and Christopher is full of stories about his school and his friends.

“Buck says we can go to the Griffin soon. It was closed because of COVID. But before, I went with my class and they made a comet right in front of us!”

Buck. It’s the third time his name has been dropped at the table since they sat down.

She first met him, briefly, at Eddie’s graduation, but didn’t really register him as someone in her son’s life until Eddie and his crew stopped off in El Paso for dinner on their way home from fighting Texas wildfires. Buck had been cropping up in Christopher’s and Eddie’s stories for months by then and she was curious to properly meet him in person. He had seemed...young, she remembers.

“The Griffith Observatory,” Eddie corrects fondly. With Christopher, at least, it’s impossible for him not to soften.

Eddie’s only eaten half the pasta on his plate but Isabel seems satisfied. Helena bites down on the impulse to encourage him to eat more. To remind him he needs his strength to heal quickly for his little boy. She does lift the basket of garlic bread in his direction, because she can’t help herself. He eyes the basket warily as though he expects her to do more, but when she doesn’t, he shakes his head with a small smile of thanks.

“Yeah,” Christopher agrees, “it was cool but we didn’t get to stay long enough to see everything. And if we go later, Buck says we can see real meteors in the sky.”

Fourth mention.

“Christopher is on an astronomy kick,” Eddie adds redundantly.

“Wait, I gotta show you —” Christopher is sliding out of his seat before anyone can stop him and racing down the hall to his bedroom.

“Oh, honey —” Helena grips the arms of her chair out of reflex to jump up and help him — he doesn’t have his crutches, he’s only using the wall for support and he’s wearing socks — but Eddie looks over when her chair creaks.

He can’t really expect her to just sit here while Christopher—

Mom, listen…

They can hear Christopher make it to his bedroom without injury, so Helena slowly settles back in her chair and Ramon clears his throat. “He seems...okay. More okay than I would have expected.”

Eddie keeps his eyes on his father for a beat too long, assessing the comment for any hidden messages.

“He’s a resilient kid. Buck stayed here with him while I was in the hospital, so his routine wouldn’t get messed up. I think that helped a lot.”

Fifth ment— wait.

“Buck stayed with him?” The words — the tone — are out of her mouth before Helena can stop them.

On the shortlist of people she expected to hear stayed with her grandson to watch him and care for him, alone, while his father was in the hospital — Isabel, Pepa, Carla, or even Ana — Buck’s isn’t a name she expected to hear. A coworker — an unrelated man with no children of his own, over Christopher’s family? Over Christopher’s own aide? Over a schoolteacher?

Eddie’s jaw squares up and he sits up in his chair. Like light gray rain clouds suddenly turning dark, weighty with an incoming storm, a heavy tension builds in the air between them.

“Look!” Christopher exclaims as he rounds the corner, nearly throwing a thin, blue hardcover book on the table. Eddie catches it before it can slam into Christopher’s leftover pasta and sets it down on the table for him. “It shows all the things we can see in the sky over the whole year!”

Christopher climbs back into his chair and opens the book up to a random page, describing everything he seems to have nearly memorized already. By the time he reaches the upcoming meteor shower, the tension at the table has dissipated enough for Helena to excuse herself to the bathroom and not have it come off like a passive aggressive storm-off.

She washes her hands with soap pumped out of a fish-shaped dispenser that wasn’t here the last time she visited and trains her eyes on the basket of gauze, scissors and tape tucked away on the shelf above the toilet. That wasn’t there last time either.

Her baby boy was shot by a sniper. In LA.

A bullet tore through the body she created and almost took her son from her forever.

Mom, listen...

But only after she’d almost pushed him so far away he might never come back.

The tears well up again and she sniffs through them, blinking up at the ceiling until she’s back under control.

As she pivots to turn the light off, she spies a purple toothbrush resting on the ledge just above the sink. The other two toothbrushes are electric — one adult-, one child-sized — and stand on the counter.

—————-

Helena and Ramon meet the infamous Ana by accident.

When they leave Eddie’s house on Friday, Helena sends a text message to say what she couldn’t manage to say to his face — that they’re here for him, in whatever capacity he needs, that they’ll take their cues from him, even if that means giving him some space.

To that, she receives a, Thank you.

When she asks for the contact information of the therapist he had scoped out for them, she gets a phone call.

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” her son says, “but are you just doing this because I got shot?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” she laughs mirthlessly. “I’m sorry to say it took our baby boy nearly dying to get our heads out of our ass.”

Eddie huffs a laugh on his end. “Well, I’ll take that silver lining.”

After that, Eddie invites them to a restaurant for brunch on Sunday, but when they reach his doorstep, they find it already occupied by a woman who’s just rung the doorbell, holding a casserole dish in her hands.

When the door opens, Eddie takes in the three of them, his eyes wide and apprehensive.

“Ana, I wasn’t expecting you,” he says, his eyes darting over her shoulder to his parents. He’s smiling, though there’s a clear strain in the corners of his eyes and mouth. They’ve been critical about Shannon for so long — and with good reason, nothing will change Helena’s mind on that — no doubt he’s expecting them to hate this new woman on sight.

“You’re Ana!” Helena exclaims with a wide smile, imbuing her voice with as much welcome as she’s capable. “Hi! It’s so good to finally meet you!”

When Eddie releases the breath he was holding, she knows she was on the mark. Ramon follows her lead and invites Ana to brunch with them on the spot and won’t hear her protests about intruding.

Eddie, of course, doesn’t protest at all but invites them in so Ana can store the casserole in the fridge — it takes both Ana and Helena’s organizational skills to find a spot for it among Isabel’s and Eddie’s tupperwares already invading all available space — and he can finish getting ready. He was already dressed in a nice polo and jeans but when he comes back from his bedroom it’s in a smart button-down he must have struggled with out of sheer stubbornness. Both his parents and his girlfriend are in the house and still he didn’t ask for help.

Eddie and Christopher decide to hop into Ana’s car and Helena asks loudly for directions to keep Ramon from insisting they should all ride together.

“So how long have you kids been seeing each other now?” Ramon asks when they’ve been seated at the restaurant.

“Nearly 7 months now, I think, isn’t it?” Ana replies, looking at Eddie with a dazzling smile — she truly is gorgeous. Eddie was still talking to them when he started dating her so they know she’s a schoolteacher turned vice principal but to meet her in person blows all their other expectations out of the water. She’s lively and sweet, patient and understanding, Latina — a big plus in Ramon’s books ironically. Eddie picked well this time.

Eddie hesitates a moment and nods. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

Every now and again, he squirms in his chair, like he can’t quite settle in and Helena wonders when his last painkiller was taken. But when he catches her face, she smoothes her worry out into a cheeky smile that says I like this one. He smiles back and there’s nothing she can pinpoint exactly but something about it makes her uneasy.

Eddie’s too quiet as they wait for their food, his face pinched, and just when Helena’s about to break, Ana does her the favour of asking gently, “Are you feeling okay? Do you need to take anything for your arm?”

But Eddie shrugs off her concern. “No, thank you. Next one isn’t until noon.” He taps his phone twice and she smiles.

“Sorry, I forgot. He’s got them all on timers with a special ringtone. He’s so organized,” she tells Helena and Ramon with a sunny smile, rubbing her hand down his good arm. “I have one multivitamin and I forget to take it half the time.”

“Buck set it up,” Eddie defers, and Helena schools her face not to react; even at brunch Buck is with them in spirit.

Ramon either takes no issue with the mention or doesn’t register it. He takes the opportunity to share how his new pharmacy pre-packages his heart and arthritis medications into AM and PM slots and Ana listens attentively. Eddie’s fingertip taps absently against the phone case until their food arrives.

Christopher ordered a waffle, and with Eddie indisposed, Helena is already moving to help him when Ana beats her to the punch again. Helena tucks a smile away as Ana leans over and starts cutting the waffle up into smaller pieces.

“He can do that,” Eddie says when he notices Christopher sitting back in his chair, realizing only when Ana startles that his tone is sharp. His voice is softer when he follows up with, “Right, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, picking up his own cutlery with enthusiasm despite his hands being nearly too small for them.

Eddie throws an apologetic grin Ana’s way and brunch continues peacefully, though the stiff line of Eddie’s shoulder never does quite soften.

Mom, listen…

————-

Their first therapy session takes place in Isabel’s kitchen at Eddie’s request. Isabel thinks it’s so he has the option of leaving when he needs to (in other words, when he gets fed up and runs) but Helena hasn’t missed how Eddie has been careful to keep them away from his home since the first day they saw him.

They’ve seen Eddie and Chris numerous times in the week and change they’ve been in LA — more than they’ve seen them since they left El Paso — but always outside of the house. Sometimes they pick Chris up from school, sometimes Eddie and Chris come to Isabel’s for supper, sometimes they go out to restaurants or other outings, but they haven’t been invited back to his home again. She wanted to believe it was because he was hiding the news that Ana had moved in but that’s been shot out of the water both by her ringing the doorbell and an errant comment at the end of brunch about how she hadn’t seen him since the welcome home party.

So it’s out of pettiness, then. Stubbornness. Out of pig-headed inability to accept that he needs help and willingness to believe that they’re making an effort to meet him on his own terms.

She tries not to let it rankle her, tries to find some of that resolute commitment to letting things be and not push. But the next thing she knows, she’s yelling about it to a stranger at Isabel’s island counter.

To be fair, the session with Dr. Jamieson wasn’t going great to begin with. It’s awkward as hell, the three of them balancing on stools, squished in next to each other to try to fit into the screen, but also trying to keep the laptop close enough to still hear her and not have to shout. It’s happening while Chris is at school so they don’t have to worry about keeping him distracted but they can’t exactly ask Isabel to go wait in the LA sun for an hour so she doesn’t overhear, so it’s basically a given that she’s the fourth person on this virtual couch from the next room over.

And beyond that, Helena has kept her mouth shut for over a week which is frankly more time than anyone would have bet on, including herself, and given the opportunity to express herself freely...well…

“You want space? We’ve given you nothing but space since we got here. How much more can we give you, Eddie? You’re hundreds of miles away from us already. Forgive us for feeling the need to check in on our only son who almost died last week,” she yells, her hand nearly colliding with her coffee mug as she gestures.

“Last week?” Ramon echoes with a bark of dark laughter.

“Oh, no, that’s right,” Helena picks up. “I’m sorry! Not a week ago! Nearly a month ago! Because apparently we don’t warrant even a text when our only son almost dies, but that’s not enough space?”

Eddie rakes his fingers aggressively through his hair, his lips pursed.

“We have to move to Mexico,” Ramon continues blithely. “Is that enough space? No, better yet! Sweden! Your family still lives out there, no? We can live on their farm. Completely different timezone, we won’t even be reachable.”

“Yeah,” Eddie bites back, a sour grin blooming on his face, “that’s what I want. I ask you to give me some breathing room — to respect me, my life — and you translate that into living in a fucking commune in Sweden. And you wonder why we’re in therapy. I can’t talk to you, you don’t listen!”

Mom, lis—

“Listen to what, Eddie?” Helena yells, getting out of her seat to pace. “Listen to the months of silence you’ve sent our way? Because we either get on board and blindly cheer on every mess you get yourself into or we don’t get to know you anymore? Don’t get to know our grandson?”

“I never kept him from you — you have our number, the phone didn’t ring. That’s not on me.”

“Because you would have picked up?” Ramon exclaims, pushing away from the island to better look back at their son. “Easy to claim when it’s after the fact in front of the doctor.”

“So now I’m a liar! You raised a liar?”

“I think we’ve gotten off-track,” Dr. Jamieson’s tinny voice interjects from the laptop.

In the bottom right hand corner of the screen, only Eddie remains in the frame.

————

Firehouse 118 was a lively crowd at Eddie’s graduation but it’s nothing compared to the party thrown at the Grant-Nash house in honour of a new probationary firefighter.

Dr. Jamieson pointed out the self-fulfilling prophecy that Eddie protecting himself from criticism and pressure by withholding details about his life in LA was leading to his parents’ growing insecurity over not knowing anything about their son and feeling the need to intervene more and more.

The solution? Let them in on his life and trust that they could hold themselves in check.

For that, even Ramon was in agreement that maybe therapy wasn’t a load of shit after all.

So here they find themselves welcomed into this beautiful and loud home nearly three weeks into their stay in LA. They were allowed to pick Eddie and Chris up so they arrive together but Christopher peels off immediately to find kids his own age.

It’s impossible not to feel the warmth of family radiating from every inch of the home so when Eddie’s shoulders seem to loosen a little as they walk in, Helena can’t find it in herself to begrudge him.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a woman around Helena’s age drawls, crowding into Eddie’s space for a delicate hug he doesn’t hesitate to return. “Though I could have done without seeing another one of these for a few hundred more years,” she says, gesturing to the sling. “How much longer?”

“Another month if everything checks out,” Eddie says, releasing a sigh.

“It better,” she warns with a twinkle in her eye that says if she learns he’s been aggravating his injury there will be hell to pay.

The woman, they find out, is Athena Grant-Nash, wife of the 118’s captain and consummate host. While Eddie splits off “for a minute”, she leads them to the main area for drinks and introductions before leaving them to mingle. Captain Nash — Bobby — meets them with appetizers and introduces them to the Lees, the de-facto parental figures of the young man who just joined the team.

From the spot she claims at the edge of the dining room, Helena keeps an eye trained on Eddie outside. She feels an itch under her skin knowing it’s been nearly twenty minutes and Eddie hasn’t checked on Christopher, but she knows she shouldn’t go herself. Eddie can do everything on his own, right? He can look after his own kid at a party.

She can, however, go to the washroom and take a peek at what Christopher’s up to while she’s wandering, and that’s exactly what she intends to do.

But for now, she watches as Eddie criss-crosses through the crowds of the patio, prompting a localized burst of cheers at each stop as he reunites himself with teammates he hasn’t seen since the shooting. She recognizes the woman who was on the trip to Texas but the rest conjure only the vaguest memories of Eddie’s graduation and the occasional picture on Instagram — before he stopped posting that is. Just one more way they’ve been iced out.

But he seems happy, almost carefree in a way she realizes she hasn’t seen with her own eyes in...longer than this trip, actually.

Probably years, if she’s honest.

And it occurs to her, slowly, creepingly, that her son is outside, smiling freely and easily, surrounded by people he’s made his new family, while Helena stands inside watching his life through a glass window in a stranger’s house.

Mom, listen…

She swallows past the lump in her throat and sighs. Ramon’s arm comes around her waist and without looking at him, she knows he’s had a similar revelation.

Their next therapy session is in a few days, and they’re not going to fuck it up again.

There’s a late arrival to the party, one of the only people in Eddie’s life she can recognize — Buck. He’s as tall as she remembered but he looks a shade less young now maybe. He greets everyone with a hug or kiss on the cheek as he moves through the party, and bestows a cheer and an enthusiastic hug on Albert, the guest of honour.

When he moves on to the patio and approaches Eddie’s circle, however, the cheerful, long-awaited reunion of best friends she expects doesn’t happen. They catch each other’s eyes for a few beats and share a welcoming smile, then the conversation resumes as if nothing of consequence has happened. Buck doesn’t even linger long, heading back into the house after a few minutes.

When the cake starts being doled out, Eddie returns to meet them at the table and accepts the plate Helena offers him. Helena is scouting the yard for a chair he can sit on to eat when Buck reappears.

“He couldn’t be pulled away?” Eddie asks in surprise.

“Nope,” Buck replies with a grin before turning to them. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Diaz. Good to see you again!” Before they can return more than a smile, Buck continues, “he’s cheating at Unicorn Temple with Harry. Not even cake can pull him away.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smiles. “My son is not a cheater.” To them, he says, “Buck thinks that whenever he’s losing at a video game, it’s because his opponent is cheating.”

“Not always! Just when they are,” he replies with exaggerated emphasis before scooping a piece of cake onto a plate. “I’m gonna go hide this in the fridge for him for later before it’s all gone.”

Eddie ducks his head and smiles down at his plate, and the questions are building up behind Helena’s teeth again.

Christopher’s been playing video games all this time? Is it an age-appropriate game? Why is Buck checking on your son? Why is Buck saving him cake when nobody asked him to? Why—

But Eddie looks up with an uncertain expression and says, “there’s a table out there if you guys want to join me.”

So Helena stows her questions and says, “that’d be great.”

They eat the overly-sweet cake in peaceful silence until Ramon casts an eye around and says, “you must be glad about the new firefighter. You won’t be the baby on the team anymore.”

Eddie snorts. “I’m 33 and my kid is nearly a teenager — and that’s totally not freaking me out at all,” he adds wryly. “Besides, I was never the baby of the team. Buck is younger than me and forever a kid at heart so I was never in any danger of it.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me that Christopher’s growing up,” Helena only half-jokes. “I can still barely believe he’s old enough to hold his own head up.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and Helena banks it as a win.

“Do any of your coworkers have teenagers?” Ramon asks. “Might have some words of wisdom to share.” Since you won’t ask us, is unspoken and politely ignored by all.

“Athena’s daughter May is just leaving the teen years now, but after her, Christopher’s the oldest. Harry, Athena’s son is 9 and Denny, Hen and Karen’s son just turned 8. It’s great for play dates but not for getting advice on what’s coming up unfortunately.”

“Karen,” Ramon echoes.

Eddie’s fork pauses on its way to scoop some excess icing off his cake and his back straightens.

“Hen’s wife,” he says curtly, daring.

Helena wants to roll her eyes at the posturing. It’s 2021, who cares who anybody loves. She knows Ramon doesn’t, not really, not anymore. It’s a 50-year-long reflex to make a comment, one they’ve been working, if only to have some semblance of a civil conversation with Sophia while she works through a degree in women and gender studies.

But she knows that excuse isn’t going to fly with Eddie.

It hasn’t flown since Eddie was 20 years old and realizing he’d lost a good friend to his father’s caustic words. And Helena can’t ever go back and examine the hurt in Eddie’s expression with fresh eyes. Shemanages to forget about it most of the time until something happens to dig it out of the cold, hard ground and shove it in her arms.

Mom, listen...

But she’s come to LA because she wants to be in her son’s life, in her grandson’s life and she can’t be a coward now.

“They’re a gorgeous couple,” she says, almost too loudly in her enthusiasm. “Are they thinking of having more kids?”

Eddie turns his assessing eyes to her and is mollified by her effort. “Yeah, they’re foster parents now. They’ve fostered three kids so far.”

“That’s great,” she says sincerely. Then, accidentally on purpose and only in part to bring Ramon back to a safe topic, she asks, “Does Ana want a large family?”

Eddie sees through her attempt, but nods. “Yeah, she loves kids.”

Helena doesn’t miss Ramon’s approving nod, or the dark look that passes over Eddie’s eyes when he catches it.

“Was Ana not able to come tonight?” Ramon asks.

“I didn’t ask her,” he answers, his voice a shade too casual. “This is more of a team thing.” As if they hadn’t just been discussing the other families all around them.

“That Ana—” Ramon begins but is interrupted by the arrival of Christopher with a hint of blue icing on his nose and Buck following behind him with two paper plates filled with cake.

Christopher sits backwards on the picnic table bench and uses his arms to lift his legs over while Eddie watches but doesn’t offer to help, and when Christopher is set, Buck places one of the plates in front of him with a plastic fork stuck in the top like a flag.

“Buck was finally able to pull you away, mijo?” Eddie asks as Christopher digs in.

“No, May took her room back so we can’t play on her tv anymore. Harry’s gonna ask his mom if we can play in her room.”

“Yeah...” Buck draws out, sharing a dubious expression with Eddie over Christopher’s head, “I wouldn’t hold out for that, bud.”

“Maybe you can teach the others how to play Scrabble!” Eddie suggests.

Christopher’s nose wrinkles, “Scrabble is boring.”

“Hey!” Buck protests and takes a forkful of Christopher’s cake in retaliation, which prompts Christopher to yell and attack Buck’s cake back, taking much more than a forkful.

The commotion draws attention to their table and Helena’s gearing up to tell Christopher to settle down when she catches Eddie’s eyes on her, waiting.

Helena looks back out to the backyard to say, People are staring.

Eddie looks back impassively as if to say, Let them.

Mom, listen...

Helena swallows her impatience, her anxiety, her embarrassment.

“Hey,” Buck calls, his mouth half full of icing, “did you take your 6?”

Eddie hesitates and that’s enough for Buck to swallow and look put out, already turning and lifting a leg out of the confines of the picnic table.

“Did you turn off your alarm again?”

“I didn’t turn it off the first time, I don’t know what happened.”

“What happened is it woke you up at 6am and you turned it off because sleepy Eddie makes bad life choices.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You don’t have —”

“Right pocket?” Buck interjects, already walking away.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.

Christopher looks at him and shakes his head with exaggerated disappointment.

“Don’t you start,” Eddie warns, scooping a fingertip of icing and dabbing it on his son’s nose too quickly for him to duck.

Christopher shrieks and reaches for his cake fingers-first.

“Oh no, no,” Eddie laughs, catching Christopher’s fingers with one hand. “Truce, truce.”

Christopher doesn’t look interested in a truce and Eddie’s other arm is in a sling, so Ramon quickly pulls the cake out of Christopher’s reach, and then Buck’s abandoned piece and Helena does the same with Eddie’s.

“Not fair!” Christopher cries, still reaching.

“Your dad’s hurt, mijo, you can’t attack him with icing while he’s healing,” Ramon says reasonably. “Wait till he’s all better.”

“He’s fine!” Christopher declares with the confidence of a trauma surgeon as he tries to climb up on the bench.

Eddie’s not in a position to pull him back down and Helena doesn’t know how far they can take their non-interference but she’s not about to let her grandson hop over a table to fall into three plates of cake. She’s half-decided she’s going to pick up the cake and walk it back inside when Buck returns, depositing a glass of water on the table and a small white pill into Eddie’s palm before swooping in and tickling Christopher’s sides.

He shrieks loudly, gaining looks from all around the backyard, but it gets his butt back down on the bench and Buck sits back down next to him, boxing him in between himself and Eddie.

“What happened to our cake? How’d it get all the way over there?” The plates are very easily within Buck’s reach; it’s a question for Christopher’s benefit.

“Dad got me like you did!” Christopher cries indignantly, pointing to his nose. “I’m getting him back!”

“Oh man,” Buck nods seriously before his finger darts forward, swipes the icing from his nose and brings it to his mouth. “Mmm, this is better than the one I got you with. You sure you don’t just wanna eat it?”

Christopher looks unconvinced.

“How about this?” Buck ducks down to whisper loudly. “You call a truce with your dad, and then I’ll steal all his icing and we’ll eat it.”

The icing on Eddie’s cake is mostly piled in a corner of his paper plate. He’s never been able to stomach the pure sugary sweetness of store bought icing.

“Okay,” Christopher nods back, reaching out again for his plate but without making grabby hands.

Ramon assesses him for a moment before taking the chance to push the plates back within reach.

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck calls deliberately. “You should take your medication now.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Eddie replies with a smile that conveys an eyeroll. “I’ll do that now.”

While Eddie pops the pill and takes a very long drink of water, Buck “sneakily” pulls his plate towards them and scoops all the piled icing onto his own plate before pushing the cake back to Eddie’s side of the table.

Christopher laughs and pushes Eddie’s plate an extra few inches away out of spite.

Eddie plays the disappointed victim passably well with a half-hearted gasp and a shake of his head. “You little thieves.”

As promised, Buck doles out some of Eddie’s icing to Christopher who immediately protests at the amount left on Buck’s plate.

“Hey, when you’re a big guy like me, you get more icing. Keep eating your proteins and you’ll get there in no time.”

Christopher accepts that easily enough. “I’m gonna be tall like dad.”

Buck scoffs, “Aim higher, kid. Literally.”

“I am barely two inches shorter than you,” Eddie laments, not for the first time, it sounds like.

“It’s practically three. Are you really going to lie in front of your parents?”

Wouldn’t be the first time, is on Helena’s tongue because it’s been hours since she could speak her mind, but she holds it in.

“How was the trip from Texas?” Buck asks them suddenly, bringing them back into the fold of a scene they'd never left but somehow stopped being a part of. “Flights have new restrictions on them now, don’t they?”

Mom, listen...

When the party is winding down and they walk outside to the driveway, Eddie surprises them by offering them both a hug.

“Thank you for coming,” he says sincerely, though Helena hears the underlying “and behaving” and can’t help but bristle.

“Thank you for inviting us, mijo,” Ramon says; his turn to save Helena from herself.

And when Eddie lets them know he and Chris will be getting their ride back from Buck, Ramon takes Helena’s hand and they smile almost sincerely as they say their goodnights.

—————-

The next week happens to be Isabel’s 80th birthday and Helena and Ramon keep themselves busy by helping to throw a party that will reunite every vaccinated member of the family in the area (they’re not about to take a chance on Isabel’s health).

Things have been getting better with Eddie. They had a second therapy session, again at Isabel’s island counter, where they lasted a good 25 minutes before devolving into yelling. The next day, Eddie asked Ramon for a ride to physical therapy, and easily accepted his father’s offer of lunch after the appointment.

Then, when Helena asked if she could pick up some groceries for him and Christopher, she was refused — in no small part, she thinks, because he still won’t let them in his house — but instead of going off on him, she channeled that anger and resentment into nearly buying out Costco for Isabel’s party. It felt like progress Dr. Jamieson would be proud of.

That’s why, despite the party officially kicking off around 11am, they’re just past supper time and all tables and counters are still nearly buckling under the weight of the food. They’ll have to send everyone home with leftovers if the flow of people stops. Isabel’s front door has been a turnstile since this morning and Helena knows from experience it’ll likely stay that way until the late hours of the night. Most recently, Helena’s daughters made their appearance, and it’s not at all the reason Helena is back in the kitchen.

Despite coming from opposite ends with different travel distances, Adriana and Sophia arrived within a half hour of each other, a move Helena saw through instantly. The idea that her children coordinated to arrive together instead of risking the possibility of facing their parents alone sets a fire raging in her heart, and she realizes suddenly that she isn’t prepared to be hypervigilant of her every word with all three of her kids here now to push her buttons.

So, she retreats to the kitchen.

She doesn’t expect one of them to follow her in.

“I heard you guys were doing therapy,” Adriana volleys as she approaches.

Helena cracks open the tray of chocolate chip cookies and starts plating them, her face angled down so any kneejerk expression of distaste isn’t as visible. “Apparently, that’s what the cool kids do nowadays.”

“It is,” Adriana agrees, the bangles on her wrists clinking on the countertop as she reaches for the box of oatmeal cookies to plate. She’s a year into her Master’s in communication. What she intends to do with that is a mystery to them. So much of their kids’ lives are a mystery now. Helena closes the lid of the cookie tray hard and relishes in the snap of the plastic groove into the tongue.

“Paying a stranger to tell us when and how to talk to each other is cool,” she bites. It’s not posed as a question, just a bitter acknowledgement.

Adriana is quiet and Helena starts plating mini quiches onto the cookie platter just to stay occupied while her daughter walks away. Sophia is a yeller, she stands her ground and gives as good as she gets. Adriana, however, is a runner, just like Eddie.

But Adriana doesn’t leave in a huff. She turns to the counter and grabs a second platter, moving the mini quiches onto that one.

“It’s cool that you’re open to trying,” she says. “I think that, in any family where there’s love, there’s going to be hurt. And the longer we stay stuck in that hurt, the harder it becomes to talk about it without causing more. We get stuck in patterns that we can’t break out of, and people on the outside can be the best ones to point out those patterns and help you break out of them to get to what you actually, truly want to say.”

Helena knows what she actually, truly wants to say. That’s not the problem. The problem is that none of her kids want to hear it.

“I see a therapist,” Adriana continues. Helena stills and looks at her daughter, calmly arranging the mini quiches into concentric circles. “Since my last year of undergrad. When things got really hard and I couldn’t understand why. They helped me. A lot. Helped me figure out what was wrong and how to get myself through it.”

“You didn’t tell us,” Helena says, her voice thick.

“I know,” her daughter replies simply. “I didn’t know how. I’m telling you now because what I actually, truly want to say is that I’m proud of you and dad for doing this. And maybe if you don’t hate it...maybe we could try a session later too.”

There’s an offer in her daughter’s words, an open hand reaching out. But in that hand, Helena sees her failures as a parent, the judgement of the world for failing her kids, and she doesn’t want to reach her own hand out.

Mom, listen…

Helena looks at her eldest daughter, almost a stranger to her, with an entire life Helena is only starting to realize she has no part in. It hurts — it always hurts when the kids pull away but to realize she didn’t even know the extent of it...she wants to hurt back.

Mom, listen…

But she’s trying so hard to break those patterns Adriana speaks of. So instead, Helena thinks of the therapist’s advice leading them into a piece of Eddie’s life they wouldn’t have otherwise gotten to see and swallows past the indignation in her throat to reach down and find the words she actually, truly wants to say.

“You say when, and I’ll be there.”

———-

The sun is setting when Helena finally agrees to get off her feet and just enjoy the party outside while the cousins take over the serving and cleaning. There are four generations of Diazes gathered around but for the first time ever, most of the cousins are young adults, not teenagers, and it’s nice to be able to pass on the hosting responsibilities to them for a bit.

The sky is clear, the sunset resplendent from Isabel’s backyard, and the conversation is flowing easily. It’s a beautiful evening, warm with a gentle breeze cool enough to let her lean back against Ramon in his lounge chair, one of his arms wrapped loosely around her hip.

For the first time since getting Isabel’s text, Helena feels something like peace wash over her and she almost feels bad for the thrum of vindication in her stomach when she spots Eddie slumped comfortably in an armchair, his legs propped up on another chair.

He’s at home here.

Yes, he was at ease at his captain’s house but this is family, this is where he can really sink into the love and comfort and rest. With his aunts and uncles, cousins and sisters around to take care of him. And Christopher, who spent the afternoon running around and chomping down on all the sugar he could get his hands on, slumped against him, nearly asleep. This is family.

She knows he could find that peace back in El Paso, they both could. Eddie had friends there, and his parents, who knew his son better than he did for most of his life. And there are fires in El Paso same as there are in LA, but less smog, less general insanity.

But Eddie’s a lot like his parents, too much like them maybe, and once he’s decided on a course of action he can’t be swayed. So Helena has made peace with it. Rather, she’s made peace with pretending to be okay with it while she waits for him to come to the realization that he should move back.

And in the meantime, if they can mend this thorniness between them, then maybe she and Ramon can make more of these impromptu trips. Maybe even convince Eddie to come home for Christmas this year. At the very least, go back to regular video chats.

But all that ruminating feels far away right now. She’s moving gently with the rise and fall of Ramon’s chest, and she’s so close to slipping away to the feeling of contentment when a new arrival makes her open eyes she didn’t realize she’d closed.

“Feliz cumpleanos,” she hears someone say in half-decent Spanish from the front door on the other side of the side yard fence.

She doesn’t recognize the voice as yet another cousin or uncle, but Eddie shakes Christopher’s shoulder gently, and says, “hey, guess who’s here.”

It takes a moment, but the words penetrate Christopher’s sleepiness. His eyes pop open and he shimmies out of Eddie’s lap and into his crutches to power walk over to the gate just in time for it to open, admitting Isabel, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and a sheepish looking Buck behind her.

“Buck!” Christopher yells.

Buck’s smile widens and he immediately opens his arms. “Hey, superman!”

Buck crouches down and Christopher throws his arms around his neck, crutches and all. When it’s time to break apart, Christopher’s still hanging on and Helena feels a stab of dark vindication at what’s about to happen, and the look Ramon sends her way tells her she’s not alone. Because Christopher is now officially in the double digits, and while he’s always been an independent kid, becoming 10 years old was a big deal for him and his perceived level of maturity, and apparently the year he decided no one was allowed to carry him anymore.

And now Christopher’s tired and in the grip of a powerful sugar crash. He’s not going to suffer any indignities, and Helena knows she should feel bad about not trying to stop Buck. About just watching this play out to see him be rejected. But she wasn’t expecting to see him here, in this safe haven of Isabel’s backyard, in this space for family and loved ones, and it rankles her. It feels like everywhere she turns in LA, she finds him there. And his being here is just another nail in the coffin of Eddie stubbornly refusing to let his parents back into his home. That he would call his friend to this party just to avoid letting them give him a ride…

So she’s a little bitter, a little resentful of the persistent, low-key rejection. Sue her. Eddie has made it clear he doesn’t want them interfering anyway so this is on him.

“Christopher,” Eddie calls, a warning to not make a scene.

Buck looks over Christopher’s shoulder and smiles. “He’s fine,” he says.

Then he’s heaving Christopher’s body up into his arms and onto his hip and Christopher…

...Christopher slumps down over Buck’s shoulder like a baby koala. No sound of protest leaves his lips. His face, if it shows any displeasure, is hidden behind Buck’s neck.

And when Eddie gets up, it’s not to intercede, it’s only to grab the errant crutches before they hit something, and to pull his own armless chair out for Buck to sit on because apparently Buck is staying, and apparently Christopher is staying with him.

“He’s a bit old to be carried around, no?” Ramon says with a bite, because he can’t help himself.

Eddie, who’s been watching his son fondly, barely bats an eye. “He gets cuddly when he’s tired, and Buck’s nearly the only one left who’s big enough to carry him.”

“Ah, that’s why you spend so much time developing these,” Pepa says with a sly smile as she pinches at Buck’s bicep. The same familiar pinch she gave her own grandkids’ cheeks.

“Gracias a Dios,” Isabel adds meaningfully.

“That was adrenaline,” Eddie dismisses with a teasing grin.

“That was 100 squats and 50 pushups a day,” Buck returns blithely. “...and maybe a little adrenaline.”

“What’s this?” Ramon asks before she can.

Instead of prompting more teasing, the mood falls slightly and everyone looks to each other.

Finally, Eddie sighs. “When I got shot, Buck army crawled under a ladder truck to get me out and lifted me into the truck to get to the hospital.”

It strikes Helena suddenly, shamefully, that in the shock of finding out they’d missed the event itself, the hospital stay, and two entire weeks of healing, that they’d never circled back around for details on what actually went down the day it happened.

She never thought to wonder how he got off that street. How he got to the hospital. Who might have saved his life.

And she wishes she were a better person then. Wishes that learning Buck saved her son’s life overpowered her irritation at having him sitting here in Isabel’s backyard like he belonged here when Helena herself barely felt like she did herself. It does help, though.

“They released the street footage of the shooting,” Pepa continues quietly. “It’s on YouTube. Before I even knew it happened, Marguerita from church just sent me a link saying ‘they said it’s a Diaz, do you know him?’ and I saw.”

The idea of her son’s shooting being passed around like a cat video makes Helena sick, but Pepa lamenting how she hadn’t known when she learned about it in a matter of hours and sat on it for weeks…

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Pepa says decisively. “But they have an angle where you can see our Buck here go and get Eddie, pick him up like he doesn’t weigh a thing and get him into the truck to get to the hospital. Probably why he’s alive today. So gracias a Dios for those squats.”

Eddie and Buck are both looking away, both looking safely at Christopher while the table digests the news.

“If you were looking for a story of something really dumb, I can point you in the direction of another video of Buck,” Eddie says, his tone jovial but his eyes strained.

“You need to let that go,” Buck says in a definite whine.

“Do I?” Eddie asks. “Abuela did you see the video of the firefighter who went up the crane all alone?”

“Dios mío, Buck,” Pepa laments.

“Did you send it to me?” Abuela asks her, pulling out her phone and her glasses to check.

“No, mamá, it was an idiot firefighter but I didn’t realize it was the one we knew.”

“In the middle of an all-out declaration of war on firefighters,” Eddie begins, quietly for Christopher’s sake, but impassioned, sitting up in his chair, “this idiota and his squat count climbed up a crane ladder, completely exposed and defenseless—”

Buck looks pained. “I was wearing a bulletproof vest and a helmet. And that’s the job sometimes—”

“The paramedics’ job, actually, which you aren’t. So, no, that wasn’t the job.” Eddie’s tone edges into something darker without his meaning to. He takes a drink of his lemonade looking for all the world like he wished it was a beer. “And you know that or I wouldn’t have found out about it from Chim a month after the fact.”

Helena clenches her jaw tight and squeezes Ramon’s hand even tighter so neither of them can say, So you have a problem being left in the dark too?

“Buck,” Isabel sighs with disappointment.

Buck winces. “It was before— ” He cuts himself off, his wide eyes darting towards Helena and Ramon of all people.

“Hmm,” Isabel answers noncommittally, as if to end the conversation.

Just then, Sophia brings out a platter of bite-sized desserts, making the rounds of the whole circle for people to pick at before leaving it on the table. The opportunity to move on is there. That doesn’t mean they’re interested in taking it.

“Before what?” Ramon asks, his tone is forcibly casual.

The silence that greets Ramon’s question is heavy. Guilty. When Helena casts her eyes around, she’s greeted by stiff shoulders and a mix of apprehension shared between her son, her mother- and sister-in-law, and Buck.

Mom, listen...

“Before what?” Helena repeats, her voice uncompromising.

———-

The fight they have in Isabel’s guest bedroom is a Hall of Famer. It’s a screaming match, no doubt about it. The doors from the bedroom to the yard are all closed but there’s no question every member of the family — and Buck — can hear every word.

“Do you really hate us that much?” Helena demands. She’s crying but she doesn’t know if it’s heartbreak or fury, she just wishes it’d stop so she could lean into her anger. “Genuinely, honestly, Eddie.”

“I don’t hate you,” he protests, keeping his own voice down, making it seem like they’re irrational for their anger.

“Bullshit,” she spits.

“You must!” Ramon adds. “You hate us so much that you have to hate your sisters too? Your cousins? You would rather leave your only son to a stranger, some gringo coworker, than with family? That’s how much you hate us? Hate our name?”

“Our name?” Eddie shoots back incredulously. “What are you talking about, our name? We’re not royalty, papi, and Chris’ name would never change.”

“You would leave him to your coworker,” Helena stresses, disgust dripping from her tongue.

“To my best friend,” Eddie retorts, “who Christopher adores, if you haven’t noticed. And who adores Christopher right back.”

“That’s not normal, mijo,” Ramon warns.

“Jesus christ,” Eddie seethes. “Please do not star—”

“What kind of single adult man bonds with another man’s child like that?”

“You’re describing a tío, you understand that right? What, you think it’s weird that Pepa loves me like her own? You think Sophia should stay away from Chris too?”

“That’s family,” Helena argues.

“And they’re women!”

“Ramon, shut up,” Helena snaps.

“Buck is our family, and he’s a man, and he’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. If anything happened to me, Christopher would be taken care of like if I was still here.”

“Buck, the one who nearly got him killed in the tsunami? That’s the same guy right?” Ramon throws out, his eyes a little wild as he paces.

“The one who saved his life in that tsunami, despite being injured and then some. And the one who’s saved my life more times than I can count, including from being gunned down on the street. We’d both probably be dead if not f— ”

“Isn’t he the one who’s family is worse off than ours?” Helena recalls. “So he has no family, no support, no girlfriend even! So a worse position than you’re in now. That’s what you want to leave him with.”

“He doesn’t need a girlfriend to raise Christopher right, I don’t! And he has a great sister, he has the 118, he has Carla, and he has our family. You think Abuela and Pepa would shut the door on him? He’d be here every Sunday, with Christopher, just like I am.”

“And what does your girlfriend think of this?” Ramon presses. “The vice principal, she thinks this is normal?”

“Ana doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Eddie says, frowning.

Helena balks. “You think the woman you’ve been seeing seriously for nearly a year has nothing to do with long-term decisions about your son? You think maybe she wouldn’t want the option of taking Christopher in if something happened to you?”

“That’s not happening, he’s going to Buck and that’s final.”

“What’s going on with you and this gringo?” Ramon asks suspiciously. “Are you even going out with Ana or was that another lie?”

“Ramon, don’t go there,” Helena sighs, her heart clenching. That’s all they need in this clusterfuck, that layer of pain.

“No, let’s go there because you know what?” Eddie asks darkly. “There is no one on this planet I trust with my son more than Buck and yeah, if we need to lay it all out there, that includes the two of you. I know you love Christopher, just like I know Shannon loved him, but that’s not always going to be enough. Buck isn’t going to fill my son’s head with ideas about the wrong kind of way to love someone. He’s not going to tell him he’s not good enough for his family to love him or support him. Buck’s going to make sure Christopher grows up to follow his heart and find whatever makes him happiest in the world, no matter what that looks like.”

“How could you think—”

“What if he grows up to be gay?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring his father down. “You’re telling me you’re going to be the one to help him pick out a suit to go to prom with his boyfriend?”

Ramon purses his lips but tries, “it’s a different world now,” as if he hadn’t just tried to make crass insinuations just to hurt his son.

“Okay,” Eddie says, not believing him for a moment, “what if he’s trans? Tells you at 15 that he’s a girl and he wants to transition. You’re going to get him on hormone therapy?”

“Eddie that’s not—”

“What if he’s 20 and he tells you he got a girl pregnant by accident and he doesn’t know her enough to love her, and he’s not ready to be a father let alone a husband?”

Helena tries to speak but her throat is suddenly too tight for words to get out.

“You gonna tell him he’s not a man if he doesn’t marry her anyway?”

Ramon says nothing.

“Christopher is going to Buck, and that’s final.”

——————-

Helena and Ramon don’t show up for the third therapy session.

Their plane tickets were only for three weeks, originally, and as the days run out, they don’t talk about extensions.

———-

Helena is sitting out in Isabel’s backyard, trying to conjure up that feeling of serenity she got to bask in for all of two minutes the night of the birthday party.

It’s not working.

They’re going back to El Paso tomorrow, leaving their relationship with Eddie in worse straits than when they arrived.

There’s always been a tension between them and Eddie, but there’s also always been love and respect, and that love and respect formed a polite barrier around the things they couldn’t talk about. It kept their relationship safe. Kept them from getting too close to real honesty where things hurt in ways that couldn’t be walked back.

It feels now like that barrier has fallen. That Eddie’s finally reached the limit of what he could hold back and now there’s nothing to help them pretend everything is okay. Nothing to help Helena believe this is all something that could blow over.

That’s to say nothing of Christopher, who’s never felt as far away as he does now, even while they linger in the same city, only a couple dozen blocks away.

Helena scrolls listlessly through her phone’s camera roll for the last few weeks. There are pictures of Christopher mostly, but Eddie and the rest of the family are there too. It hurts to notice how Eddie is markedly happier in the shots where he’s looking away from the camera. Away from her.

Mom, listen…

Helena opens up Instagram and lets herself forget for a moment that anything is wrong. On Instagram, there is only joy and fun. And Buck.

Eddie hasn’t posted anything to his account in months but starting from the end and working backwards, Buck features heavily. He’s in at least a third of the pictures, usually with Christopher. One of the posts includes a short video that she watches. It’s of the day they unveiled the adapted skateboard, and it nourishes her soul. There’s no sadness here, or tension, only pure radiating happiness and excitement. It’s magical.

And it’s meaningful.

Mom, listen…

Helena is out of her chair and pocketing Isabel’s car keys before she can talk herself out of it. The drive to Eddie’s house is made with a carefully blank mind. She knows if she lets herself think about what she’s going to say, she’s going to spiral and get to a place where all this fear and sadness turn dark and ugly, and she can’t afford to risk it.

Finally, she’s knocking gently on a front door she’s only seen three times in the weeks she’s been here.

Buck answers the door.

————-

The house is quiet when Helena steps in.

She doesn’t bother taking her shoes off this time, she’s not sure how long she’ll be allowed to stay. But she notices that the space where her shoes would have gone is taken up by a pair of large boots she imagines fit perfectly on Buck’s feet.

Buck disappears into the living room and she follows quietly after him. The lights are off but the muted tv glows brightly enough for her to see Eddie reclined on his back on the couch, sleeping, and Buck sitting down on the edge of the coffee table to shake his arm.

Eddie’s always been a light sleeper, especially after the army and Christopher. He doesn’t wake easily now.

He’s wearing the sling, but it’s the only indication that anything is amiss with him. There’s no sign of pain or worry on his face, no tension in his shoulders. He’s practically melted into the recesses of the couch. He’s a picture of comfort. And why shouldn’t he be? He’s in his home, away from family, from expectations, and judgements. Just him and Christopher. And Buck.

Eddie finally takes a deep breath that shows his body is coming around but his eyes stay closed. Buck is murmuring something but she only catches, “ — mom — here.”

Then, at last, Eddie’s eyelids part, and the deep laxness of his body disappears almost in the blink of an eye.

“What?” he croaks, already trying to sit up.

Buck’s hands are already moving to support his back.

“ — says she wants to apologize.”

Eddie scoffs and sits upright, feet firmly planted on the floor as he blinks himself awake.

“Mom?”

“I’m here,” she says, stepping closer into the light of the tv.

Buck catches Eddie’s eye and they have an entire conversation in five silent seconds that ends with Buck nodding and getting up from the table, watching Helena warily as she approaches further.

“Watch your eyes,” Buck says quietly to Eddie before flipping the wall switch and illuminating the room. He lingers for a moment, clearly undecided about leaving, before saying, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Finally, Helena is alone with her son in his home. The quiet is almost peaceful, she doesn’t want to break it. Eddie does instead.

“Buck said you wanted to apologize, so I’m assuming he misheard,” Eddie says wryly.

There are pillow creases on the side of his face and Helena can’t remember the last time she saw him look so disheveled, so at home. It makes her heart ache for the days when she’d have to force him out of bed at noon on weekends, drive him to wrestling practice early in the morning, watch over him as he slept sometimes, just to make sure he was okay.

“Shockingly, no,” she smiles sadly.

Eddie blinks up at her for a moment before shifting down on the couch, leaving her some room to sit. She takes the invitation, but once she’s sitting down with Eddie’s full attention on her, she realizes not preparing what she wanted to say might have been a mistake. She has no idea where to begin. What scab to pick at that won’t cause more bleeding.

Then she remembers Adriana’s words.

What is it, under all the posturing, all the hurt feelings, all the history and baggage...what is it she actually, truly wants to say?

“I’m sorry I missed therapy.”

Eddie huffs a surprised laugh. “Of all the things…”

“I know, I know,” she rolls her eyes. “But I am. I…” She forces herself to slow down and consider her words. “I realize that therapy was an olive branch for you. One we took way too late and I’m...I’m just so fucking grateful we were able to take it at all, in the end.”

The tears are coming and there’s nothing she can do to stop them. They gather in the corner of her eyes and she tries to blink them away but has to settle for wiping away the ones that fall anyway.

“You were right,” she says. “You said — and your sister said, and the therapist said — that there’s a lot of hurt, and it’s become too hard to...to connect with each other because of it. And therapy is probably the only bridge through that. So even though I was pissed at you, I should have showed up.”

She hazards a look up at Eddie to find his brown eyes wide and cautiously wondering.

“Therapy is what’s going to help us and the only way to fail at it is to not show up.” It’s what the therapist had said in their first session. It had sounded like an easy thing to do then. “And that’s not okay. I’m not going to do that again.”

Eddie nods and looks away. His fingernails are flicking nervously against each other — a habit he picked up from her. “Is dad on the same page as you?”

Helena takes a deep breath, and blows out, “No, your dad is looking for a match to light the page on fire.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but there’s heavy hurt behind the indifference.

“I hid all of them,” Helena offers, “and left Abuela with the fire extinguisher.”

That gets a small smile.

“I really expected you to be more pissed about it than him,” Eddie says, he reclines against the arm of the sofa but no part of him looks comfortable with this conversation.

“Oh, I am—” The rage swells up in her. The outrage and indignation. But again, Adriana’s voice comes to her. “I...am...really, truly hurt, Eddie. I feel...I feel like you told me I’m not good enough to love Christopher how he needs.”

Eddie’s face collapses with disbelief. “You mean the way you’ve been making me feel since he was born? Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“Since the moment Shannon got pregnant, you’ve both been hammering it in on us that we’d never be enough, we’d never be good enough for him. Why do you think I joined the army? Why do you think Shannon ran?”

The accusation makes her breathless, it makes that familiar rage bubble up closer to the surface. “Shannon made her own choices, you’re not going to pin that on us. And so did you.”

“No, I can’t pin that on you. She did choose to leave,” he concedes, his voice hardening. “But you spent five years telling her over and over that nothing she ever did was good enough, and when I got back you did the same to me! ‘Don’t drag him down with you.’ Does that ring any bells?”

“I spent five years helping her, being a second parent to Christopher when she was in over her head. She needed help. She wasn’t cut out—”

“No, she wasn’t,” Eddie agrees. “Neither of us were. We were stupid fucking kids who barely knew each other. She was supposed to get back on a plane to California when the semester was done and instead we got married in the backyard because you told us that’s what we had to do.”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie. You want to blame me for Christopher being born? For raising him in a family with two parents?”

“You’re not listening,” Eddie spits.

“I’m listening to you say over and over how I ruined your life because I didn’t let Shannon get an abortion. And that’s somehow the reason to keep us out of Christopher’s life now?”

“No, you’re not—” Eddie closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. “I love Christopher with everything I am. If I had the chance to go back and do everything differently, I wouldn’t. I would never. Being his father is the most important thing I’ve ever done.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I was a kid in over my head and my parents didn’t know what was best for me. Didn’t know how to help me. And I figured that out on my own, I grew up and became the man I am now on my own.” She wants to argue but he’s on a roll. “And that’s fine, no parent is perfect. I know I’m going to make mistakes and I hope to god Christopher can forgive me, so I need to forgive you yours. But I need you to see me, now. I need you to look at me and realize I’m not that kid you put in a suit in the backyard. I’m not the kid that signed up to get shot at instead of facing his life. I’m not that kid anymore, mom. I’m not.”

“I see that, Eddie.”

“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you wouldn’t constantly be telling me I need to move back to El Paso to take proper care of Christopher. You’d see that our lives are here now. I have a job I love and pays what we need. Christopher loves his school, his friends. He’s a popular, genius kid. He’s happy. I’m happy. And we’re doing good. But you don’t see that. You see that dumbass, scared kid making his next mistakes. And I’m sorry but I’m not going to let you drag me back into that spiral. If you need to be the parent to that kid, I can’t be the kid you’re parenting. I’ve grown up, mom.”

“So,” Helena clears her throat, hoping the waver in it will clear too. “That’s what the guardianship is? We...lost sight of you growing up. We didn’t give you what you needed. So you’re punishing us?”

Eddie sighs as if she didn’t understand.

“No, you know what? No, I’m sorry,” she switches tracks, her voice hard, “how are we supposed to see this new person you’ve become, Eddie? You left El Paso, left us behind, you won’t come home for holidays, you even stopped posting on Instagram, and when we come here to see you’re alive you won’t even let us into your home. So how? How are we supposed to see this magical transformation when you won’t let us in?”

Eddie watches her for a moment, weighing his words. “You show up for therapy.”

And that takes the wind out of her sails.

That’s what she came here for.

To apologize.

Not keep yelling.

Mom, listen…

Helena takes two deep breaths and crooks a smile. “Yeah.”

“You yell a lot.”

Christopher’s voice startles them both, pulling a short grunt of pain from Eddie as his shoulder jerks back. Christopher is leaning against the wall into the living room, wearing the disgruntled pout of someone who was woken up for no good reason.

“Christopher…” Eddie begins, trying to leverage himself off the couch.

Helena pushes him back down, and turns to Christopher, opening her arms.

“I do,” Helena admits softly, as Christopher comes over and leans into her side. “I do yell a lot. I’m...trying to yell less.”

“Dad never yells.”

Eddie smiles tiredly.

“Hmm,” Helena agrees, “I think there’s a lot of things I need to learn from your daddy.”

Christopher nods, his eyes drooping. “He’s the best,” he says, snuggling into her shoulder. She’s getting on a plane tomorrow so she takes the opportunity to relish in this hug, and press a long kiss on his curls.

“Ah, I thought I heard an escape artist on the prowl,” Buck says as he turns the corner.

“We woke him up,” Eddie says redundantly. “We’ll keep it quiet now, buddy.”

“K,” Christopher mumbles.

“Okay, buddy, let’s get you back to bed” Buck says quietly as he leans over to carefully scoop him into his arms. Christopher’s arms loop around his neck like he’s done it a million times, and his head falls to Buck’s shoulder.

“Buck’s the best too,” Christopher mumbles.

Buck’s ducks his face away.

“That’s what I hear,” Helena allows in a tone she hopes is gracious.

As they leave, they can hear Christopher say, “they stole your bed.”

Buck responds but it’s too quiet for them to follow the rest of the conversation.

Eddie ducks his head and sighs.

“That’s why you were keeping us away?” Helena asks, her voice more gentle than she thought she could muster at this point. “Because Buck’s crashing on your couch?”

Now that she’s looking, she spots the folded duvet stacked on the chair in the corner, the pillows tucked neatly below. It only makes her more aware that she found Eddie sleeping soundly on the very same couch.

“I didn��t — I didn’t want questions. I didn’t want dad’s look, the same look he has every time Buck comes up. The same look—” Eddie sighs harshly. “I didn’t feel like fielding questions. He was here for Christopher when I was in the hospital and when I came home… He helps. A lot.”

Helena nods pensively, and surprises herself by finding a kernel of gratitude towards Buck burgeoning in her chest.

“So, speaking of fucking up as parents,” she begins with a crooked smile that fades by the end of the phrase. She doesn’t know how to finish that sentence so she starts a new one. “The...hurt that piles up, that makes it hard to talk through...does some of it come from Matty?”

She can see an instinct flare up in her son to shake his head and dismiss the topic, but he doesn’t let it take hold. It’s time to face this.

“It didn’t help,” he admits.

Eddie and Matty met in sixth grade and became best friends almost instantly. They spent weekends in sleepovers, fought off other classmates to be each others’ group project partners, and spent every summer going to the same camps. Matty was an honorary Diaz before they even hit their teens.

Five years later, Matty came out to his family, and then to theirs. His parents took it well, Eddie’s parents didn’t.

The sleepovers stopped, the summer camps stopped, and if Ramon could have sent Eddie to another class he would have.

The day he came out to them was the last day he stepped foot in the Diaz home, a natural consequence of Ramon having run him out with caustic, angry words.

“We…” Helena licks her lips and looks away to gather her thoughts. “There’s a lot of reasons we reacted the way we did. Ignorance, more than anything. It really was a different world back then. But...the world has kept turning, things have kept changing and we can’t pretend to be ignorant anymore.” She looks Eddie in the eye to say, “we were wrong. We were wrong to chase him away. And if the day comes that Christopher is gay or trans or any of the other words we haven’t learned yet, we’re going to love him just as much as we do now.”

Eddie keeps her gaze for a moment before nodding. “I’m glad to hear it.” The way his shoulders gather near his ears says he doesn’t believe her though he’s trying.

Because when Eddie and Matty stood shoulder to shoulder to tell Ramon and Helena the news, Matty wasn’t the only one crushed. And they know, somewhere deep down, that their reaction was as extreme as it was because they were never fully sure if the hurt in Eddie’s eyes was on behalf of his best friend, or if they exploded before more news could be told.

And it still scares Helena to this day, to this very moment sitting on her son’s couch. It’s why they welcomed Shannon at first, the first girl Eddie really brought home, even though they didn’t approve of her overall.

But she knows now that there’s nothing anymore, not her pride, not her ignorance, that will stop her from trying to bridge the gap between them. So she continues deliberately, “and if this new, grown up version of you comes with any of those words, we’re not going to love you any less either.”

His eyes widen and for a moment she’s looking at her 17 year old son in the living room, eyes wide as Matty runs out of the house. She wishes this moment could replace that one, stamp out that mistake forever. But it can’t, so she has to make this one count even more.

“I’ll still be here, and I’m listening. I...I see you,” she says. “You and Christopher. I see you settled in so well here, even now with your injury.”

Eddie remains quiet, but apprehension creeps across his face and his eyes dart behind her where Buck and Christopher disappeared.

“I see the boots at the entrance,” she continues, her voice pitched low, “the extra toothbrush you forgot to hide away. The tupperwares full of food Isabel and Ana didn’t make. But more than anything, I see Buck. Everywhere.” A smile creeps up her lips. “The only place I didn’t see him was at brunch with Ana and call me crazy but I feel like you would have preferred he was there too.”

Eddie’s lip is being chewed to within an inch of its life, and his eyes are trained on the couch cushion.

“Hey,” she taps his knee. “You...grew up to be a good man, and a good father.” The words are so many years too late but she’s grateful to see them land as Eddie’s eyes begin to shimmer. “And you deserve everything you want for Christopher. Happiness, whatever that looks like.”

Eddie swallows thickly and clears his throat. “And dad?”

“Dad...has his head too far up his own ass to see or hear anything,” Helena admits. “But he’s due for a colonoscopy soon so I’ll work on it.”

Eddie chokes on a laugh that catches him off-guard and suddenly they’re both laughing, quietly so they don’t wake Christopher up again.

When they recover, Eddie invites her to the kitchen for a drink, where Buck is packing Christopher’s lunch for school tomorrow.

When she leaves, her stomach is in knots she imagines won’t smooth out for a few weeks yet, but a weight’s been lifted off her chest and her heart is full in a way it hasn’t been in years.

When she lands in El Paso, her phone pings with a message from Eddie: Hope you had a good flight. Free Friday for a call?

———-

When Friday comes, after catching up with Christopher, Eddie tells them he broke it off with Ana.

Helena digs her nails into Ramon’s knee instinctively, but she prepared him well and despite his continued reservations, all he says is, “That’s too bad, mijo.”

———-

Two months of virtual therapy and video chats later, Eddie tells them he’s bisexual. They react the way they should have all those years ago, and Helena tries to be grateful they got to have this moment at all instead of mourn for the years Eddie lost because of them.

There’s no mention of Buck, but Eddie’s eyes flit fondly over the laptop screen every once in a while at Christopher and someone else off-screen.

The call takes place at 8am LA time, and the sling has been gone for nearly three weeks.

———

At Christmas, Eddie and Christopher are waiting for them with smiles on their faces at LAX’s baggage claim. When they get home, Buck is there opening the door and helping them with their luggage.

Isabel isn’t there to mediate but supper that evening goes smoothly. The tension that lurks is anticipatory on all sides, a feeling of this being too good to last. But by dessert, everyone is sitting back in their chairs and smiling. And when Buck rounds the table to start the clean up, he places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, his thumb brushing the back of Eddie’s neck, and Helena watches as the last bit of strain melts out of his body.

The basket of gauze is nowhere to be found in the bathroom, nor is the purple toothbrush. Instead, there’s a third electric toothbrush standing in line with the rest.

Helena’s been keeping an eye out for opportunities to follow Adriana’s advice. To find the words she actually, truly means, and say them before she runs out of time. So before turning in, she takes Eddie aside and tells him, “I’m really happy you found your home here in LA. I’m really proud of the family you’ve made.”

And when she closes her arms around him, she can feel him fold into her like he used to as a kid, no polite distance or anxiety. Just comfort.

[thesquidkid]

Together we can quiet all the noises

3k of malex fluff post 3x09 (Read on ao3)

Alex woke up slowly, feeling his face buried into something warm. As he came to his senses, he realised his entire body was wrapped against a human size pillow, making him hum in comfort. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the light coming through the curtains. Once his eyes were used to it, he met Michael’s soft eyes and warm smile, who was playing with his hair.

Alex had both his arms around Michael’s right leg, his head on his lap, while Michael was sitting against the headboard, one hand in Alex’s hair and the other holding a book, smiling down on Alex.

“Morning,” Michael said softly, not to disturb Alex, “how are you feeling?”

Alex took a few seconds to think about his answer, enjoying the warmth and the comfort of Michael’s alien body and the blanket. The events of the last few days came back to him, still a bit hazy, but clear enough that he remembered nearly everything. He remembered working on the Lockhart machine longer than he should’ve, missing his and Michael’s first public date, hallucinating Nora, their conversation, standing on the ledge, nearly dying.

But he also remembered Michael coming to save him, them working on the machine together and cutting out his father’s piece from it, Michael driving him back home and Alex falling asleep, Michael holding him close.

“Better,” he answered eventually, deciding that he wasn’t good yet, but wanted to work on it. Michael smiled and continued to play with his hair. Alex sighed, making Michael chuckle, but not stop.

He had a pensive look on his face, having put his book down on the bedside table, clearly playing words in his head, finding the best way to say what he wanted. And so Alex waited, neither of them were in a hurry.

After some time, Michael spoke up again, his voice barely more than a whisper, “You could’ve died, Alex.” He took a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving Alex’s, “I only just got you back, losing you - I can’t -” he went off, looking up and blinking the tears away.

Alex, feeling much better physically after a good night's sleep, sat up to face Michael. He raised a hand to his cheek rubbing the tears away with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he said, matching Michael’s whisper.

“I know,” he replied, “but next time, call me?”

And Alex thought about that. Michael wasn’t asking him to call so he could stop him from whatever brave or stupid plan he had. Michael wasn’t asking Alex to call him to blame or criticise or whatever it is that both of them would’ve done in the past.

No, this time, Michael wanted Alex to call him so he could help. So he could be present by Alex’s side, just like he was when they worked on the machine together. And Alex knew that it worked both ways now. That Michael understood why Alex had worked on the machine for so long, why he had to.

More unspoken words, Alex thought. Except this time, they also spoke words. This time, they asked each other for help when they needed it.

“I will,” Alex replied, a promise.

Their faces were only a few inches away, and even though they had both grown, had started to communicate more with each other, there was still a language they were fluent in.

Whereas in the past it was usually in a hurry, a stopwatch over their heads, counting down the days, the hours, the minutes until they had to separate, now they had all the time in the world.

It was slow, yet still desperate. Desperate for love, fear still running in their veins. But there was hope too. Hope for a future together. Their lips met, moving as one rhythm, hands coming to their hair, a dance they knew by heart, but was still as exhilarating as the first time.

Until a loud rumble came from between them, making them separate, Michael barely hiding his laugh and Alex blushing. He never cursed his stomach as much as in that moment. He leaned into Michael once more, hoping to continue the dance that was just interrupted, but Michael leaned away, putting his hands on Alex’s shoulder and pushing him away.

Alex wanted to be mad, but looking at the love on Michael’s face, he realised that they had time to do all they wanted. And now, he also realised he wanted food.

His stomach seemed to agree once more, making itself heard. This time, Michael didn’t even bother, and giggled loudly, his shoulder moving up and down, and soon Alex was joining him.

When they both caught their breaths again, Michael pushed Alex down, carefully, against the mattress, straddling his hips, before kissing his nose and getting off the bed. Alex’s hand, who had landed against Michael’s naked hip, followed the other man, then fell on the bed, dramatically. Michael simply rolled his eyes at the scene in front of him, smiling at Alex’s pout.

“I’ll get the bath ready for you then I’ll make you some lunch, how about that?” he asked, in answer to Alex’s stomach.

Alex hummed at the mention of a bath, his water bill would be higher this month, this being the second bath he took since Michael took him home from Deep Sky.

“Wait lunch? How long did I sleep?” he asked in amazement, he had gone to bed at merely 6 pm, so this would possibly be the longest sleep he had since - well since forever now that he thought about it, his father having applied the military clock in the house.

“About 17-18 hours? I woke up around 9,” Michael replied with a shrug. According to him, Alex still needed much more sleep, and maybe to never leave the bed where the two could cuddle all day.

Alex turned around, looking at the clock on the bedside table for the first time since he woke up. It showed 11:36 am. So he had indeed sleeped for the longest in his entire life. Maybe he should do that again, if it got him such amazing sleep…

He realised he had said that at loud, when Michael nearly shouted No! with a scandalised face, before turning around to start on lunch.

“Wait!” Alex called out after him, making Michael turn around so fast his neck nearly snapping, “can, uh, can I help you? With lunch,” he added at Michael’s confused look, making him smile.

“I didn’t know you cooked, private,” Michael replied with a smug smile, which quickly faltered at Alex’s expression.

“I don’t, I usually order take out or eat prepared food,” he said, with sadness and a hint of disappointment in his voice. His dad never thought teaching his kids cooking was necessary, and his mom left before he could even have solid memories of her.

Seeing Alex feeling down, and deciding that he could curse Jesse Manes and his shitty parenting all he wanted, right now his focus was Alex. “I always dreamt of giving a soldier orders,” Michael said instead, trying to get a smile out of Alex.

And it worked, “Fuck you,” the other man laughed out. “Oh and, I don’t have much food in my kitchen…” he continued, feeling slightly ashamed of his cooking skills, or the lack thereof.

“Alex,” Michael said, stopping the spiraling and gaining Alex’s attention, “I literally learned to cook in a junkyard, I - we - will be able to cook something delicious,” he replied with confidence, catching himself up. If Alex wanted to help, how much of a catastrophe could it end up being?

In the end, they decided that the bath could wait until after Alex had eaten something, so they got dressed and made their way to the kitchen, where Alex sat on the counter watching Michael open all his cabinets.

He had often dreamt of that moment, when he would wake up next to Michael in bed, and could see him cook something. He had heard a lot from Maria about Guerin’s cooking skills, and wanted to test them for himself.

Michael, after having a look through all the cabinets, stood up and faced Alex. “Okay so,” he said, standing in between Alex’s legs, “I think I overestimated the food you have.”

All while he talked, he rubbed his hands up and down Alex’s body, making him hum and smile, “But, lucky for you, I am an expert in throwing weird stuff together and hoping for them best.”

“Sure, but we will need to go grocery shopping together soon,” Alex chuckled, putting his arms around Michael’s neck and playing with the curls.

“Oh thank god!” he exhaled, leaning his head into Alex’s shoulder, “I didn’t want to offend you, but babe, this is bad.”

Alex felt more than heard Michael’s laugh against his neck, and couldn’t help but join, somehow not ashamed of his cabinets. Michael had reacted in such a way that Alex was at ease, every cell in his body content to just stay in this embrace, to have Michael against him and to play with his hair. However, his stomach once more decided to separate them.

Michael detached himself from Alex and kissed his pout away, before reaching for a saucepan and giving him instruction.

They cooked in a light atmosphere, music coming out of Alex’s phone, Michael occasionally reaching to him to make sure he didn’t overcook anything. They moved around each other with an ease neither knew was there. Michael still didn’t quite know where everything was and would open three cabinets before finding what he was looking for, Alex claiming that he didn’t know enough about cooking to help. More than once they bumped into each other, both reaching for the same spatula, or both heading to check the pasta.

Once everything was prepared, they separated the food into two plates and sat at the table to eat, sitting in front of each other. Lunch turned out delicious - not that Alex had any doubt. They had made Tagliatelle with white sauce and tins of corn and carrots. It was simple, but to Alex? It was the best meal he had ever eaten.

“It’s because you haven’t eaten properly in two days,” Michael had said with a slight blush after Alex had complimented his cooking.

They ate, talking about nothing yet everything. Sharing little stories they knew the other didn’t know. Little facts that didn’t matter over the course of the last decade. But that mattered now that they were both ready for a steady relationship.

Afterwards, Alex went to take a bath while Michael did the dishes. He knocked on the door and opened it once Alex had agreed. He was met with the sight of Alex laying under a slim cover of soap, barely hiding anything, his eyes merely opened, an arm on the edge of the bath.

“I, uh, finished the dishes,” Michael said, trying to print this image in his head forever. Alex, relaxed, happy.

“Wanna join?” Alex asked, with a tilt of his head. This was new territory for the both of them. They had seen each other naked, obviously, but it was always with the rush of sex, and never with something as domestic as a bath.

Michael nodded with a smile and started to take off his clothes, feeling suddenly very self-conscious about his body. Any doubts he had however, flew out the window when he saw the look in Alex’s eyes. It wasn’t a look of pure lust. Of course the want and lust was there, how could it not be between them, but it was also accompanied by something deeper, something that Michael had never dared to imagine. Love. Admiration. Those were words both dropped after their teenage years. After they realised the hurt and pain the world could cause. After they realised that that hurt and pain came from their love.

But there wasn’t any pain in their love anymore. The scars they wore, both physical and mental, didn’t only bring pain and heartbreak anymore. They were also symbols of the battles they fought to get to this exact moment, naked in front of each other, in more ways than one.

And so Michael joined it, and after the awkward shifts, they leaned into each other, Michael in between Alex’s legs, his head bent in an awkward angle so it could lean on Alex’s shoulder while also looking at him.

They got cleaned, but it was less needed as the bath and shower they took the day before, so they simply relaxed and enjoyed the moment.

After getting dried and dressed, they questioned what to do for the rest of the day. Where before they would have jumped on the occasion to head to bed and have quick, intense, sex, this time they were conscious about it. Alex’s leg was still sore from having worn the prosthetic for so long without a break, and he could also feel each of his muscles tense when he moved. So sex was out of the equation for now. And neither felt bad about it. They just needed to figure out what a couple did on a lazy afternoon.

They couldn’t go to the movies, Alex’s brain and eyes wouldn’t be very happy with it all. And Alex mentioned that technically the only date he had ever been on was at a paintball place, so really he shouldn’t be taken into account when making decisions.

And this is how Michael got his idea (not that he would ever thank Forrest for it).

He drove them into town, telling Alex that it was a surprise, and parked his truck on the main square. He opened the door to Alex, who answered with an eye roll and a blush, and led him towards the library.

They weren’t holding hands, knowing that Roswell was still not a very queer-friendly place, and not really in the mood for bigots, but they were walking close enough that their shoulders would occasionally bump. In their own little bubble, they opened the door to the library, and on instinct Michael made his way to the physics and space section, before remembering why he was there.

Today wasn’t about borrowing a book about space or relativity or agriculture. No, today was about giving him and Alex something that neither had growing up.

Ignoring Alex’s confused questions, he took them to the children’s section, passed all the books and opened the glass doors to the games section. He chuckled as he saw Alex start to understand what they were doing there.

“I didn’t even know there were so many games here,” he said in amazement.

“I know!” Michael replied, “I only found out about it cause some kid got lost in the engineering section.”

They separated to browse all the different games, agreeing to start with two games each and see where the rest of the afternoon would go.

The only inconvenience about the room they were in was that it was built for children and wasn’t the most comfortable for Alex. But Michael, having decided that this day was going to be perfect, went to talk to the librarians - who he was starting to know well, coming here to use their computers or borrow books as often as he could. He came back with a smile, indicating to Alex that they were going to make an exception for them, and allow them to take the games to a reading room by the side, where there were bigger tables and chairs.

And so they played. They played Clue (Alex won, but not by much), Milles Bornes (Michael won, Alex insisted he cheated), Timeline (Alex won, Michael blames the high school history lessons), made funny figures in Chrominos, and struggled to understand the rules of Backgammon, before ending with a Game of Trains.

One of the librarians - Christie - had to come tell them that the library was closing in 10 minutes, but she barely broke their bubble of comfort. They tidied all the games and put them back on the shelves, helping a little girl put back a game of Monopoly, and left.

Once in the truck, Michael didn't drive away straight off. Instead, he turned to Alex, sharing all his emotions in a single look. Unspoken words. Alex replied by putting his hand on his arm, “Next time, I will crush you at Milles Bornes,” he said with a smile. Next time. Because there will be a next time, they both knew it.

They didn’t drive back to Alex’s house, still buzzing with happiness and comfort. Instead, they drove to the Crashdown and sat at a booth, enjoying burgers and fries and milkshakes. And they made plans for the next day. They would go shopping together, Michael deciding whatever he wanted to buy. Afterwards they would enjoy each other and the comfort of Alex’s bed. And once they were well rested, they would go to the Pony. Together.

That word rang differently too. They have been seen together across town, and in the Pony before. But back then, they weren’t together together.

Alex paid for their dinner, insisting that Michael had cooked lunch and had the idea for the library, and had taken care of him for the last 24 hours.

As they left the diner, saying goodbye to Arturo, their fingers found themselves entwined, and they walked to Michael’s truck, hand in hand, without a care for the world.

That day, even though it followed a very traumatising event, was one of the best days they ever had. They learned a new dance, and they couldn’t wait to get home to continue it. After all, they had time ahead of them.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP CHAPTER 10

PLEASE HEED THE CONTENT WARNINGS!!! this chapter features Evil Scientist Lady and her Fucked Up WorldView a LOT, and there are also some Major Plot Events that involve Violence. i will put a summary in the end notes if you decide at any point that this particular chapter is too much - that's super valid! i will also mention here that no main characters are going to die in this story and no one dies in this chapter either.

huge huge thanks to @flamingfawkes for beta’ing!

CW: extreme disregard for human life, mentioned human and animal cruelty, toxic workplace environment, violence (both imagined and actual, mildly graphic), gun mention, minor blood, death threats, extremely unethical character, unethical science, stalking

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!

“This is the same result we’ve gotten the last twenty times -”

“I don’t care, Steven, run it again!”

Steven sighs, punching at the keyboard to run the statistical analysis sequence again. “This is ridiculous! I’ve run this sequence so many times it feels like my eyes are going to bleed. Why can’t we just turn in the results we have and -”

“Because she’ll behead us,” James snaps, “and then she’ll destroy our reputations and our families and they’ll get no severance. I have three young children at home, Steven, I need this money.” Steven softens a little, fingers running smoothly over the keys as he combs the data again. Next to him, James has a computer screen full of frame-by-frame stills of what little data they recovered from the probe before it was destroyed; Penny across the room is surrounded by ancient texts a mile high and at least three laptops.

“Why is she so interested in this, anyway?”

“It’s beyond me. Since when do we question the whims of what we’re told to do?”

Steven squints at the screen, pushing his chair back and rubbing at his eyes. “If I have to stare at these numbers for one more second, my brain is going to explode. I feel like my eyeballs are going to melt out of my skull. I wanna scream.”

James pulls up another image, staring at the blurry image of the merman before him. Steven pushes away from his own screen and squints at James’s. The merman in the photo looks young, not much older than his kid brother, but they don’t know anything about the lifespan of these creatures. He looks confused, squinting at the camera. As James flicks through the stills, the merman transitions from confused to angry to enraged, and then he attacks.

“He’s not happy about the camera.”

“Would you be happy about someone spying on you and your family?” James says, switching to the next still.

“I wouldn’t be happy if I thought someone was doing anything we do in this lab to me or my family.” James elbows Steven, but luckily no one else seems to have heard.

“This lab isn’t the most ethical place I’ve ever worked, but it pays the bills,” James mutters. “And we’re not even in the experimentation lab. We just do data analysis. We’re removed from the situation.”

Are we? Steven wonders. He sees James reach out and touch the framed picture of his daughters, and keeps his mouth shut. He turns back to his computer, watching the little spinning color wheel of his mouse as the program calculates the same numbers again and again. The results come up identical to the previous ones, and Steven clicks “Run Program” again wordlessly.

They work in silence for a while, the three of them, broken only by James’s muttering and the occasional thud of one of Penny’s books and the clicks of keyboards and mice. If they weren’t so reliant on technology, Steven thinks, there would be an enormous corkboard spanning three of the four walls, covered in pushpins and handwriting and red string connecting images. He debates actually building one, if only to increase the levity in the room, but decides against it.

He’s seen people punished or fired or who-knows-what-else for far less, after all.

Instead, after his program tells him for the twenty-third time that his results are the same (and didn’t someone say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?), Steven scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and opens the data entry window. Maybe the problem with the results has to do with the entry of the data; did he input something wrong? It’s possible . . .

Here he goes again, he supposes. He stands up, stretches, and leans back to crack some vertebrae. “I’m gonna grab a coffee, take a short screen break, and go back to the beginning. Maybe there’s something in the input that I missed. You want anything?”

James groans, thunking his head against the desk. “I want something with enough caffeine to kill three elephants, please.” Steven nods, looking over at Penny. She shakes her head, and he heads for the shitty coffee machine a few doors down.

Several floors below, a young woman pulls her lab goggles up to rest on top of her head with her perfectly-pinned protocol-compliant bun. “The latest round of tests is completely done, ma’am. I think you’ll find the efficacy . . . striking.”

She takes the clipboard, glossy perfectly-painted nails pinching the sheets of thin paper and flicking between them. “I’m afraid I don’t do so well with the scientific side of things - Kathleen, was it? Explain this to me, would you?”

“Certainly, ma’am. As you know, the kill time for the most effective neurotoxin currently available, tetrodotoxin, varies from thirty minutes to four hours. Average time for symptoms to manifest is seventeen minutes, and from there the symptoms progress through tingling of the lips and tongue, headache, vomiting, muscle weakness, ataxia, et cetera. Death occurs as a result of respiratory or heart failure, and the poison is nearly undetectable if you do not specifically test for it.”

“The untraceability is a plus, but that is far too wide a range of times, and too slow a time even at its fastest.”

“Of course, ma’am, but as far as naturally-occurring marine poisons go - actually, as far as naturally-occurring poisons go, full stop - it is the most effective. Until now, that is.”

“Oh? What are your findings?”

“Which trials would you like to start with, ma’am?”

“The human trials, Kathleen. The only ones that matter. I hardly intend to go around killing mice and hoping that no one traces their deaths to a novel neurotoxin.” She laughs airily, and Kathleen nods along.

“Certainly, ma’am. The most recent data points indicate an average efficacy time of thirteen minutes for our compound neurotoxin, with a full range between nine and seventeen minutes passing before subject death. Subjects began to show symptoms around five minutes, give or take twenty-five seconds.”

“And those symptoms were?”

Kathleen flips through the document. “Seizures, vital organ failure, blindness, painful muscle spasms, suffocation from the inside out.”

She hums, tapping a manicured finger against the report. “Well, Kathleen, that is certainly impressive, especially for a preliminary human subject trial. These results . . . I must say, they are not nearly as disappointing as I anticipated when I came down here.”

“Ma’am?”

“How long have you worked for this company, Kathleen?”

“Almost five years, ma’am, but I’ve always been an assistant. This is my first time as lead researcher and biochemist on a project, ever since you . . . laid off the previous lead researcher.”

“Kathleen, let me be frank. These results are not what I hoped for. The efficacy time and symptom onset times are both far too long for my liking, and the range of efficacy time is too broad. By all accounts, I should consider this a failure.” Kathleen swallows, but remains poised. “However, you’ve managed to shave off a considerable amount of time from the tetrodotoxin readings. The range of symptom onset time is an acceptable breadth, and your results are far beyond anything your predecessor ever accomplished for me. This is truly impressive, all things considered.”

“Thank you, ma’am. How should I proceed?”

“I want the efficacy doubled - tripled - I want it upped by anywhere between four and five hundred percent. I want the pain increased, too. Feel free to increase your requests for test subjects, but get me the results I want. You said the original tetrodotoxin was untraceable?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Can you keep that feature intact?”

“As of right now, it is intact, ma’am. I will endeavor to keep it so in future experiments.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Welcome to your new position as head of this research division. Don’t let me down.” She holds out a slender hand, and Kathleen takes it, trying not to seem too eager.

“I won’t, ma’am.”

“How soon can you start this experiment up again?”

“The cleaners should be finished by tomorrow morning, ma’am, and I can tweak chemical formulas until then.”

“Excellent.” Her watch beeps, and she lifts it, pursing her bright lips as she examines the message she’s just received. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to attend to. Someone will drop off your master access key for Lab Three within the hour.”

She steps into the elevator and lifts her watch up to her face, swiping through the messages from her secretary. One finger reaches out to press the button for the digital analysis labs floor, and the other taps away at her watch.

When she steps off the elevator, her secretary is waiting. “Ma’am.”

“What do they have for me?”

“Unclear. They said it was something they wanted to report directly to you and you alone, but it seems to be something big.”

“Hopefully it’s a big step in the right direction, or they’ll be taking a big step out of a job.” She relishes in the way the employees she passes all unfailingly flinch and then snap to perfect attention when they hear the sharp echo of her heels against the floor. She lifts her head and walks faster, striking the tiles with her heels like a gavel, sharp and precise against a judge’s desk.

The computer labs are disorganized when she enters, but there is a string of promising-looking numbers on the main display monitor. There is a woman surrounded by books and a man pulling up photos on his computer, and there is a third man standing in front of her like a toy soldier. She focuses on that one.

“I hear you have news for me? Make it swift, and make it good.”

He swallows, hard, and her eyes idly trace the line of his throat. If he disappoints her, perhaps she will drive her heel through it, to make an example of him. That would be far too messy; perhaps his dominant hand will do.

“I have narrowed down the location of the missing net, ma’am. I believe it to have washed up somewhere around these general GPS coordinates.” He fiddles with a remote in his hand, and the image on the screen changes. It shows an aerial satellite view of a secluded strip of beach, framed by rocky cliffs with larger rocks studded out into the open water. “It should have washed up somewhere in this one-point-three-seven-mile strip of beach. The whole area is property of one Doctor Thomas Sanders.”

She snarls. “That man. He won’t let us on that beach willingly until hell freezes over.”

The other man, the one scanning through photo stills and video footage, jumps up, knocking his chair backwards. “I found something!”

She turns towards him, and his excitement freezes and sputters into something much more controlled and terrified. “Show me.” He clicks something and pulls up video footage from one of their surveillance drones, zooming in on a particular patch of ocean along the stretch of Sanders’ beach. Her eyes widen when she sees what he’d noticed - a hump of red-and-white tail arcing above the waves before a pattern of ripples streaks off towards the cliff. He pauses the footage, rewinds it, uses a laser pointer to show an opening concealed in the cliff face.

“There’s some kind of grotto in there, hidden by the cliff. It’s on Sanders’ property, he has to know it’s there. And it looks like the merman from the destroyed drone knows it’s there too. Which means -”

“That must be where he’s keeping them.” Something burns in her chest, brilliant and terrifying and all-encapsulating, like wildfire. “We’ve found them, at long last.”

“What would you have me do?” her secretary asks. “I can arrange for a recovery squad at your earliest possible convenience, ma’am.”

“Assemble the squad, but do not have them move out. They will wait for my orders. When they go, you are to go with them.” Her secretary nods, once, sharp and sure. “Dispatch a crew to Lab One and clear it out. I want it prepped for containment, vivisection, chemical tests - the works. Get at least three tanks set up and one strap-down human table.”

“A human table, ma’am?”

“Yes. We have to deal with Sanders once and for all to ensure that he does not ruin any future experiments.”

“Will we be taking him as well?”

She hums thoughtfully. “No. Pull up the file we have on his known associate?”

A few swift clicks and flicks and a photo appears on the large screen: a young man with brown-and-purple hair, sleeves rolled up, carefully lowering a perfectly viable specimen into the ocean and letting it go, like some kind of fool. “His doctoral student, ma’am. The longest one he’s ever kept - this one has been with him a few years.”

“Excellent. When you raid the lab, take him.”

“Should we kill Sanders?”

“No. Rough him up a little, but leave him alive. Taking his protégé and leaving him alone, helpless to rescue him, will be the highest form of torture for such an insufferable person. The agony will eat him alive until his dying day.”

Her secretary nods, taking the notes down dutifully. The other employees look vaguely horrified, but she pays them no mind. No sacrifice is too great to be made in the name of progress, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a weakling who will never get anywhere in life.

She refuses to be one of those weaklings.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan wakes up confused.

He’s warm, warmer than he thinks he’s ever been in his whole life. When he stirs, he moves farther than he meant to - he must not be underwater. That’s enough to send a jolt of concern through his sleep-addled brain. Why isn’t he underwater? Why was he sleeping if he was above the surface? There’s no way his dad is here, and Roman hates surfacing, where are they? Where is he? But he’s so comfortable . . .

Someone shifts beside him, an arm draping across his waist, and Logan forces his eyes open. He shifts his lower half, confused when two things move instead of one, and there are layers upon layers of thin, flat, soft things wrapping around him. What is happening?

Slowly, slowly, his mind clears, and he remembers the events of last night. He grew legs - he was a human, once, before he was mer - he couldn’t sleep underwater with Dad and Roman - Virgil was teaching him to walk - Virgil put “clothes” on him - Virgil was embarrassed that he didn’t have those “clothes” on him - Virgil took him out of the lab to sleep - Virgil agreed to cuddle him since his pod couldn’t -

Logan feels the strange burning in his face again as he shifts. He can’t see well in this new human form, but when things are close enough to his face they’re relatively clear. And Virgil, still sleeping, is close enough that Logan can smell him - he smells like salt water mixed with something sharp and something sweet and something else that Logan can’t quite identify but finds addicting nonetheless. Sunlight streams in and pools around Virgil’s face, illuminating the tangled mess of hair spread around him and flopping into his face, the small puddle of water leaking out from his open mouth onto the soft thing he’s resting his head on, the way his chest moves slowly with every breath. His arm is wrapped around Logan, pulling him close. Logan thinks he might explode if he focuses on this any more, so he rolls from his side to his back as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake Virgil. Virgil tightens his arm around Logan and mutters something indecipherable in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake.

Rather than focusing on his very confusing feelings for the very pretty man next to him, Logan focuses on what he can see of the room around him. He makes a list in his mind of things that he plans to ask Virgil about later today, including:

1: There are many draws attached to the small, smooth cliffs surrounding them. How do they stay there?

2: There are lots of “clothes” scattered all around the floor, and there were several on the bed, too. Is that normal for humans?

3: Last night, Virgil did something that made the room light up with trapped sunlight! How did he do that?

4: How did Virgil get ice to stay in those big frozen sheets in such a warm place to let the sunlight in?

5: How did Virgil make ice into that weird shape that he filled with water and drank last night?

6: How did Virgil get the water to come into this place?

7: Do all humans have a specific area set aside for sleeping? Logan and his pod usually just sleep wherever they can, but Virgil seems to have this soft slab set aside with all of these soft things to be comfortable and sleep in every night. Is this a Human Thing or strictly a Virgil Thing?

Logan looks out through the sheet of ice that protects Virgil’s area from the outside and gasps. He can’t see well, but there’s a glittering expanse of blue that shifts and moves and oh, is that the ocean?

He’s spent his whole life (well, his whole remembered life, anyways) in the ocean, and he’s seen some truly wondrous things. He travels around the world with his pod, he knows the ocean is big, but seeing it spread out like this is . . . awe-inspiring. Logan has never seen the ocean like this, and now that he has he doesn’t think he can ever not see it like this again. It’s like a perfect sheet of sea-glass, rippling and unbroken but dynamic in a way that he never really gets a sense of when he’s beneath it.

He knows that there are waves, of course. There are smaller swells out on the open ocean, and larger ones when the Second Goddess dips her fingers down from the Upper Ocean and swirls the storms to a thundering burst. There are waves along the shoreline, ones that he frolics in with Roman and batter him against the shoreline. There are waves created when he or his pod members surface. But watching the movement of the ocean from up here is . . .

Even with his imperfect vision, he is completely at a loss for words as he stares at the ocean.

Eventually, Virgil stirs next to him, and Logan turns away from the ocean to stare at him. Virgil is close to him, arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed against him. Logan’s eyesight is not great, but Virgil is close enough that he can pick out little details of his face. There are brown face scales scattered all over him, but they seem to cluster on his nose and his cheeks. Logan has wanted to touch them for a substantial amount of time, and he can’t stop himself from gently settling the tips of his fingers over Virgil’s cheek.

His face doesn’t feel like Logan was expecting. The scales don’t give texture to his face the way that Logan’s do; the skin is smooth and flat. There are little bumps all over, but the brown scales aren’t raised off the skin like Logan expected. He lets his fingers trail along Virgil’s face. His bone structure seems to be exceedingly similar to Logan’s, at least in regards to his head. Logan’s finger rests gently on the curve of bone under Virgil’s eye, and Virgil exhales warm breath onto his palm.

Logan wonders what it would be like to have this for longer than just his recovery period. He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to Virgil all the time, to get to run his hands over Virgil’s face and arms and chest and examine the differences between their anatomy. He wonders what it would be like to learn to walk without falling over, and he feels a sharp, unexpected twinge in his chest as he realizes that getting better at walking means no more closeness to Virgil.

His chest feels strange, like there’s a school of small fish swarming around and tickling his insides and making him feel all foamy, like the froth churned up by a windswept sea. He feels like he does when he’s underwater - free, weightless, mobile, limited by nothing except his own imagination. He feels unstoppable.

Virgil makes a sudden, sharp inhale, blinking his eyes open slowly. Logan thinks that, perhaps, he might not appreciate being studied unknowingly - he hadn’t appreciated Virgil doing it, before he understood what was happening, when all he knew was the loss of his pod aching like a scraped-out seashell. As Virgil wakes up, Logan shifts, turning his gaze to the rest of the room.

Virgil makes a sleepy grumbling noise, opening one eye. Logan chances another quick glance at him, and when his eye slides open Logan is struck by its beauty. He doesn’t get much of a chance to admire it, however, before Virgil is jolting backwards like Logan’s struck him with lightning. Logan is confused, reaching out and gently touching his shoulder. “Virgil?”

“Wassat?! Wait . . . L’gan?”

“It is me,” Logan says softly. “Are - are you upset with me?”

Virgil yawns, jaw dropping to his chest, revealing a flash of teeth and a soft pink tongue. (Logan wants to lick it. Why does Logan want to lick it? Why is Logan thinking about Virgil’s tongue licking his tongue - why is Logan thinking about Virgil - what in the Seven Oceans is happening to him.) “Wh - no, no, ‘m okay, I just - woke up, forgot I had you with me, got confused about another person in my bed.” Before Logan can start to feel bad, Virgil adds, “S’okay if it’s you, though,” and the foamy, floaty feeling is back.

“Did you sleep well?”

Virgil laughs, low and rumbling, and Logan can feel it in his fingers where he touches Virgil’s skin. “I never sleep well.” He sits up, and the fabric of his pajamas shifts to let Logan see stretches of soft, supple skin that he usually doesn’t. Logan wants to touch it. He very determinedly keeps his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Gotta admit, though, last night was . . . better than usual.”

This appears to be the point where Virgil first notices their position - pressed together, arm slung over Logan, basically cuddling the way that Logan normally would with his pod. (No tangle with his pod has ever felt this . . . electric, this charged, this important to Logan before.) His face flares a brilliant red, and he shifts like he wants to move away but -

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Logan blurts out. Virgil blinks at him a little, and maybe he was a little overly enthusiastic, but - “I sleep in a tangle with Dad and Roman all the time. I have extreme difficulty sleeping without contact with someone else. It . . . helped me greatly.”

“Oh,” Virgil says, face turning redder still, smiling shyly. “That - makes me feel better. Thanks, Lo.”

Logan smiles, and Virgil smiles too, reaching up to gently move a piece of hair away from his face. Logan thinks that, as far as deaths go, his chest exploding (which seems to be getting more and more likely every fifteen seconds he spends in Virgil’s presence, only accelerated by all this skin-on-skin contact they’re having right now) seems to be the most pleasurable.

Virgil opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was is interrupted by a Ping! noise from across the room. “What is that?” Logan asks. Virgil, sadly, untangles himself from Logan and the blankets, sliding out of bed and heading over to one of the other structures in the room (what did he call it last night? Dex?) and picking up a flat glowing rectangle.

“Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I - Thomas sent me a text, it’s a little weird.”

“What is a text?”

“It’s a kind of human messaging system, it allows us to communicate when we’re far away from each other.”

“Like a pod call?” “Kind of? I’ll explain more later, I promise, I just - I gotta go down to the lab real quick.”

“I’ll come with -”

“No!” Virgil snaps. Logan flinches, and Virgil softens, crossing the room and gently touching his shoulder. “Hey, no, Logan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just - this message, there’s something off. I think something might be wrong, and I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger. Just - wait here, okay? Wait in my room, where it’s safe. It’s probably nothing, he’s probably fine, but on the off chance that he’s not, I want you to stay hidden safely up here.”

Logan isn’t sure why this makes his face heat up slightly, but it does. “Okay. I accept your apology, and I . . . trust you.”

Virgil smiles, soft and heartwarming, and Logan is beginning to give more credence to his “chest explosion is fine, actually” theory. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him, and the foamy feeling in Logan’s chest dissipates a little. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something . . . off. If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think that he was sensing a predator approaching.

But that can’t be right, he isn’t underwater. His danger senses are likely just overreacting to his disappointment at Virgil’s absence.

. . . Right?

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas is beginning to regret letting Roman and Patton (specifically, Roman) out of the large tank before finishing his first coffee of the morning.

“I want some!” Roman complains.

“Do you even know what it is?” Thomas says. Roman pouts sulkily at him.

“. . . No,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Thomas gives him the deadpan, no-nonsense, I-am-your-direct-superior-take-the-damn-samples-Virgil stare that he has perfected over the past few years. Roman wilts a little more, and Thomas feels slightly bad.

“It’s called coffee,” he says. “It’s a hot drink that lots of people have in the morning. Some people drink it plain, and some people add things to it to change the way it tastes. It helps me wake up more and get focused to start my day, and sometimes I drink it late at night to help keep me awake.”

Roman looks less like a kicked puppy and more like Logan, eyes wide and curious. “I want some!”

Thomas, taking a sip of his own two-seconds-of-cream-five-cubes-of-sugar coffee, nearly spits it out. He looks at Roman, eyes the very sharp, very detachable, very toxic spines covering his body, and says, “No.”

Roman’s demeanor changes entirely, switching from “curious toddler” to “toddler about to throw a temper tantrum” in a heartbeat. “Why not?!”

“Because when people drink coffee without being used to it, sometimes it makes them a little crazy.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“Do I need to recount to you how many times you’ve threatened me and my assistant since we met you?” Thomas says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not giving you coffee until I know I can trust you not to stab me with your poisonous spines that cover your entire body and can be fired at people.”

Roman pouts more, dropping under the water and letting out a gratingly harmonious string of mer that Thomas is pretty sure translates to Roman bitching about the coffee situation to his dad. Based on the pattern of Patton’s response, he’s pretty sure Patton is laughing at Roman.

More sulky chalkboard-violin music, and then Roman resurfaces grumpily. “Dad agrees with you and says no consuming strange human foods.”

“Did he laugh at you?”

Roman squints suspiciously at him. “You can’t speak our language.”

“Yeah, but I know what it sounds like when a dad laughs at his kid.” Roman, continuing to pout, sinks back into the tank, presumably to sulk some more. Thomas takes another very long sip of coffee that is definitely too hot for his mouth and turns back to his desk.

Virgil should definitely be awake and in the lab at this point. The samples he’s supposed to be analyzing are sitting in their little tubes, each neatly labelled with locations and dates and times and what, specifically, Virgil is supposed to be looking for. Thomas considers going upstairs and waking up Virgil, who’s almost never been late for work in this way, but he decides against it. Virgil is upstairs with Logan, and Thomas knows that there’s something building between them. He’s not sure how advisable that something is, but he trusts Virgil to make his own decisions.

Besides, he could probably use some practice. His water sample analysis skills are pretty rusty, he’s had Virgil doing them for years. “Virgil, you owe me big time for what I’m doing for you.” He carefully shifts the samples over to his own desk, slides his earbuds in, picks up a pipette, and gets to work analyzing the bacterial and algal concentrations for any abnormalities.

Thomas accomplishes about forty-five minutes’ worth of work before Roman interrupts him by flicking water at him and soaking the back of his neck. “Hey!”

“I tried your name, but your little ear bug things were keeping you from hearing me,” Roman says smugly. Thomas, not for the first time, considers retreating to the closet and throwing beakers until he feels better.

“Can I help you?”

“Dad wants to go hunting and bring back breakfast, but we can’t leave without you.”

“Are you not going hunting?”

“I’m going to stay here and observe you,” Roman says.

Thomas blinks. “Do I . . . need observing?”

“How do I know you won’t sell us out to your little human friends the second you get a chance? If I’m here, I can stop you. Plus, what if you do something to Logan while we’re not here to protect him? No, no, I’m staying right where I am and you can’t make me leave.” His spines ripple; Thomas steps closer to a whiteboard in case he needs to duck.

“I’m not going to do that, and I don’t want you to stab me.”

“Still! I’m staying here! Also, Dad’s bigger than me, and he’s a better hunter cause he’s faster and he’s been hunting longer.

“Does he need something to help him carry all those fish?” Thomas asks. Roman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something snarky, pauses, and stops.

“I . . . usually we just eat what we catch when we catch it. We make a pile of prey and take turns guarding it while the other two hunt. Then we make a sacrifice to the Seven Mother Goddesses and eat what’s left.”

After some debate, Thomas is able to fashion a sling of sorts from some waterproof tarps and leftover anchor rope to tie around Patton’s body. “You can put the fish in this pouch and carry them back here. Will you be able to navigate your way back to the grotto?”

“He will,” Roman says. “Dad knows more about the ocean than any human possibly could.” Another discordant song from the tank, chastising, and Roman huffs. “Dad wants me to reassure you that he’ll be fine.”

Patton settles into the mobile tank easily, and Thomas gets him down to the grotto leading towards the sea. “When you come back, let out one of your pod calls and Virgil or I will come and collect you and your catch. Take as much time as you need, okay?”

Patton reaches up and gently pats Thomas’s arm with one large, damp hand, and Thomas takes that to mean an agreement. “Alright, off you go.” There’s a whoosh and a rush of water as it flows from the tank into the grotto in a clean arc, carrying Patton with it. Thomas waits for a moment, letting Patton disappear into the open ocean, before returning to the laboratory.

Roman, for the most part, ignores Thomas. He asks the occasional question, which Thomas tries to answer in a way that he’ll understand, and leans over the edge of his touch tank, eyes guarded. Every time Thomas sneaks a glance, when he thinks Roman isn’t looking, his expression is wide-eyed and wondrous, like Logan’s usually are, but the moment he realizes Thomas is watching him his entire face closes up like a clamshell.

Thomas wonders what it’ll take to get Roman to trust him, trust Virgil, trust any human. Granted, he doesn’t know Roman’s history with humans, but he and Patton are both fairly scarred, and Thomas might not know the whole story but he’d bet a not-insignificant amount of his monthly income that the giant starburst scar taking up the majority of Patton’s chest isn’t the result of a clash with a marine creature.

He works quietly, fielding the occasional question, keeping one ear on the grotto tunnel for Patton’s return. He’s not sure how long he expected Patton to be gone, but he hears movement in the grotto tunnel far sooner than he’d expected.

“Thomas, what’s -”

“Shhhh,” Thomas says. He stands up, pushing away from his desk, but before he can say anything else, there’s a flood of movement coming from the tunnel. Bodies pour into the lab, swift and strong and carrying weapons that they immediately train on Thomas and Roman.

“What is this?” Roman snaps, bristling. He sounds betrayed, like he thinks Thomas is behind this. Thomas picks up a heavy glass beaker, fully prepared to shatter it upside someone’s skull if necessary, but something heavy and hard strikes the back of his skull and he feels his knees crumple. Roman cries out, and Thomas struggles to push himself up. A hand fists itself in his hair and yanks him upright, sharply. Thomas exhales sharply through his teeth, but before he can start struggling, something cool and round rests against the back of his neck, shutting him up and shutting his brain down.

Roman is puffed up like a hedgehog, apparently fully prepared to defend Thomas despite his strong and inherent mistrust. Before he can begin to attack, Thomas hears the click-click-click of shoes on the hard stone floor. Whoever’s holding his head yanks him back again, and he is forced to watch as a woman walks into his laboratory.

(It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke - a sick, horrible, twisted joke.)

She has black heels, black tights, a black pencil skirt, a black blazer, and a blood-red blouse. Her hair is scraped back into a tight bun, pulled so taut it must hurt, and is held in place with a pitch black stick. She carries a - clipboard? tablet? Unclear - held against her chest, and there’s a sleek silver weapon in her right hand.

“The one from the video?” she asks.

“Affirmative, ma’am,” says the person holding Thomas’s head. The woman nods, lifting her weapon, and fires at Roman. Thomas tries to scream a warning, earning himself another painful yank from his captor, but the projectile lodges itself in Roman’s shoulder anyway.

It isn’t a bullet, but something that looks like a small syringe. Roman swats it out of his shoulder, swaying a little, but it doesn’t stop him from swiping at the - mercenary, they must be - who tries to grab him with his elbow spines. The woman frowns, lifts the weapon - some kind of tranquilizer gun? - and fires again.

Roman screams, inhuman and animal, and tears the newest dart from his arm, throwing himself out of his tank and clinging to the nearest mercenary. His teeth tear into the man’s shoulder, spines piercing through his camouflage clothing and flooding him with neurotoxin. The man collapses against the concrete, alive but unconscious, and Roman snarls at the next man as though daring him to approach. He sways, weakened but awake, and bares his teeth.

“Of course,” the woman says, tapping something on her tablet. “His naturally produced neurotoxin must be providing him with some level of natural resistance. Unexpected, but not a limitation.”

It takes three more tranquilizer darts before Roman finally slumps down into his tank, unconscious. The mercenaries look hesitant to approach him, but the woman reaches for her tablet and they scramble to action at once.

“No - no, stop, let him go, he’s not an animal for you to cart off to your lab -” Thomas starts. The man holding him knees him sharply in the back and he cries out, coughing.

They wrap Roman in thick leather bands, roughly shoving his spines flat and binding them against his skin so that he can’t attack them again. The woman nods, once, short and sharp, and they drag Roman away, letting his head bang mercilessly on the ground. Thomas catches a glimpse of a logo - emblazoned on the back of the jackets, on the back of the woman’s tablet, on the side of her tranquilizer gun - and commits it to memory. He’s going to need it, if he gets out of here alive.

“- your phone,” the woman says, and oh, when did she get in front of him.

“My what?”

His mouth runs dry as she places the tranquilizer gun under his chin, barrel pressing against his throat, and tips his chin up. “I said, give me your phone.”

Thomas blinks. “My - the desk. It’s on the desk.”

She sets her tablet down, picks up his phone, and shoves it in his face. “Open it.”

“I - wh -”

“Unlock your phone, Dr. Sanders. Must I repeat myself a third time?” She rolls her eyes. “Doctorates are wasted on people like you.”

Thomas numbly punches in his passcode, and she swipes through to his messages app, frowning before turning the screen towards his face to reveal a message thread with Virgil. “Is this your assistant?”

Thomas glares at her, he’s not going to give her what she wants, he’s not going to just give her Virgil but then the - gun, it must be a gun, what else would they be holding against his neck like this - pushes into him harder, and it’s probably bruising, and he can’t get himself killed here because then he definitely won’t be able to take care of Virgil and -

“Yes,” Thomas says, hating himself for giving in so easily. “What do you -”

She turns away from him, nails clicking against his phone screen as she sends a text message - to Virgil, presumably, and that makes his heart sink like a stone - before dropping it on the floor and stepping on it to shatter it. “I have a message for you.”

“A - what?”

“Did they really hit you that hard, or were you this stupid before we came here?” she says coldly, picking up the tablet again and tapping at the screen. Thomas groans as the man yanks him to his feet, shoving him onto his chair and pulling a roll of duct tape out of one of his multiple pants pockets. He tapes Thomas’s wrists and ankles to the chair, keeping his weapon trained on Thomas’s temple at all times, before pressing it roughly against his head and gripping his hair again.

The woman sets the tablet on his lab table, and the screen flickers to life, and then there’s a woman in front of a dark black backdrop, smiling at him like a cat who’s caught a canary. “Thomas Sanders. How long I’ve waited for this day.”

Thomas recognizes her. He knows he recognizes her. She used to be his classmate, before . . .

His head hurts, so badly that he can barely keep his eyes open, and the memory slips away. “You . . . why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because I am a real scientist, unlike you. You refuse to do what is necessary, what must be done for the progression of the species. The sacrifice of some worthless animals is necessary for humanity to reach its zenith. You would really hinder the entire human race for the preservation of lower life forms?”

“Wh - I -”

“You think that ‘preserving the ecosystem’ and ‘keeping animals alive’ makes you a good scientist, but it makes you weak. You are weak, Thomas Sanders, and if the world was left in the hands of people like you, the human race as we know it would die out in a few centuries. Fortunately, there are people like me, who understand what must be done.”

“Caring about other people and things - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make you weak,” Thomas says, chest heaving, and the woman just laughs.

“One of many logical fallacies to which you subscribe, Thomas. They really gave you a doctorate? Of course caring makes you weak. All emotions make you weak. They corrupt your data and make your experiments worthless. You must be ruthless. You must be willing to do whatever it takes to pursue your goals and achieve the height of success. But no.” She rolls her eyes, face hardening, twirling a pen in her fingers. “You insist on ethics and principles and letting emotions cloud your judgement, and that makes you a failure as a scientist. It makes you weak. Your attachments will be your downfall.”

Thomas’s eyes slide shut, head pounding, and the man behind him yanks at his hair so sharply that he knows some has been ripped out. He forces his eyes open in time to see a smile slide across the woman’s face like a knife, teeth gleaming white as sun-bleached bone.

“You won’t - get away with this,” Thomas manages. He grinds his teeth together and curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself awake. “If you leave me alive -” Thomas, stop talking, why are you reminding her that she has the option to fucking kill you “- I will not rest until I find you. I’ll - you can’t -”

“You’ll what, Thomas? If you call the police, you’ll expose those creatures you’re so intent on protecting to the world. Are you really willing to take that chance?” Before Thomas can even begin formulating a response, she steamrolls him. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you were, I’m going to take some . . . insurance, shall we say.”

“Why not just kill me?” Thomas spits. Excellent idea, Doc, poke the murderous lady with a stick like a god damn hornet’s nest, the tiny Virgil in his brain hisses. Her smile, somehow, only widens, and that’s . . . that can’t be good, can it? Smiles are supposed to be good! They’re supposed to make you happy, but all Thomas feels is creeping dread and pain, so much pain, and -

Yeah. He’s . . . pretty sure he has a concussion.

“Because if I kill you, you get to take the easy way out. Your suffering will end. But unlike you, I don’t put limits on my science. I know how to cause you the maximum amount of pain.”

Thomas eyes the toxin gun, but the on-screen woman just laughs. “Not yet, Thomas. We need something from you, first.”

“You already took Roman,” Thomas says. “What more can you possibly take from me?”

“You named it? You’re even weaker than I thought.”

“He told me his name, he’s not an it, he’s not a thing for you to play with and - and I -”

There’s a strange sinking feeling in Thomas’s chest as the woman onscreen laughs. “I knew you were emotional, Thomas, but I can’t believe this! It looks like I’ll have more hanging over your head than you thought.”

“You -”

“Say, Tommy-boy, have you heard from your precious little assistant recently?”

Thomas’s entire body flushes ice-cold and then white-hot, immediately struggling against his duct tape bindings despite the man tearing at his hair and shoving the gun into his neck and snapping at him to shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up before I do something we’re both gonna regret -

“Don’t you touch him!” Thomas snaps. “If you hurt him, I swear to God -”

“You’re not in a position to be making demands, and if you don’t calm down, I’ll paint your boring little lab bright red.” Thomas freezes, holding his entire body tensed like electricity is running through his blood.

There are footsteps on the stairs. “Doc? I got your text, what’s -”

“Virgil, run!” Thomas chokes. Virgil comes around the corner, holding his phone, staring at the screen in confusion. He looks up, eyes widening in horror as he takes in the scene.

“You know what to do,” the woman onscreen says. The other woman lifts her tranquilizer gun, and Thomas is sure that he’s screaming, his mouth is open and sound is coming out but his blood is rushing through his ears and his heart is pounding like waves against a boat in rough sea and he can’t - he can’t -

Virgil turns to run, but the tranquilizer dart hits in him the back of the neck and he collapses like a sack of bricks. The woman lowers her gun and jerks her head at the two remaining conscious, unoccupied mercenaries, who step forward and grab Virgil.

“Let him go!” Thomas screams, and his throat feels raw and his chest feels raw and his wrists are rubbed raw and his soul feels hollow and raw, like he’s been scraped out with a jagged piece of metal and only an empty shell remains. Virgil’s head lolls against his chest as they drag him down the grotto tunnel, and Thomas struggles and screams and stares after them until Virgil is out of sight.

His face is damp, and his eyes are burning, and he isn’t sure if it’s blood from his head wound or tears or some strange, morbid mixture of both.

“The greatest torture of which I can conceive,” the woman onscreen says, and it takes him a moment to realize that oh, she’s talking to me, “is to leave you alive, knowing that your precious little protégé is with me, and that there is nothing you can do about it.” She leans forward, and any trace of a smile is gone. “If you try to come after me, I will kill him. If you call the authorities, I will kill him. I already found you, Thomas. Don’t think I’m not watching. If I catch so much as a whiff of you planning something, his blood will be on your hands. Do you understand me?”

Thomas, numb and shocked, can’t even respond. “Knock him out and bring the specimens back to me,” the woman onscreen says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t even feel the tranquilizer dart hit his neck, but he welcomes the sweeping darkness.

(Summary: Evil Scientist Lady has been spying on Thomas and she finds the entrance to the grotto where our mer friends have been hiding. She sends her assistant and several armed thugs to invade the lab, they drug Roman with tranquilizers and kidnap him. Thomas gets knocked around a lot and is mocked for being an ethical scientist and caring about people by Evil Scientist Lady and she gloats at him through Evil Facetime before kidnapping Virgil in the same way they did Roman, knocking Thomas unconscious, and leaving him tied to his lab chair. During this whole scene, Patton is out in the open ocean hunting and Logan is safely hidden in Virgil's room.)

[megacoven]

Final exam

(a short semi-fix-it fic inspired by @spnpocweek’s day 5 prompt, “o death”)

Part 1: Logic problems

1. A lateral thinking puzzle: A young man is lying dead on the floor of an underground bunker. The bunker is sealed and warded against all plausible enemies. There is no weapon near him. What happened? What happens next?

2. It’s dark where you are, but there’s light somewhere close. You know that much. Let’s say some lights are upstairs, and you are in the cellar. Whether or not there’s a good reason you’re here is outside the bounds of this problem. Three switches in front of you are wired at random to three lights upstairs. You don’t know this house, or at least you know less about it than you thought you did. How do you flip the switches to figure out the wiring?

It’s a simple question. But remember: You can only leave the cellar once.

3. Don’t think about the cellar. Not yet. Take a step back. Imagine you find yourself on a remote island with three types of people: knights, who always tell the truth; knaves, who always lie; and spies, who can say whatever they like. You come across three men. How can you tell which is which through two yes-no questions? Three yes-no questions? Unlimited questions? What if they only want to hear answers? What if the spy just wants you to stop talking?

4. Or: Imagine you are trapped in a room with no windows or doors. The only items in the room are a table, a mirror, and the everlasting Word of God. How do you escape?

(That’s a riddle for kids. Are you getting worse at this? Focus — a lot depends on it.)

5. Back to basics, then. No more imaginary scenarios. Here’s a plain fact: People tend to die around the Winchesters.

Ellen died older than Pamela but younger than Bobby.

Jo died older than Kevin but younger than Pamela.

Who died at the youngest age?

Part 2: Multiple choice

6. What score did you get on your last SAT practice exam? (Note: You can’t leave this question blank. You still remember this bullshit.)

a) 2150 b) 2170 c) 2190 d) 2210 e) 2230

7. What should you have spent your limited time on instead?

a) Chugging Red Bull and playing video games with your friends b) Driving out to California with Channing like you talked about  c) Watching cheesy movies with your mom d) Wandering the lakeshore and taking in the beauty of it all e) Fleeing across the Canadian border

8. Prophet is to God as:

a) Radio is to announcer b) Physicist is to dark matter c) Sketch artist is to suspect d) Flea is to dog e) Seismograph is to earthquake

9. You knew it all would end badly, right?

a) Yes b) Yes c) Yes d) Yes e) Yes

10. It’s best to be prepared. When you imagined this happening, who did you blame?

a) Sam and Dean b) Crowley c) Metatron d) God e) All of the above

11. You’ve read the holy manufacturer’s instructions until your vision blurred. You’ve burnt the requisite offerings to an empty throne and tattooed Enochian words into your skin with a needle and pen. What are your chances of getting through this with your body and mind intact, so to speak?

a) 0% b) 1% c) 3% d) 5% e) 7%

Part 3: Close reading

Questions 12-15 are based on a passage from the Angel Tablet, provided separately.

12. The author includes a description of Heaven (lines 22-26) primarily as a(n):

a) Guide b) Incentive c) Warning d) Justification e) Distraction

13. As used in line 48, “divine” most nearly means:

a) Righteous b) Incomprehensible c) Inhuman d) Blessed e) Fated

14. The passage implies that the creation of new angels is:

a) A purely theoretical exercise b) Only to be undertaken in times of dire need c) A once-regular task that has been neglected d) A recently introduced amendment to established divine law e) Pretty fucking ironic under the circumstances

15. Human is to soul as angel is to:

a) Grace b) Programming c) Power d) Faith e) Cannot be determined from the information provided

Part 4: Short essay

16. Colossians 1:16 states, “For in [God] all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him.” Do you believe this is true? Please provide supporting or opposing examples from your personal experience. Will you change your mind if your plan works? Will it be changed for you?

17. What does it mean to be human? Describe it while you still can, and try to commit it to memory. You may need to recall it in the days ahead.

Bonus question: Did you cheat on this exam? Was it worth it? When will you know?

[searchingwardrobes]

Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns​, my beta @demisexualemmaswan​, and my artist @cocohook38​. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part  is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @bethacaciakay​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @spartanguard​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @carpedzem​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @hollyethecurious​ @vvbooklady1256​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @lassluna​ @distant-rose​ @courtorderedcake​ @winterbythesea​ @thesschesthair​ @killian-whump​ @thisonesatellite​ @batana54​ @it-meant-something​ @xsajx​ @therooksshiningknight​ @gingerchangeling​​

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded. 

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours. 

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question. 

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath. 

*************************************************

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped. 

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him. 

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake. 

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car. 

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat. 

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside. 

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

*******************************************************

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward. 

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break. 

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now. 

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won. 

************************************************************

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on. 

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home. 

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps. 

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind. 

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep. 

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb. 

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position. 

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek. 

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual. 

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.” 

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes. 

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

[nevermindirah]

I've been drafting and redrafting this meta post for weeks now. It's about to be 5781 and my country that was founded on settler colonial genocide and slavery and a deeply flawed but fierce attachment to democracy might go full dictatorship in about 6 weeks and it's time for me to post this thing.

All our immortals are warriors, all have been traumatized by war. But only three of them died their first deaths as soldiers in imperial armies. This fandom has already produced gallons of meta on Nicky dealing with his shit, because Joe would not fuck with an unapologetic Crusader. But there's very rich stuff in Booker and Nile's experiences and the parallels and distinctions between them.

Nile was 11 when her dad was killed in action - that was 2005, meaning she and her dad both died in the same war that George W Bush started in very tenuous response to 9/11. Sure, Nile's dad could have died in either Iraq or Afghanistan, or in a training accident or in an off-the-books mission we won't know about for a hundred more years, but he died in the War on Terror all the same. I had to look it up to be sure because Obama "drew down" the Afghanistan war in his second term, but nope, we're still in this fucking thing that never should've happened in the first place. The US war in Afghanistan just turned 19 years old. A lot of real-life Americans have experiences like the Freemans, parents and children both dying in the same war we shouldn't be in.

I know a lot of people like Nile who join the US military not just because it's the only realistic way for them to pay for college or afford decent healthcare, but also because they have a family history of military service that's a genuine source of pride. Military service has been a way for Americans of color to be accepted by white Americans as "true Americans" - from today's Dreamers who Obama promised would earn protection from deportation by enlisting, to Filipino veterans of WW2 earning US citizenship that Congress then denied them for several decades, to slaves "earning" their freedom through service in the Union Army and in the Continental Army before it. As if freedom is a thing one should have to earn. Lots of Black Americans have the last name Freeman for lots of different escaping-slavery reasons, but it's possible that this specific reason is how Nile got her last name.

Dying in a war you know your country chose to instigate unnecessarily and that maybe you believe it shouldn't be waging is a very particular kind of trauma. It is a much deeper trauma when your military service, and your father's, and maybe generations of your ancestors', is a source of pride and access to resources for you but your sacrifice is nearly meaningless to the white supremacist system that deploys you. That kind of cognitive dissonance encourages a person to ignore their own feelings just so they can function. How do you wake up in the morning, how do you risk your life every day, how do you *kill other people* in a war that shouldn't be happening and that you shouldn't have to serve in just so that your country sees you as human?

We see Nile do her best to be a kind and well-mannered invader. Depending on your experience with US imperialism, Nile giving candy to kids and reminding her squad to be respectful is either heartwarming or very disturbing propaganda. We also see Nile clutching her cross necklace and praying. From the second Christianity arrived on this land it's been a tool of white supremacist assimilation and control, but like military service, it's a fucked-up but genuine source of pride and access to resources for many Americans whose pre-Columbian ancestors were not Christian, and it's a powerful source of comfort and resilience. This Jew who's had a lot of Spanish Inquisition nightmares would like to say for the record that it's not Jesus's fault that his big name fans are such shitty people.

Nile is a good person trying to do her best in a fucked-up world. "Her best" just radically changed. Her access to information on just how fucked up the world is has also just radically changed, because everything's so fucked up a person needs a lot of time to learn about it all and not only does she have centuries but she won't have to spend that time worrying about rent and healthcare and taxes, and because she now has Joe and Nicky and Andy's stories, and because she now has Copley's inside scoop on just what the fuck the CIA has been up to. Like, I want a fic where Copley tells Nile what was really behind the brass's decisions that led to her experiences on the ground in Afghanistan, that led to her father's death, but also I Do Not Want That.

Nile was 19 when Alicia Garza posted on Facebook that Black Lives Matter. She grew up in Chicago well before white people on Twitter were saying maybe police violence against Black people is a problem. She knows this is a deeply fucked up country, and she put on her Marine uniform and deployed with her team of mostly fellow women of color, and maybe she and Dizzy and Jay marched in the streets between deployments, maybe they texted each other when a white manarchist at a protest sneered at one of them for being a Marine. Nile's been busy surviving, and she knows some shit and she's seen some shit but she hasn't had much time to think about what it all means. Now she's got time. And Joe, Nicky, and Andy are willing to listen. (Is Copley willing to listen? I could see that going either way.)

Booker might also be willing to listen. The brilliant idea of cleaning up the rat Frenchman so that Nile can have millennia of emotional support and orgasms sent me down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, and holy shit do Booker and Nile have a lot of shared life experience as pawns of imperial wars. Obviously Booker is white and a man and that makes a very big difference. (Though G-d help me, Booker could be Jewish and France was knocking its Jews around like ping-pong balls in the 18th-19th centuries. Jewish Booker wouldn't make him any less white but it does add a shit ton of depth of common experience: military service as a way for your country to see you as a full member of society who matters, because who you are means that's not guaranteed.)

Booker was hanged for desertion from the army Napoleon sent to invade Russia as part of his quest to control all of Europe. We learn in the comics / this YouTube video that Booker was on his way to prison for forgery when he was offered military service instead of jail time. While we don't know how he felt about the choice beyond that he did choose soldier over inmate, it's unlikely he thought invading Russia was a great idea, given he tried to desert because Napoleon like a true imperialist dumbass didn't plan for how he was going to feed his army or keep them from freezing to death in fucking Russian winter.

I find it very interesting that the French Empire was at its largest right before invading Russia and fell apart completely within a few years. My country has been falling the fuck apart for a while now - see aforementioned War on Terror, growing extremes of economic stratification in the richest country in the world, abject refusal to meaningfully deal with climate change that US-based corporations hold the lion's share of blame for - but between Trump's abject refusal to meaningfully deal with the coronavirus and strong likelihood that he'll refuse to leave office even if a certain pathetic moderate I will hold my nose and vote for does manage to earn a majority of votes, ~y~i~k~e~s.

Our only immortals who have never known a world before modernity and nationalism happen to have been born of wars that were the beginning of the end for the imperialist democracies that raised them, and I think in the centuries to come that's going to give them some very interesting shit to talk about.

Nile's a Young Millennial, a digital native born in the United States after the collapse of the USSR left her country as the world's only superpower. She's used to a pace of technological change that human brains are not evolved to handle.

Napoleon trying to make all of Europe into the French Empire was a leading cause of the growth of European nationalism and the establishment of liberal democracies both in Europe and in many places that Europeans had colonized. Booker's first war produced the only geopolitical world order Nile has ever known and I just have so many feelings ok. Nile the art history nerd is probably not aware of this, and why would she be? This humble meta author is, like Nile, a product of US public schools, and all they taught me about world history was Ancient Greece/Rome/Egypt/Mesopotamia and then World War 2. Being raised in The World's Only Superpower is WEIRD.

Nile the Young Millennial is used to the devastating volume of bad news the internet makes possible. But she has absolutely no concept of a world where the United States of America is not The World's Only Superpower. In order to get up in the morning and put on her gear and point guns at civilians in Afghanistan, she can only let herself think so much about whether that American exceptionalism thing is a good idea.

She's about to spend many, many years where the only people who she can truly trust are people who are older than not only her country but the IDEA of countries.

She's got time, and she's got a lot of new information at her disposal. But there comes a point where my obsession with her friendship and eventual very hot sex life with Booker just isn't about sex at all. Nile needs someone to talk to about the United States who Gets It. Booker the rat Frenchman coerced into Napoleon's army, and Copley the Black dual citizen of the US and UK who's retired from a CIA career that he half understands as deeply problematic but half still believes in hence his mind-bogglingly stupid partnership with Merrick, are the only people on the planet Nile can talk to honestly about, and really be understood in, all the thoughts and feelings and fears and hopes of her experience as a US Marine.

And one more thing before I go get ready for Rosh Hashanah: Orientalism was a defining element of the Crusades and that legacy is painfully clear in current US-led Western military activity in Afghanistan, Syria, Israel/Palestine, you name it. Turns out memoirs by French veterans of the Napoleonic Wars are full of Orientalist language about Russia as well. I am maybe/definitely writing a fic where Booker spends his exile reading critical race theory and decolonial feminism and trauma studies monographs because he can't be honest with a therapist but maybe he can heal this way and become the team therapist his own damn self. I just really need him to read Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and then go down on Nile, ok?

[itsclydebitches]

No one should of trusted RWBY+ with fucking anything, let alone saving the world (LIKE REN SAID THEY SHOULDN’T BE MAKING DECISIONS ON) and now look. Two cities destroy, millions dead or homeless, and Salem half-way to completing her goal that might get everyone killed. Yeah, Ozpin totally should apologize for not trusting these idiots.

At the very least the story might have pulled some plot strings to "prove" that Ozpin should have trusted them from the start. Like with Oscar succeeding with Hazel. We know that success required him to go OOC and that in a story with more consistent characterization/realistic reactions from its cast, Oscar would have definitely failed... but that doesn't erase the fact that he didn't. No matter how badly executed, the story essentially argues, "Oscar was right to trust Hazel because look, Hazel helped him" and we might have gotten something similar with the group: "Ozpin was wrong to mistrust them because look, when they learned the truth everything got better."

But, uh... things got so much worse.

The group drove Ozpin away rather than proving that they were actually different from everyone else who learned about Salem. Then they nearly lost the Relic at the farm. They tested the fragile trust between the kingdoms by stealing from Atlas and in doing so got a Leviathan to attack a city. Then they lied to Ironwood - the exact thing Ozpin supposedly shouldn't have done to them. They actively divided their allies - you know, the thing Salem wants. Not splitting the group to complete two separate tasks, Ruby - by turning on the Ace Ops and Ironwood. Ruby told everyone about Salem, which realistically should have caused massive grimm attacks across the entire world. They lost the Relic because they never bothered to put it in the vault. They also ended up losing the last question because of that. They lost the Staff because they stupidly took it out of the vault. Their Maiden was killed, again. An entire populace is displaced and currently getting picked off by grimm. They knowingly, willingly, and deliberately destroyed an entire kingdom when they didn't have to.

Oh, and then five out of ten “died.” If there was any part of Ozpin that held back out of worry for their safety, that’s been proven correct too. They weren’t strong enough, or smart enough to survive this war. Within just a few months they were (we’re meant to believe) killed. 

Putting aside, for the moment, that a story needs conflict and failure on the part of its protagonists, everything that has happened since Volume 6, to my mind, proves Ozpin right. Not just in terms of "Wow, when I tell people about Salem they hurt and betray me" but also "Wow, somehow I don't think this group of teenagers with one year of training is ready to be the linchpin of this war." Because that's what they wanted by demanding every secret: to be at the very center of the fight, to be making the tough calls, to play at being the world's hero. The problem is, their idea of a hero is still someone who fixes everything with an epic punch to the face. When that fails... they crumble. Cue Ruby sitting around in the mansion half the volume. Should Ozpin have trusted his inner circle? It's debatable. Lionheart ran to Salem the second he learned of her immortality, Qrow sunk deeper into his alcoholism and gave up the fight, but Ironwood took it in a stride and kept pushing forward. Theodore we don't know yet. So it's pretty up in the air whether that would have assisted Ozpin, or just made things worse that much faster, but then that's not really the question here. Should he have told the group? Should he have deliberately made these teens generals in this war? The plot says, "Absolutely not." Because when they made themselves the generals through force - stealing the question, lying to Ironwood, defeating the Ace Ops, hijacking Amity - things have consistently gotten worse. Nothing we've seen on screen the last three volumes says, "See? Look how much better things are once Ozpin was forced to trust love and put his faith in this team."

And what slays me is that the show so desperately tries to backtrack on this with the fight between Ren and Yang:

Ren: Are you kidding?! We don’t know the first thing about being Huntsmen. We clearly weren’t ready.

Yang: Were we not ready when we saved Haven? When we took down a Leviathan? We got the Lamp to Atlas.

Ren: And then we lost it! And after that, when we had to make real decisions, we got every single one wrong.

Yang: I’m not going to pretend like we did everything perfectly, but if we’d done nothing, things would be even worse than they are now.

Ren: How could they possibly be worse? We are stuck out here while Salem has the Lamp and Oscar. We’ve got no plan, no army.

Yang: We’ve got the Maiden!

Yang is forced to omit so much information to make the team look good here and Ren is only allowed to point out one (1) thing she omits: "And then we lost it!" Yang fails to mention that they didn't save Haven, Blake's army did. So yeah, one member of the team, but it's not like they got in there and kicked epic ass. Weiss nearly died. The Relic was only saved because Raven decided she didn't want it anymore. The group barely held their own and then won due to good timing and the bad guys taking each other out/changing their minds. They were going to defeat two Maidens? Lucky them one Maiden took the other out and then decided to hand them the Relic.

Took down a leviathan? Funny how she fails to mention that they drew the leviathan there in the first place and that Cordovin's drill is what did it in. Even Ruby's eyes is a single person ability that only works on grimm, not at all useful for the human-based problems Ren is talking about. They got the Lamp to Atlas? Yeah, and then you lost it. Getting it to Atlas is literally meaningless when the villains still managed to steal it, that victory a direct result of the group's stupid decisions. It's like going, "I successfully got water out of the boat" and failing to mention that the boat still sank. Oh, and also you could have plugged the hole at any point and just... didn't. The boat sinking is absolutely on your hands. When pressed just the tinniest bit, all Yang can come up with is that they've still got the Maiden, someone who will be attacked, hacked, and murdered by the end of the volume. Everything else? "but if we’d done nothing, things would be even worse than they are now."

That's a very big claim from someone ignoring all her failures. And of course, soon after this Ren dares to use Jaune's lack of training as an example of how unprepared they are (valid), he gets mad, the duo later tells him to open up more (he literally just did), and then the story drops his anger for a semblance upgrade instead. RWBY banks on us just believing Yang, carried along by everyone - all the way through to Nora - going on about how Very Very Wrong Ren Is - because if you actually consider these themes of trust and ask whether Ozpin was wrong to hold back... there's not a lot to challenge that decision. The go-to argument would be, "The heroes made things better once they knew the truth, ergo, they should have known the truth from the start" but the group has continually made things worse. It's not even a temporary problem anymore. No matter that they'll inevitably win, Atlas is gone. They've done irreversible harm to the world and yeah, they're trying to do good, they're trying, but this isn't the story of some teenagers forced into a conflict and doing what they can with the hand they've been dealt. This is the story of some teenagers who forced their way in, so when things go wrong... that's on them, no matter their intentions. They are now responsible, just as much as Ozpin was responsible. Except the story refuses to admit that, continually positioning Ruby as an innocent child in need of reassurance, not the licensed huntress who stole control from Ozpin, lied her way into a new inner circle, attacked former allies to avoid the consequences of her own actions, and presented herself as the world's savior... only to then cry because she never had a plan to begin with. We've got a fantastic story here about how Ruby wasn't ready, none of her friends were, and their naïve belief that they were the heroes of this tale - running after the White Fang, then Cinder, then Salem herself - has done incredible harm within a delicate, multi-generation war. We might have started telling that story if the group had actually sat with Ren's accusations and admitted their mistakes. Instead, we're left with this ridiculous claim that no matter how bad things get, it's always better than the alternative of the group not being involved at all. Because they're the heroes, remember. Their goodness they provide is, supposedly, inherent. The only problem is we no longer have a plot that supports this claim.