#blue is probably high. and mental illnessing. he was not prepared to talk to anyone. he just wanted poptarts

[matoitech]

i met a famous person outside of the grocery store !!!!

[irenedubrovna]

A post regarding Euphoria for the benefit of myself and basically no one else

So, it really bothers me when people say Euphoria is groundbreaking, progressive media. Here’s a dissection of why I don’t think it is, because this is what I feel like doing at work:

The character of Rue is objectively great. She by far receives the least overt sexualization, and is treated neutrally in terms of active sexuality. She’s treated like a normal teenage girl with mental issues and an addiction to drugs. She falls in love with a girl who she pines for and places on a pedestal. The reason I think she is written this way is because she is a Sam Levinson proxy. She written with gender ambiguity and with little regard to the experiences she’d go through as a black gay female, probably because Sam Levinson has no insight to that aspect of life. Her performance is heightened of course by Zendaya, who breathes unique life to the Sam Levinson’s artistic extension, and without her performance this show would not get even half the acclaim it gets. Attribute that to Zendaya of course, because the director has done little to deserve this acclaim.

The rest of the females, sans Lexi, are pornified to a disgusting extent, not only due to the fact that they are supposed to be underage, but also because their existence as people is treated as being absolutely secondary to their sexual appeal. They are foremost presented in terms of their relation to sex. Cassie, Maddy, Jules, and Kat cannot be removed from their sexuality without disrupting the plot or their journeys in relation to the plot. Why are the females so intrinsically linked to uber fetishized versions of female sexuality, or uber fetishized versions of blossoming female sexual identity?

Maddy is presented not only scantily clad 90 percent of the time, but also dressed in a precariously unattainable sexual fashion. At any given time she is styled to look straight out of, simultaneously, a high fashion editorial, and a “barely legal” porno. She is airheaded and profane, and promiscuous, her mannerisms dictated by the adult films she’s “studied” in order to project an image of perfect hyper sexual femininity. She’s complacent in becoming a prototypical housewife because it will earn her a comfortable place as a trophy wife. She has no aspirations beyond that. So, let’s unpack all of that. Maddy’s role in the show is mostly passive. The most active thing she does in the plot is revenge fuck a man in the pool of a party. Nearly everything else she does in the show that is plot relevant is of someone else’s volition. Even less of what she in the show is related to anything other than a man. She is abused and then pressured into framing another man for said abuse. She has no agency as a character. The only notable difference to this rule is when she takes drugs at a carnival, knocks a pot of chili over, and calls her ex’s mom a cunt. Removed from her active sexual life and carefully cultivated aesthetic, she’s a trite stereotype of an unambitious girlfriend who gets treated poorly. I see people call Maddy iconic, but if she wasn’t gorgeous and well dressed, I doubt anyone would even think twice about her, let alone create fancams and Instagram pages dedicated to her. She exists as a plot device, and as pretty set dressing to build up the shows aesthetic. Her emotions are not well explored, her motivations are sexist, and she is often there to be demeaned, objectified, or to say a bad word. The most damning part of her involvement in this show is her episode where it is stated that she, as a fourteen year old girl, lost her virginity to an adult man, and it is stated she was in control of the situation. This is a dangerous thing to say about a character, to any audience, but especially a young one. To imply that a precocious young girl was in control during her first sexual encounter with a much much older man implies things that frankly border on rape apologist ideology. This show states this unflinchingly and with no further elaboration. If there’s one thing that tells you that Euphoria is a bad show, let it be that. Also, if there’s one thing that tells you about Sam Levinson as a person, and the way he views girls and women, let it fucking be that.

Jules is a young trans girl. She also likes to have sex with men as a means to “conquer femininity”. Scratch that, she likes to have degrading sex with older men in order to “conquer femininity”. This mindset is shown to be toxic, of course, but I think the problem with this idea in general is that there’s no deeper exploration for what this mindset means. It implies that she believes women are the sum of their intrigue and degradations. This mindset I can only assume would be a cultivation of dysphoria and internalized misogyny, which this series is absolutely not prepared to address in a tactful manner. Jules is a teenager with mental illness, trauma, and is undergoing an identity crisis. There’s something powerful in her character, something worth saying, however we only get trimmings of those meaningful things, and are ultimately left with a hurtful depiction of a trans girl because all of her musings on womanhood and identity are incomplete, and they fail to reach beyond the surface of their thesis statement. She wears colorful clothing, is overtly feminine and artistic in her presentation. Everything about her screams insecurity over her own womanhood. That is the crux of her character. Now, I think we should ask ourselves, is trans person who is insecure about their identity peak representation? Is this what trans people deserve? Is it “groundbreaking “? If this show was run by someone else, I might be inclined to say that there’s nothing insidious about this, but this is the guy that made Assassination Nation, so I think we know what he thinks of young women, the way they should be portrayed (that is, for the capitulation of a man) and realize his inclusion of a trans woman in his cast is no more meaningful than the inclusion of any other woman. Women to him are made to be categorized and should, at the end of the day, be easily palatable for the capitulation of a man. The device of having Jules being interested in older men and rough sex for identity reasons is transparent. Trans women are exploited and objectified with a similar fervor to cis women, the caveat being that they are “a forbidden fruit” of sorts to straight men. Jules is sissified, her presentation fetishistic. Her role in the plot is more involved. Her relationship with Rue is sweet, though toxic on both sides. She is ultimately betrayed, blackmailed, and snowballs into something of a manic episode, all well portrayed by Hunter Schafer, but I don’t think her inclusion in the show absolves it of any of its many sins.

Let’s talk about Cassie. Cassie is the Eurocentric beauty standard exemplified. She is the blonde haired blue eyed girl next store, and her boobs are of course always on display. She is notably promiscuous, something I say right off the bat because that’s how she’s introduced, as a so called slut through the words of the devil (Nate Jacobs). She is a girl with daddy issues, which we are all familiar with at this point. Her sexual boundaries begin and end at the whim of her partner. The terms of her consent are much like the terms of consent of many young girls brainwashed by society and the rising tide of degradation porn: everything is alright as long as you provide them comfort and affirmation afterward. You can touch them roughly without asking, you can use them as a tool to affirm your masculinity. This is the way men prefer their women now: just broken enough to say yes to anything they want. It’s become a joke at this point. Men like girls with issues, but only the ones that will feed their own desires. Cassie Howard is meek. Her inclusion in the plot I suppose ties to themes of drug addiction and how it divides and destroys the people you love. It doesn’t show what it does to her beyond shaping her sexual encounters, which is no surprise. Overall I’d say Cassie is in this roster of females as the most traditional categorically, in relation to how men view women and further how they sexualize them. She has a relationship with someone who doesn’t really love her. That mostly what she does here. Gets used. Doesn’t drive the plot or conflict much. More pretty set dressing. More aesthetics. How this show consists of so many women but is driven so much by men is unsurprising, and, again, very enlightening in the grand scheme of things.

Lastly we touch on Kat. I’d like to begin with the fact that self actualization through sexual exploration, in a show run by a man, is just a cloak for a woman to gratify the audience with her sexuality. Regardless of whether or not she is plus sized, this is overt objectification. She is on this show to be sexy. Beyond that, the fact that a minor using sex work as a form of liberation is disgusting. Whether or not she is portrayed as “owning” her sexuality is negligible, and speaks to the same mindset discussed with Maddy. Minors cannot fucking consent to sex, sexual acts, or anything within the confines of such. It’s crazy that this occurs with two different characters in such a similar way. It has echoes of “Well, she looked older..” and “Well, she wanted it..” or “She’s advanced for her age”. Never, not once in the events of the series is there meaningful introspection on what doing this kind of thing does to a minor. Moreover, these acts are explicit, and made clearly for sexual gratification. None of these things are absolved by the fact that she’s plus sized. If anything, her body type is fetishized in this context. It’s also another case of a “good girl to bad girl” transformation, which are archaic and, of course, sexist. With the rise of adult websites targeting minors for explicit content, this is even more reprehensible. Once again, in terms of representation, is this really what speaks to you as progressive? Groundbreaking? A girl gains control of her own narrative by having sex with lots of men. She gains control by being sexy. She gains control by dehumanizing and objectifying herself. No she doesn’t. Media controlled by men will tell this story to you thousands of times, don’t listen because she’s bigger than a size four.

ALL OF THESE CHARACTERS ARE UNDERAGE. ALL OF THEM HAVE EXPLICIT SEX SCENES, EVEN THE SEXUAL ASSAULT IS MADE CINEMATICALLY PORNIFIED. THESE SHOTS ARE MADE TO BE OBJECTIVELY SEXY. THIS IS NOT A CASE OF SOMEONE CREATING SOMETHING FOR THE SAKE OF REALISM. IT IS ABOUT MAKING SCENES THAT SPEAK TO A MALE AUDIENCE. THAT CATER TO THE MALE GAZE. ARGUE WITH THE WALL.

I won’t go further into the plot, other characters, or the structure or the episodes for sake of brevity, but I felt compelled to air my thoughts on this to the void. I can only hope I was critical enough that Sam Levinson will one day see this and cry because another bad feminist thinks something that he made sucks

[nestable]

BRING IT ON HOME NESSIAN ONESHOT

Bring it on Home to me by Sam Cooke is on of my favorite songs in the word and I highly recommend you go have a listen if you havent heard it, I promise you wont regret it. I was listening to it the other day and instantly thought of how these lyrics resonated with nessian, cassian more especially and couldn't resist writing this fic. Just a little soft, SFW, domestic Nessian. 🥺😭

"Nes." Cassian groaned as he rolled closer to her side of the bed. "Nesta?"

After being met with stark silence, Cassian outstretched his hand only for it to collapse onto cold sheets.

No Nesta, he realized with a start.

Though he and his Nesta have been mated for some months now, all of which have been without an incident, he can't help but worry.

Each night he reassures himself with the knowledge of their bond, the heat of her body pressed against his own, the words of love and loyalty she ensures he hears everyday, that she is safe and finally happy.

Not miserable and balancing on the cusp of oblivion where he found her last year. Juggling between drowning her sorrows and indulging in sub-par sex just to feel something, just to deny the connection they share because she felt that she wasnt worthy of him. No, that was all over now, but he can't help when the memories resurface.

The memory of Nesta writhing and arched in her bed as silver flames wreathed her body like a shroud. The screams of pain and anguish that left her lips only to be swallowed by starless night and Deaths flames. How the very mountain trembled beneath their feet, bracing itself for the potential explotion that Cassian could sense building up. Somehow he knew that Velaris would've been crumpled to dust that night and become a fond memory. He felt it in his gut. Just the same way he felt her night terrors take hold of her for her powers to bask in centre stage. And in the same breath, he also felt that he could stop it. Whether that was pure male arrogance or the suspicion of the bond that lay between them, that was yet to be found. And it was...the moment her powers seized in intensity when he said her name. Once, twice, just enough for Rhys to gain control and save them all.

No, he would never forget that and he'd be damned if it were to happen again and catch him in a helpless position as the first time he witnessed the extent of her power. A power that mostly returned back to the Cauldron, only to be replaced by 3 Dread troves and the Mothers favour. A different sort of threat perhaps. One sweeter, kinder, even benign from what he's witnessed.

Nesta barely speaks about the power the same way she did with her Cauldron gifts. She reassures him that these were different, these she understands and smiled every time he enquired about her connection with the Mother. He wishes to know more, his body yearns for it, but his mate has always loved surprises.

Cassian threw on a pair of his undershorts before leaving his and Nestas new room. Though the House of Wind has become their shared abode, its ill advised to walk around naked with the possibility of Azriel becoming an unwilling spectator with his prowling around the halls in the dead of night like he's been doing for the past year.

Cassian loves his brother, sometimes more than kin normally do, he believes sometimes, but he'll never forgive him for that night he ruined his birthday night when he walked in on Nesta modelling her new negligee in the library. He's never jumped from one intense emotion to another so quickly. Blinded by the red lace of her silk garments only to see red of a different kind when the blue of Azriels siphon opened the door.

The territorial male part of him nearly took over that night and he was inclined to let it ride him had Nesta not winnowed them to their room and pushed him onto the bed. The anger, the curiosity he had as to how Nesta was able to winnow around the House when no one else could were obscured then turned insignificant by the view of Nesta sitting astride on his thighs.

Cassian followed the music swimming through the hall which brought him to a new lounge area that didn't present itself in the centuries that he's been living here until Nesta inherited the place.

Many new things have made their presence known and sprung to life since Nestas made the House her home. Hidden rooms have materialized, troves have opened and a gorgeous garden has flourished on the top of the mountain. As if in preparation of someone, or little someone's who might need it.

Cassian isn't blind to the fact that the House makes things available according to Nestas hopes, dreams and wishes. All of which make Cassian excited for the future and a forever with his mate even more.

Nesta was leaning against the cream white wall that she and Cassian painted just last night, holding an A2 canvas painting in both hands. He couldn't decipher her facial expression or read some of the wild thoughts that were evidently bouncing around her head as Nesta was inclined to raising her mental walls to him when she was stressed. He'd once asked why and she told him that she didnt want to plague him with her problems. Didnt want to bother him. Little did she know that Cassian was built for her, problems and all. Nothing about Nesta could bother him. Not even the parts that bothered her.

"Hi." He whispered which startled Nesta before she composed herself. For her to be so drawn into her thoughts that she didnt notice him approaching, instantly put him on edge him.

"Hi." She said, plastering a lazy smile onto her face.

Cassian took that as an invitation to enter. His eyes swept across the room, taking in the organized clutter. From the closed boxes filling the lounge, the half hung snow white gossamer curtains blowing in from the open balcony, to the slightly dusty white marble tiles that were installed just last week.

Cassian was a bit skeptical when Nesta told him of her plans to decorate this room in all white. White cushions, white couches, white walls, white flower arrangements, white chandeliers and white fur carpets felt like a fever dream to Cassian, but now that it's all coming to life, he can see the vision of beauty that Nesta had in mind. A vision not only limited to this lounge but the entire House of Wind that Nesta will decorate herself with the input of the House itself to revitalize the place. All of which will be paid for by Rhys.

How the Cauldron matched him to such a female, not mere female but god, he'll never know. All he can do is be grateful and work to be worthy and deserve the gift to draw breath in her presence.

Now that Nestas accepted her Human emissary role and is the courts newly appointed courtier, she's recieving the same fat salary like the rest of the IC, but Cassian doubts that Rhysand will ever let Nesta access her funds because he insists on paying for everything for her. Which goes to show that Rhys' gratitude for Nesta runs very far. Or guilt, or both.

What Nesta did for Feyre, Nyx and Rhys was something that couldnt be described with words. She saved their lives and in doing so the entire court. Rhys failed to tell his family about him and Feyres decision and never left a plan of action to follow after his death. Had he died, the role of High Lord could've fallen to anyone. Probably Keir or one of Mors detestable brothers because they are Rhys closest male blood relatives. What they would've done to Velaris, done to the entire court....Cassian seldom contemplates that. Nestas sacrifice and mercy saved them all and in doing so, opened herself to a higher form of being that is yet to be seen.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"I had a lot on my mind. I couldn't sleep so I decided to come and get this room in order." She explained, flipping her golden brown hair over her shoulder.

"What's been on your mind?" Cassian asked casually, taking a step closer.

He'd have embraced her and held her against his chest if it weren't for the massive painting in her hands. A painting that he can feel is the source of all her trepidation.

Nesta bit her lip before turning the canvas toward him and placing it in his hands. "Feyre finally finished that and it was delivered yesterday afternoon. I was too afraid to open it then- but I figured that I wouldn't be able to sleep until I saw it."

At first glance, anyone would assume that the muse was Nesta. From the steel eyes to the clear skin and poise in the pose. But upon further inspection, the age of the woman, the beauty spot beneath her right eye and slight darker tresses reveals the truth.

"This is your mother..." Cassian said lowly. The weight of the image, not the canvas itself but the obvious memories, pain and loss the painting held settled on him.

"Was." She uttered a bit sharply. Her throat bobbing up and down.

Cassians eyes darted between Nesta and the painting. Surprise and admiration pouring into him in droves. Her sisters did mention more than once that Nesta is their mothers spitting image, but this...it was as though the same person had been born twice.

"You stole her whole face." He chuckled, bringing a sweet curve to Nestas lip.

"I know...I know." She shrugged.

Cassian lay the painting carefully against the wall then wrapped his arms around his mates shoulders. Her own found their home around his waist as she rested her chin atop his chest so that their eyes could meet.

If it were a few months ago, a year, she would've furiously blinked away the tears that have settled in her eyes, or rejected their proximity entirely. Only to retain a semblance of control that shes strived so hard to maintain. But now shes opened herself to him entirely. Made him a part of both her happiness and pain, loss and gain, victories and failure. Just as their mating vows ordered.

"Talk to me." He whispered, dragging his fingers through her hair.

"I- I just...I know that my mother was not the best of mothers, nor did she love us in the ways that a mother should but....but that doesn't make me love her any less. She might've trained me instead of raised me, saw me as a ticket to wealth and leisure or lived vicariously through me but she was still my mother." Her tears fell down her cheeks as if a damn had been broken. "There were good moments as well as bad and I'm not going to pretend that she was never loving or good to me. Elain and Feyre might've forgotten her, but I can't... I wont."

Cassian lowered his head to press soft kisses to her cheeks where her tears left stains. "I know." He murmured. "You dont share the same memories as Elain and Feyre, it's only natural that you saw her much differently and remember her in a better light than they do." He rubbed feather light circles on the back of her neck in an attempt to assuage her from her pain.

"It broke my heart when I walked through Feyres house that day and didn't see a piece of myself or her. It felt like I was being erased, forgotten. Now I've found my place in that hall but she hasn't. I couldn't allow that to happen. I couldn't let her be erased just like that."

"And she wont be, not if you will it. I'll remember her with you." Cassians lips found Nestas and before they knew it, the couple found themselves descending into a deep kiss that only a mating bond could conjure.

"You know that's one of the reasons I love you?" He stated, to which Nesta replied with a raised brow. "Your compassion, your massive heart, your loyalty... these are all qualities that you motivate me to pursue everyday. You've kept your soft side hidden for a long time and now we're starting to see it." She smiled. By far the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. "That sweet love. Just bring it on home to me."

A giggle was shared between them as soon as the words left his mouth. The lyrics of a song, their song, that came on the day of their mating ceremony that they had on repeat for 2 hours straight. Cassian had never heard a song that spoke to him and his experience with love the way that one did. One that Nesta knew would speak to his very marrow and chose not to warn him in advance, only to see his reaction.

"You're insufferable." She said, only to hug him tighter and lay her head on his chest.

"Well then you're going to have to get used to it, Nes. We only have forever left together."

Just when Cassian expected Nesta to respond, the soft melody of a piano begun in the corner of the room from Nesta symphoniam, followed by the ever true lyrics that might've been written for them, that might as well have been their wedding and mating vows.

If you ever change your mind

About leaving, leaving me behind

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Nesta begun the dance. Cassian followed with no hesitation. Though it was a far cry from the pulsating waltz they'd done in Hewn city or other court events thereafter. It was far more intimate, passionate. Just a sway of the hips and foot movements that reforged and strengthened the golden bond that surged through them on Winter Solstice and polished it to a shimmer. Their bond was not a mere tether, not a chain. It was a rainbow. Shimmering through storms and sunny days. It didnt only make its presence known or surge when they were in the throes of passion, it became more sentient when they were upset with each other. It was the musical and colourful road that led mate back to mate. Self back to self.

I know I laughed when you left

But now I know I only hurt myself

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

His heart cracked at the words and the truth they carry. The memories when they were so at odds with each other that they could barely be in the same room longer than necessary. The nights when he thought the immense sadness and grief at the prospect of losing her entirely would drown him and suffocate him. When he wished that he could rip his heart out of his chest only to get a reprieve from his anguish. Anguish he attempted to expunge with throwing himself into work and training only to realize that the further they moved from one another, the further they moved from themselves.

As if Nesta could hear and feel those memories, she held onto him tighter. This female, his tether to reality, his anchor, the tree that was able to weather a thunderstorm that left the land decimated only to come back and continue to grow with fruits and flowers on display for all to see.

I'll give you jewellery and money, too

That ain't all, that ain't all I'll do for you

Oh, if you bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian knew that from the moment he met Nesta, there was nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for her. Nothing too out of reach that if she should request, he would give. He was already hers in mind, body and soul. Their bond might've snapped into being after she emerged from the cauldeon, but the draw he felt toward her was infinite. Like their souls were made from the same essence but placed on earth in different time periods so that they know life without the other, to appreciate being together more.

You know I'll always be your slave

'Til I'm buried, buried in my grave

Oh honey, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian held up Nestas hand so that he may look upon the wedding and mating band. She requested that she have both and went to the best jeweler in Velaris to fuse both choices so that they sit as one on her finger. Both were made of rose gold, the slimmer wedding ring was imbued with three tanzanite diamonds and the larger mating band sports just one giant diamond that would need it's own security team. Cassian knew his mate loved nice things and made him pay a pretty penny to get it. He'd do again if only to see the stars that twinkled in her eyes when they chose the bands at the jeweler.

He looked at his own jeweled finger. A simple silver band that stood out more than he expected it to. He wanted to get black carbon fiber but Nesta threatened not to speak to him again if he had. Now he can't stop looking at it. He loves how it makes an appearance even though he's bedecked in full illyrian armour. He'll never forget the swell of pride he felt when his soldiers eyes zoned in on the piece of metal that could've easily been obscured by the red siphon that rests atop his hand, but chose to stand out and make its presence known. A symbol of his immature bachelorhood dead and gone, giving life to a new stage in his life. A stage he's waited for longer than he cares to admit.

He remembers using the word 'shackled' when describing his mating bond with Nesta when he was upset with her, but now that word seems appropriate. If the pieces of metal sitting on their matching fingers are the shackles of which he spoke, then he'd wear his shackles with pride.

One more thing

I tried to treat you right

But you stayed out, stayed out at night

But I forgive you, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian rarely thinks about the time they spent apart. When resentment, self punishment and grief pulled them apart only because those memories are nothing in comparison to the centuries he spent without her.

Living life believing the words of the ignorant and seeing oneself as a inferior and undeserving of the love that he relishes in now. The love that has somehow wiped away centuries of self hate and lack of self awareness. He figures that the reason why he used to be the first to throw himself into deadly missions were all desperate plea to prove himself, to put it into stone that he isn't a mere worthless bastard but is someone worthy of respect. But now his outlook has completely shifted. He is no longer living only for himself, but for another. He remembers the blind terror he felt when he thought that Nesta was swallowed by the black water in the Bog, or how she screamed when she thought that she lost him on Mount Ramiel.

He doesnt want either of them to go through that again. To be without the other. To feel that their very heart was ripped out of their chest, when both had taken permanent residence in the other.

He saw how Feyre reacted when Rhys died, and heard when Rhys screamed when Feyre was on deaths doorstop. The mere thought of Nesta experiencing that pain or him has softened his daring heart.

He will live, he will love and he will do it with Nesta in his arms.

As the song drew to a close, Nesta shifted from her position on his chest, too look upon him again. She brought her slim fingers to his cheeks and smiled. "Forever."

He could offer nothing but the same. A truth that had been both a promise and a prayer from the moment they met, "Forever."

Tag: @bakingandbooks3 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @arinbelle @silvernesta @darklobe @haepaw @carlieg20 @illyrianshadowhunter

[demoneyesanddamagedsouls]

Sparring Partners

Chapter 3: Infiltrate The Enemy

A/N: Alright so this is Chapter 3 of this fic, I got a little carried away with this chapter that's why the word count is more than last time. We're starting to get into the thick of it now! I have a feeling that each chapter will probably get longer and longer as I go cause I'm just enjoying writing it so much. Feedback and comments as always are so welcome, I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you’d like to be tagged for the upcoming chapters just let me know! xxx

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F! Reader

I have also just created a playlist for ya’ll to listen to while reading. I hope it gets you even more invested! ✨COCKY COWBOY PLAYLIST✨

Summary: You and Agent Whiskey are long time rivals. As Statesman agents you both have been put up for the same promotion and this mission is your final chance to prove yourself. Have you got what it takes?

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Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Slight Language, Canon-typical violence (got heavier on this one, blood, pain, choking, weapon usage) 

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CHAPTER 3: Infiltrate The Enemy

Driving through city, listening to the soft sounds of the radio, you head towards the hospital. Mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead you run through your fake persona. You were going undercover as a young medical student in training that had been transferred from your university to take up a short placement at the CleanPlanet facilities. With all that you had learnt over the years helping Ginger out with certain tech and patching up different injuries you felt that you had a slight grasp on some basic medical terminology and concepts. You simply needed to blend into the background and focus on the mission at hand.

Continuing along you begin to leave the hustle and bustle of the city life, moving further out into the outskirts of town. The hospital was in a more remote area, another way to keep suspicious, prying eyes away from their experiments you thought, as you continued along the rather empty road. As you approach the multi storeyed hospital complex you notice the large wire fence which circled the perimeter of the area, the gates at the front wide open for visitors. You drive onto the lot and park in the staff area to the right, inside the gate. Taking a deep breath, you collect yourself, brushing the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of your ponytail and tucking them behind your ear. Pulling out the earpiece from the small box that Ginger had given you, you quickly tuck it behind the arm of your glasses at the top of your ear to hide it from view.

Grabbing your bag from the backseat of the car, you take out your lab coat that Ginger had given you and pulled it over your shoulders. Pulling your knees up you pull your small throwing knives out of your duffle, strapping a few to your thighs. You weren’t about to go into this hostile situation without being prepared. Pulling your lab coat around you to cover up your hidden weapons you hop out of your personas rundown car and start walking towards the hospitals main entrance. Curiously, you notice a lot of doctors, other professionals, and a few security guards here and there wandering around the perimeter of the fence.

You counted about 23 people in total from what you could see, some talking together, some having a cigarette break, and so on. But as you look closer, you realise that all these seemingly random people dappled around were wearing communication earpieces. On some of the security guards you even noticed the outline of a handgun tucked into the back of their shirts. It seemed that the hospital was on high alert and extremely well-guarded. Everything was going to be just fine, just blend in and focus. You’ve got this. You murmur to yourself to ease your nerves, focusing on embodying the new persona you needed to become. Out of the corner of your eye you notice a strikingly familiar shiny blue chrome. You turn ever so slightly to see that Whiskey’s car was parked in the visitor’s area around the side of the hospital. I suppose Duke Silver has already arrived…

Heading inside you walk over to the information desk flashing your ID badge to the receptionist. “I’m the new student transfer here for my placement from the University of Texas, where am I heading?” You query, putting a quiver into your voice, you wanted to really sell the part of the first-time med student. The woman behind the desk gestures behind you. “Down the hall and to your left sweetheart…” Looking at you she smiles; she must see the nervousness you were portraying. “You’ll do just fine darlin, Doctor Violet will be mentoring you and she is just downright lovely. You’ve got nothing to be worried about.”

Continuing to fake your anxious energy, you tuck an invisible hair behind your ear activating your earpiece in one swift movement. Thanking the woman profusely you head in the direction she had gestured. The hospital was abuzz with activity all around you patients being moved, doctors and nurses chatting amongst each other, people waiting for their loved ones. It certainly looked and felt like a real hospital, an impressive cover, you thought to yourself. As you continue further down the hallway, the herd of people starting to thin, you realise you were moving towards the staff offices in the back. Looking around quickly to make sure you were out of earshot of anyone you speak quietly to yourself attempting to communicate with Whiskey on the other side of the hospital. “Hey Whiskey, my lines open, just holler if you run into any trouble.”

You hear a sharp crackle coming from your earpiece as Whiskey turns his earpiece on. “Likewise, Vodka,” he says, his voice unusually quiet, “I’m currently in the waiting room outside Howard’s office, there’s a few other wealthy looking gentlemen and women in here with me, who I assume will also be receiving a tour of the facilities… I’ll be right here if you need me, sunshine.” He purposely drew out his nickname he had for you, his voice dragging out every syllable. You could practically hear the smirk in his whispered tone.

Chuckling internally, you click your earpiece off so as not to distract your partner, or vice versa. You continued along towards Dr Violets office, turning around the corner and almost colliding into the other students gathered outside her door. There was about 4 of them in total, 5 including yourself. Shit, you need to be more careful. Anyone could have heard you. You look around to the others but they we’re all completely focused, eyes trained on the blue door which read “Dr. Octavia Violet M.D.”

Suddenly, the door swings open causing the other students to jump in surprise. Out from the office steps a prominent figure, a tall and dashing woman dressed in deep navy suit with a black button up underneath, a black tie wrapped around her neck. Brown hair wrapped into a low bun and round glasses resting on the bridge of her nose she exuded the air of highly intelligent and respected medical practitioner. Adjusting your lab coat and pushing your glasses up your nose, you continue to emulate a feeling of nervousness. This wasn’t too difficult a task as you already felt rather intimidated and yet oddly impressed by this woman. Her presence felt powerful, a quiet strength about her, shown in the way she carried herself.

“Hi there everyone, you all must be my new placement students,” She spoke, a kind smile plastered on her face. “I’m Dr Violet, I’ll be looking after you while you’re here with us over the next few weeks.” After all of you had introduced yourself separately, she began to lead you out towards the main part of the hospital, “It’s lovely to meet you all, now if you’d follow me its time I showed you around our facilities here at CleanPlanet so that you can become familiar with your new place of work.” Her black stilettos clicked as she walked, taking you past the reception desk and deeper into the hospital. Walking behind her with the other students in tow you noticed a small intricate scar poking out from underneath her jacket collar. You rest your index finger on your glasses attempting to use the tech to get a closer look. Managing to take a slightly zoomed in picture before she whips back around to address her small group of attentive pupils, you curse lightly under your breath and move further back.

You’d have to try to get a better look at whatever that was later, you couldn’t afford to draw any suspicion to yourself in such a small group. Dr Violet looks over her new students and begins to speak, “Alright so this first wing is the main hospital ward, we have different stations for certain requirements and specialists scattered around so we can accommodate a good number of inpatients here. Now further along…” Moving again the group walks further into the hospital into a more private area with sectioned off rooms and areas, “This is where we have our specialist medical, surgical and psychiatric wards. The main ward and these areas will be where you spend the majority of your time while on placement as the other side of the hospital is mainly outpatient facilities such as the A&E and the ICU.” She turned back to look at the group as she continued, “One of our main purposes here at CleanPlanet is to run test trials of experimental, but potentially lifesaving new procedures and medications,” You ears perk up at this statement, this might be what you needed to look further into.

The drug tests had seemed to be the source of the fatalities and illnesses that you had discovered in your research. “This is something we are very proud of and something you will be helping assist with. Trial subjects will need to be prepped for these new tests and made comfortable especially for certain surgeries and medications.”

You attempted to jot down some notes in a small note pad you had brought in your bag to appear as studious as some of her other pupils. You needed to keep a low profile. But on the inside your mind was reeling, what did she mean by making the patients comfortable and prepped for these trials and why would it be the student’s task to do this? If anything, it seemed that this would be a potential way to take the blame off CleanPlanet and its employees. If the students administered any medication to an unsuspecting patient, CleanPlanet would get away scot free, getting yet another unsuspecting party to do their dirty work.

As your mind processed this new information you realise that you had zoned Dr Violet out, “… we’ll be running you through what trials we’ll be running and what we’ll be getting you to do further along. Please follow me.” Walking further into these more secluded surgery and prep rooms you began to feel an unsettling ambience fill the space. The hallway had become starker, with fewer staff, the temperature had dropped to reflect the much colder and highly sanitised appearance of your new surroundings. The staff that were around had stern appearances and were adorned in different protective gear. Some wearing masks and protective goggles with some even wearing full hazmat suits. Dr Violet led you into one of the larger rooms off the main hallway and as you walked in provided each of you with a face mask of your own.

What on earth was going on here? You turn to look at Dr Violet once more, she was standing in front of a small group of staff who were sitting at multiple different desks with computer monitors in front of them. All of them were facing towards one wall in the room with what appeared to be a large, shadowed frame set into it. Each staff member was also wearing a facemask which covered their nose and mouth, jotting down notes and adjusting certain information on their screens.

It appeared to be a human x ray with different vital sign information down the side, as you peered further forward towards the screen closest to you to try and get a better look, your train of thought is suddenly interrupted by Dr Violets voice. “Alright students, we’re about to run you through a preparation and procedure of one of our focal trials here at CleanPlanet.” A mask now covering the bottom half of her face. She snapped her fingers and suddenly the frame on the wall behind her burst into vivid colour. You could see behind her a patient sitting on a small medical bed, a young male. Pale under the luminescent glow of the white medical lights, he looked almost translucent. You realised that the frame on the wall must be a one-way mirror allowing you a protected view into an adjacent medical suite.

A doctor stood over the boy, who couldn’t be more than your age, with a forced happy demeanour plastered across his face. You saw the doctors mouth moving but heard no sound to accompany it, the boy nodded in agreement and then signed a sheet of paper that the doctor held out for him on a clipboard. As the boy laid down onto the bed the doctor exited the room and you tapped your glasses frame lightly once more to begin to film what you were seeing, you had a feeling this was going to be important.

Dr Violet continued to speak as that same doctor entered the room you were standing in. “This is pivotal new research that we’ve been conducting to find a treatment for some of the big incurable diseases that plague the human race.” As she continued to speak you couldn’t bring yourself to turn in her direction, your eyes locked onto the room through that you could see through the frame. You began to notice the white cushioned padding covering the entirety of the walls within the room, and a large pit of concern began to open in your stomach. Why did it look like a cell in a mental institution in there…? “For this particular experiment we have been testing out an anaesthetic gas which aims to heighten the strong cells within the body to naturally fight off the illnesses and ailments which plague the patient.” Dr Violet explains to the students.

Suddenly you see a cloud of pale-yellow gas erupt from the ceiling above the patient. It starts to fill up the medical suite in front of your eyes as the young man squirms worriedly on the medical bed. The gas slowly engulfs the room, so thick that you can no longer see the patient. Everything is quiet for a few moments as everyone holds their breath in suspense. Suddenly the screens on front of the medical staff begin to flash in a warning red, the computers making load concerning beeps. All of a sudden you see the monitored heart rate on one of the screens plummet to zero and then shoot back up to over 200 beats per minute.

Dr Violet looks over at one of the screens with a concerned expression on her face. She leans closer to the window frame in front of her, trying to see further in when all at once there is load crack. A fist slams into the mirror with a huge amount of brute force only millimetres away from Dr Violets face. She recoils back out of shock from the sudden noise but quickly steadies herself, shaking off any worry in her now drawn expression. You continue to watch in horror as some of the gas begins to dissipate, revealing the maddened face of the patient through the mirrored frame. He was slamming himself repeatedly into the wall trying to break through the glass that separated us from him.

“Unfortunately…” The doctors voice cut through the shock that had paralysed your body, “Not every test is a success.” She trails off looking back at the boy behind the glass. His eyes were red and wild as he frantically ran around the room smacking into every possible surface, desperate to escape. He gripped the sides of his head with his hands, his face contorting in agony as an unheard scream ripped through him. He collapsed to the ground on his knees, his body shuddering in pain. You could see blood begin to drip down his cheeks out of his ears onto the floor, staining the stark white room with a deep and ominous red. Finally he collapses onto the floor, the life drained from his body, blood seeping and creating a halo around the crown of his head.

Dr V begins listing off some of the side effects of this new test such as migraines, nausea, everything up to internal bleeding. “This is a particularly exceptional case, a sharp learning curve for our testing. One of the many exciting trials and tribulations of scientific progress!” A smile lighting up her features, her whole-body tense with excitement. How could she be excited about what had happened here? You thought as your attempted to hide the pure shock and panic that was screaming out on the inside. All at once you see a few medical assistants in hazmat suits pull the lifeless body of the boy out of the suite in front of you. The room then floods with water from the sprinklers embedded in the ceiling, washing the blood down the small drain under the patient bed. “Bring in the next test subject.” Says one of the medical techs into a microphone.

No sooner had the room been cleared it had been filled again, a new patient being sat on the bed, a young woman, her face tired and worn. She had no idea what was about to happen. The view to the suite goes black once more, obscuring it from view and you and the rest of the students are hurriedly being ushered out of the room by Dr V. Everyone pulls their masks off as they leave, it seems everyone was a bit shaken from that experience. Still reeling from what you had just witnessed you keep your gaze fixed to the floor away from the prying eyes of the doctor. She continues walking and talking but you can no longer hear anything she says, your head is pounding. You need to get back there and get all the test information onto a hard drive for Statesman. You need to figure out how far this really goes. Looking up once more you raise your hand. Dr Violet looks directly at you, her gaze piercing you to your very core. “Yes?” She queries.

“May I be excused to go to the restroom Doctor?” You say, a slight quiver in your voice, this was certainly no act.

“Of course, there’s nothing wrong with having a slightly weak constitution.” Looking you up and down she waves her hand, gesturing for you to leave. “Go collect yourself. You can catch up with us further along.”

“Thank you Doctor.” Gripping tightly onto your notebook you dash back down away from the rest of the group as they continue along. You duck into the bathroom that you had passed earlier, quickly checking that there was no one else inside. Walking up to one of the sinks you look at your reflection in the mirror. Your complexion had paled from the shock of what you had witnessed, and your hands trembled as you gripped onto the ceramic of the basin fighting to keep yourself upright. Turning on the faucet you quickly splash some water across your face. You needed to get a grip and focus. You had a job you needed to do.

Tapping your earpiece, you open the communication line, exhaling softly to calm your nerves. “Whiskey, are you there?” Hearing another crackle, you hear his line open.

“I’m here Vodka, whaddya need sugar?” He says voice quiet, speaking only loud enough for you to hear.

“Ok well there have been some developments on my end, I’m about to head back into the lab we just left where my eyes were subjected to some pretty traumatic stuff…” You trail off recalling the horrific scene.

“What happened??” He queries, worry present in his tone of voice. You recount everything you had seen to him so he could get a full picture of what the hell was going on. “That sounds positively concerning…” Whiskey sighs audibly through the comm. “Well, I’m currently getting a wrap up of the facility tour from Howard so keep me on the line while you execute this and holler if you get into to any trouble.”

“Will do, Agent.” Quickly exiting the bathroom, you look down the hallway in the direction of your medical group, seeing no evidence of them and hearing nothing you begin to move in the opposite direction. Heading back towards the medical lab you quicken your pace, making use of the apparent emptiness of the hallway to reach your destination quicker.

“Jeez Vodka, you’re breathing so hard I think I’m going to go deaf in this ear.” Whiskey quips.

“Excuse me for thinking timing is of the essence in this situation cowboy.” You mutter to yourself angrily, as you reach the door to the medical lab you had visited earlier. Wary to keep your voice low, you didn’t know what was on the other side of that door. You hear Whiskey chuckle to himself, laughing at your constant irritation towards him. Ignoring him you turn the handle and hearing a soft click you push the door open.

Stepping inside the dark room you see two lab techs turn from their computers to face you. “I’m so sorry, I think I left something of mine in here earlier…” you glance around the room assessing your options. You need to get these two out of the way quickly so that you can access the information you need before anyone else comes back. Spotting a stapler on the desk closest to you amongst other scattered office supplies you quickly pick it up and open it. Looking back at the lab techs, you throw them a meagre smile.

“Sorry about this…” You mutter quietly, throwing the stapler into the air and in one swift movement you throw yourself into a cartwheel, flipping your leg forward, kicking the stapler directly in the middle, snapping it in half with the edge of your heel. The two ends of the stapler fly as you return to an upright stance, each side hitting the two lab techs square on their forehead, knocking them out cold. You smirk to yourself, proud of your efficient work.

“Everything under control Vodka?” You hear Whiskeys voice in your ear.

“Everything is under control.” You say as you dash over to the closest computer to you, rolling the lab tech who was slumped over in his own office chair out of the way. Pulling a hard drive out of your back pocket you quickly plug it into the port on the side of the computer screen. Tapping a few keys like Ginger taught you, the entire computer log begins to copy over to your hard drive. Files start to flick across the screen showing you all you ever needed to know about the trials they were running. Pictures of patients flit across the screen, hundreds of people with deceased written in bold red letters across their files. “My god…” you say, your voice catching as the number of files continue to rise.

“What’s going on there Vodka?” You hear a mutter in your ear.

“Whiskey I…” You trail off unable to comprehend how many people had been used and tossed aside for this drug trial. “I cannot believe how many patients they’ve gone through for this drug Jack…” You using his real name throws Whiskey for a loop. He knows how serious this must be if all the sarcasm and snipes had left your voice completely. You continue talking, trying to keep your nerves in check as the picture of the boy from earlier flashes onto the screen, the same words across his picture in red. “The drug they’re testing is an anaesthesia type gas which they’re calling Sunflower… It seems that in most of the cases it takes the patients about a week to experience the more intense symptoms and then eventually…” Trailing off again, your silence saying everything you couldn’t seem to articulate.

All of a sudden, the door to the lab opens and you see the frame of Dr Violet step inside. She quirks her eyebrow at you and glances at her two unconscious techs, down to the hard drive and then back up at you. You hear a small beep come from the computer notifying you that the upload had been completed. You quickly snatch the drive out of the computer as Dr V stared you down.

Looking at you with a knowing smile she puts her hand out towards you. “I think I’ll be taking that off your hands sweetheart.” She says with her hand outstretched.

“I don’t think so Violet.” You say as you quickly pocket the drive, bringing your hands to hover over the knives strapped to your thighs, bracing for a fight.

A crackle comes through your earpiece suddenly, “Vodka, is everything alright?”

You have no time to respond because all at once Dr V goes in for a jab directly into your stomach. Catching you off guard, you keel over in shock and from being suddenly winded, gripping your stomach. “That’s Doctor to you.” Dr V quips. Gasping, desperately trying to regain your breath you pull out one of your knives from your thigh holster and lunge at her, aiming a blow for her shoulder.

Expecting the blade to sink into soft flesh you put all your weight and strength behind your throw. The knife collides with her shoulder, but nothing happens. You hear the clang of metal clashing. Instead of sinking in, the blade slashes downwards, cutting through her lab coat and her suit revealing a metal covering underneath. The force that should have impacted the doctor reverberates back into your arm sending a jarring shock through your body. Quickly recovering you kick out directly at her left leg landing a heavy blow which forces her to recoil back.

Both catching your breath you stare the doctor down. “How could you possibly think what you’re doing here is ok?” You pant out getting ready for your next move.

“We’re trying to improve the world, make people stronger… but sometimes you have to crack a few bad eggs before you find the right one.” She says matter-of-factly, as she nurses her leg.

You both resume a fighting stance readying yourselves. “You’re hurting so many people just to achieve that goal, can’t you see that the harm outweighs any potential good you’re trying to accomplish?” You throw back at her, a venomous anger reaching your voice at her absolute callousness to the situation. You throw your other blade attempting to take her by surprise and incapacitate her, aiming for her already injured leg. The knife hits its mark with deadly accuracy, sinking into the flesh of her thigh. Dr Violet cries out in pain, sucking air through her teeth as she controls her reaction. She flicks her gaze away from the knife sticking out of her leg back at you, a new fury in her eyes.

“Sunshine are you handling the situation?” You hear Whiskeys tense voice in your ear.

Dr Violet runs at you throwing her non injured leg out kick you hard in the ribs. You grunt in pain, exhaling sharply. Without giving you a chance to recover she grabs you by the throat and clamps her fingers down, restricting any air flow into your lungs. She lifts you up with one arm by the neck keeping you from being able to breath. You grasp her hand with both your own, trying to tear her fingers away from your throat, trying to let any amount of air reach your lungs. She holds you there like you weigh almost nothing, looking you up and down. You thrash out with your legs trying to somehow escape from her grasp as black spots start to cloud your vision.

“Sweetheart?!” You hear Whiskey in your ear once more, his voice riddled with concern. Trying to choke out a response to your partner as your voice cracks, “P-Please…” is all you can muster. You feel yourself start to slip out of consciousness in the doctor’s vice like grip. You hear her calm voice as your body movements start to slow and weaken, “I think you will make a fine new test subject for our trial.” She says with a large smirk gloating at you, her new prize.

All you hear as you finally succumb to unconsciousness is Whiskey yelling your name through the com as your body collides with the floor…

*******************************************************************************************

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@hrk-fic-recs  @misslexilouwho  

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #3

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T/N: Okay, so, this is one of those chapters where the author makes mistakes in linguistics (but she’s trying, guys, she’s trying!). She writes “prasinon” as “prase” for some reason, and I took the liberty to fix it myself when translating.

Connecting Chrysoprase

Jewelry Etranger sat inconspicuously at Ginza 7-choume. The store owner, Richard, was the possessor of a beauty that you couldn’t think was from this world, but no matter how beautiful he was, once half a year had passed, you would get used to it. And as I got used to him, the questions also surfaced.

“Hey, Richard, don’t you have any favorite foods other than sweets? Do you eat ramen or anything like that?”

Mr. Richard Ranashinha de Vulpian looked at me with scrutinizing blue eyes. Sitting on the red sofa, he had been observing the contents of a large jewel box, holding them up over his head against the morning light shining in from the window.

“I find difficult to figure the aim of the question. Why ramen? I have had meals with you numerous times. I eat anything without likes or dislikes.”

“I know. It’s not like it’s limited to just ramen, but you don’t eat that kind of stuff much, do you?”

Like chives. Or garlic. Or grilled meat dripping with juices.

I knew that this didn’t suit his image. He was a man whose features seemed to have accidentally come out of a dream world. If he told me that he could live off eating department store sweets and pink roses, he could probably have me seriously convinced up to about 70%. That was exactly why I would feel like searching for a gap.

As I was about to ask if he understood this logic, Richard replied curtly with a clay doll-like face, “What ill intentions.”

That was true. I wasn’t some obsessive follower of an idol’s personal life or anything. Richard hit bull’s-eye with the deduction that I “probably ate ramen yesterday”. For some reason, things got awkward. I was in a position where it was better to retreat for a while. Time to change the subject.

“What stone is that? Looks like candy and it’s pretty cute.”

“A type of chalcedony. They are in the same category as crystals. In particular, this one with a milky apple-green color is called chrysoprase.

“Ah~...”

What Richard was pinching with his bare hands - because it was safer to touch it with bare skin rather than wearing gloves, he said, as it wouldn’t cause any damage - was a pale green, round stone. It had low transparency, was cut en cabochon and looked like an old-style candy.

“W-What was it again? The name. Chry...?”

“‘Chrysoprase’,” Richard repeated for me.

How many times had something like this happened? The stone’s name was in a Western language. Basically, all of them were in katakana. My ears did register it, but I couldn’t memorize it in one go at all. Richard was a helpful person, so there were times when he wrote down the names in romaji and explained them to me, but I honestly couldn’t keep up with him. There were countless stones in this world.

“Chryso... aah, no good. It’s hard to memorize.”

“‘Chrysoprase’. It is said to be a stone that helps to harmonize and integrate personalities. Medieval European literature also mentions it as a stone that Alexander the Great loved.”

Alexander the Great. A person I had learned about in high school. Even I knew that name. The fact that a stone adored by a warlord who had long passed away was still loved by people of the current times was thought-provoking. The range of the gemstone world was broad. But, well, leaving that as that.

“How d’you memorize stones’ names? It’s not like you’ve got some test to do like in a history class...”

“Do you think anyone would buy goods from a trader who cannot even say their names?”

“I don’t, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s hard. There’s lots of types and they sound like magic spells. Like ‘Sri Jayawardenepura Kotte’. It wouldn’t be weird if you felt like cheating without a care in the world. You got any trick for memorizing them?”

“My compliments to you for being able to pronounce the official name of Sri Lanka’s capital. But I cannot praise the part about carelessly deceiving people. Once your reputation falls to earth, it does not recover so easily. To begin with, your perception of business in general is too lax for someone enrolled in the Faculty of Economics. I know you have the aspiration, but if you do not pair it to practical abilities and skills, you will be running idle. Shouldn’t you try to improve these skills once again so that you can avoid unnecessary hardships in the future? Instead of obsessing over finding out something unexpected about the shopkeeper from your part-time job.”

The arguments were so spot-on that I was at a loss for words. Even so, still with a slightly exasperated face, Richard continued to speak. Most likely, it was his gentle side’s turn from here on out.

“Still, you are right, I do have a trick. If I were to use the capital as an example, ‘Sri Jayawardenepura Kotte’ had its original name ‘Kotte’ being embellished with the title of ‘President Jayawardene’s Sacred City’. When you know the origin of it, doesn’t this line-up of katakana letters that only appears in magic spells turn into meaningful words?”

“So it had that kind of meaning? I see...”

“Is this time to be impressed? Do the same and discover the relatedness of all kinds of matters in your daily life. If you direct your eyes to the depths of your history without sticking to the surface, I guarantee that your world will broaden much more richly.”

“Then what about the chrysoprase of just now?”

As I took a stab at arousing his enthusiasm, the volubly beautiful shop owner smiled gorgeously. I felt that this guy would stay in a good mood forever just as long as I gave him sweets and let him talk about gems. And I liked Richard’s face the most when he was in his best mood.

“This word is taken from the Greek language. It consists of two separate words, ‘chrysos’ and ‘prasinon’. The meaning of chrysos is ‘gold’. The bright golden that can be seen showing through within the green was associated with gold. Prasinon means...”

What happened? His enunciation suddenly got bad.

When I urged him to continue, Richard looked down at the stone in his hand with a dull look and sighed a little. “The meaning of prasinon... comes close to plants such as chives or green onions.”

“Ooh—!”

As I clapped my hands together with an “all paths lead to ramen”, Richard made a face like he had just woken up from a nightmare. What is it? Please laugh.

“In any case, the mental attitude of trying to master something is commendable. I pray that your efforts will bear fruit.”

“Thanks, thanks. Well, will you eat ramen after all?”

Mr. Richard, the jeweler, looked at me with an awfully sharp gaze. What was that face? His facial expression looked like the usual nuance that he was growing fond of my foolishness had increased to about 30%. Did he intend to poke fun on me?

“Yes, yes, I will.”

“What do you prefer? Like miso or soy sauce?”

“A large helping of green onions and garlic. And even then, it is good to grate raw garlic and put in it.”

“That’s a pretty hardcore taste for someone who works with close-contact service business.”

“Which is why this is not something I can eat whenever. I eat it carefully by myself when I do not have to meet anyone the next day.”

As my eyes widened, the beautiful storekeeper raised his chin arrogantly. Did he want to say that this didn’t suit his image or had it just unfolded anew?

“How was it, did you enjoy the so-called ‘gap’?”

“No, it’s not like that’s the main goal.”

“Hah?”

“I can’t invite anyone for a French cuisine restaurant or a high-class sweets store, but if it’s a ramen shop, there’s lots of them near my university. If you like, why don’t we go eat together next time? They’re mostly shops that seem better to drop by wearing a t-shirt rather than a suit, but I wanna try chatting with you while eating this kind of junky stuff every now and then.”

“For you to discover a new unexpected thing about me, you mean?”

“I just wanna get along with you better.”

For an instant, Richard’s facial expression strained hard. What was up? His face looked like he hadn’t known better and bit a sour pickled plum or something. As I furrowed my brows, his blue eyes narrowed, looking glum, while he closed the jewel box with a click and stood up.

“Ah, show me more. It wasn’t nearly enough—”

“The chrysoprase is said to have the power to put the balance of mind and body in order, as well as make it spring up comfortably. Perhaps because its fresh grass color is a reminder of spring. Isn’t this stone unnecessary for you, since you are always in a festive mood?”

“Why’re you angry?”

“I am not.”

“Shouldn’t you take a better look at the chrysoprase?”

“Thank you for the unnecessary meddling.”

Leaving me with things to say, Richard disappeared into the back room. Was it that bad to invite him to a ramen shop? It wasn’t a good idea to let him stay angry, so I voluntarily prepared two cups of royal milk tea in the kitchenette. Having come out into the reception room, Richard said nothing more than the expected as he drank a tea that had a little more sugar in it than usual.

After the customer of that morning had gone home, Richard showed me the chrysoprase once again. Upon a better look, I understood the meaning of that naming, which I couldn’t think of as anything more than a mystery at first. Didn’t the people of ancient times think that this was a plant born from gold? The uneven surface was smooth and wavy like an organic body. Chrysoprase. Gold and green onions. Even though there were several gems in this world, I would probably never forget the name of this one. If I ever got to eat ramen with Richard someday, I would definitely bring up this stone.

“Do you remember that talk?” I would ask.

[etherealhoneybee777]

My first ever fanfiction! (Work in Progress)

Summary:

Mikey has been feeling depressed for weeks, but mean comments about his cooking send him over the edge. Leo comforts Mikey and talks to him about his feelings, and he realizes the impact that words can have on his little brother. 

I wrote this fanfiction because I have a history of mental illness, and I project pretty hard onto Mikey. I wanted to see what it would be like if Mikey was depressed, and how his brothers would help him cope. Please excuse the potential bad writing! This is the first short story I’ve written in a long time :) TW for depression.

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13941733/1/Small-Words-Tumbling

The fanfiction:

Small Words, Tumbling

Mikey was curled up on his bed, watching small slivers of light stream through the blinds of his window.

Worthless. Screw-up. Good-for-nothing. Waste of space. Everyone would be fine if you were gone.

He had spent the better part of the day in his room, only coming out to train and prepare meals. Although his brothers would often make fun of the disturbing things he would eat—like anchovy jellybean pizza-Mikey knew that they relied on him to cook practically everything, since they were hopeless in the kitchen. Mikey loved cooking because it made him feel valuable to his brothers. Mikey always had the unshakable feeling that he wasn't as good as the rest of his family. Donnie was a tech genius. Leo was the leader. Raph was a badass fighter. And Master Splinter was, well, Master Splinter. The rest of the family had something specific and valuable to contribute, and all Mikey could do was cook. Cooking was Mikey's talent. No one else in his family could do it. Sure, he wasn't the best fighter, but if Mikey didn't cook, no one could eat. Mikey had been feeling deeply depressed and worthless for months now, but the fact that he could cook made him feel valuable to his family. It was the only thing that made him feel valuable anymore, if he was being honest.

That's probably why what happened that morning hurt Mikey so bad.

That morning, Mikey strode into the kitchen confidently. He had the best idea in the world: grape French toast. Grape soda was delicious. French toast was delicious. So why not combine them?

And so Mikey labored in the kitchen, stirring flour, egg yolks, butter, and sugar until it made a smooth mixture. Then, he pulled the grape soda out of the fridge and poured a generous amount into the mixing bowl.

"Yeah!" Mikey screamed to the empty room, "This is gonna be awesome!"

Thirty minutes later, there were four plates piled high with vivid purple French toast. Mikey pulled out a can of whipped cream and a bottle of syrup and placed them on the counter next to the plates.

"Hey guys, it's time to eat!" Mikey bellowed into the layer. Raph, Donnie, and Leo, who had been watching some morning Space Heroes, got up and sluggishly walked to the kitchen.

"Thank God, I'm starving," Raph said, rubbing his plastron. As he walked into the kitchen though, his slight smile turned into a scowl. "Mikey," he growled, looking at the purple pieces of toast, "What the fuck is this?"

"It's grape French toast, dude!" Mikey said as he tried to hand the stacked plate to Raph. Suddenly, Mikey lost grip of the plate, and three pieces of grape French toast went flying towards Raph's lap.

"Seriously, Mikey?" Raph sneered. Then, he picked up a piece of the purple French toast and waved it in the air, "Whatever this is…it's disgusting!" Raph lowered his voice to a hesitant grumble. "I just wish we'd order takeout instead of letting this genius cook. Honestly, I don't know what to do with him sometimes."

Mikey felt hurt blaze through his chest, for reasons he couldn't explain. He was used to being insulted by Raph, even though he was grumpier than usual today, but no one ever insulted Mikey's breakfasts. Sure, Mikey's cheesy jokes were often met with annoyance, and he was often belittled for being unfocused during fights, but no one ever insulted breakfast. Breakfast was Mikey's one sanctuary, the one place where the things he did could be appreciated.

Mikey looked at Donnie and Leo for some reassurance, but he couldn't find any. Leo was silently flicking his pieces of toast into the trashcan and reaching for a granola bar. Donnie was reluctantly sniffing his pieces of toast but refusing to take a bite.

"Maybe you should go back to cooking the regular breakfasts, you know?" Donatello said, not unkindly. Mikey's heart felt like it was about to burst as he watched Donnie scrape his toast into the trashcan and wash his plate.

"I'm sorry, guys," Mikey said, looking at the ground sheepishly, "Eggs and bakies tomorrow, I promise!" he continued with forced cheer.

Raph grumbled as he walked out of the room and sat on the couch to continue watching Space Heroes. Donnie scurried off into his lab. Leo moved to walk out, but not before he caught a glimpse of the hurt in Mikey's bright blue eyes.

"Hey, Mikey," Leo said, lips bent downwards in concern, "Raph is just a little grumpy today."

But the damage had already been done. As Leo turned away, Mikey's eyes started stinging, and all of Mikey's negative thoughts came flooding to the surface. You're not good enough. You're not as good as your brothers. You can't get a single thing right. Screw-up. They would never miss you if you were gone. Mikey ran to his room, making sure that his brothers couldn't see the tears welling in his eyes.

He stayed in his room for most of the day, only coming out to train. When Mikey trained that day, he only spoke to answer questions and say Hai sensei. He didn't see his brothers trade looks of concern with each other. When training was over, Mikey walked briskly back into his room.

"What's wrong with Mikey?" Raph asked, a tone of annoyance veiling his concern.

"He'll probably come out and tell us soon enough," Leo replied, looking anxiously towards Mikey's room.

Mikey sat in his room for hours. It was so impossibly lonely, not being with his brothers, but how could he face them now? He wasn't good enough, and he didn't want to be a burden to them. He had cried his eyes out for an hour, until he felt like he couldn't cry anymore. It was so stupid that he felt this way over an offhand rude comment Raph made about his cooking. But, the truth was that Mikey had been feeling pretty worthless for weeks, and Raph's comment seemed to validate Mikey's feelings. Mikey desperately wished he could be someone else, someone focused and attentive during battle, someone who knew how to talk to people. He wanted people to laugh with him, but they only laughed at him. Like he was some big joke.

Mikey didn't want to be a joke. He wanted to be a leader, a badass, someone with a purpose. But he was just a burden. A screw up. And his brothers were left to pick up the pieces. Honestly, they would be better off if he wasn't around.

Mikey slowly felt himself sinking deeper in his bed as his thoughts consumed him. He almost didn't hear the slow, methodical knock at the door.

"Mikey, can I come in?"

Leo.

Mikey didn't answer. He had started crying again, and besides that, he just really didn't want to talk to Leo. Mikey was surprised when the door squeaked open and golden light filled his room anyway.

"Mikey!" Leo's eyes widened as he saw the tear tracks on Mikey's face. "Oh my god."

Mikey felt Leo place his weight on the bed. He turned to look at Leo's eyes. Cool and calm. But Mikey could tell that beneath his collected exterior, Leo was panicking.

"What's wrong, buddy?" Leo said, a little too gingerly. Leo was used to comforting Mikey after his nightmares when they were young, but, now that they were older, Leo no longer knew the words to make his brother feel better.

Mikey stared at Leo. He felt like there was a huge blank expanse between them, like a black sky with no stars. Mikey desperately wanted to reach out and close the divide, but Leo would never understand how Mikey felt. Leo was a fearless leader. He always knew what to do, and people took him seriously when it counted. Meanwhile, Mikey felt that he was the last person anyone would trust in an intense situation.

Leo furrowed his brow in concern at Mikey's silence. "Talk to me, Mikey. Was it the thing that Raph said this morning? We didn't mean to hurt your feelings by not eating the breakfast you made for us."

Mikey shifted his eyes to the floor. "Uh…it is and isn't about what Raph said this morning," he said finally. "I just…I don't know. I just feel like everyone has their thing, you know? Like you're the leader, and Donatello is the smart one. Raph is super good at fighting and Master Splinter has taught us everything we know. But no one really needs me. And I always screw up our fights, too." Mikey's mouth felt dry now that he had said what he had been feeling for months out loud. Surprised that it came out that fast. But he had wanted to say it, needed to say it.

Leo's bright blue eyes widened in surprise. "Mikey, we do need you." He put a comforting hand on Mikey's shoulder. "And your thing is being Mikey. The team wouldn't be the same without you. And sure, you've messed up our fights sometimes, but you've saved us more times than I can remember," he looked down and continued gravely, "We are all equally valuable in this family."

Mikey refused to look at Leo. Leo's words were comforting, but for some reason, Mikey's throat felt like it was filling with clay. It was only when his vision blurred that he noticed he was crying. The crying quickly evolved into full-on sobbing. It felt like a torrential storm, punctured only by the choked sounds of his shaky breaths.

"Oh god, oh god. Mikey…"

Before Mikey knew it, his head was buried in Leo's chest, and his body was wrapped tightly in strong green arms. Leo rubbed Mikey's head, which he usually only did when Mikey was seriously injured. Mikey should have felt closer to Leo, but he felt the black, starless expanse between them getting wider and wider.

Mikey pulled away, wiping his eyes. "You just wouldn't understand."

Leo's eyes flashed with hurt, but he quickly replaced it with his signature practiced calmness. "Wouldn't understand what?"

"You're the person that everyone needs. You're our leader. If you were gone, nothing would ever be the same. You don't understand being worthless. You don't understand what it's like to be the kind of person that could disappear forever, and no one would ever miss. That's my life, dude," Mikey said, his voice strained from all the crying.

Mikey looked at Leo. And he was surprised to see that the pantomimed calm patience that usually occupied Leo's eyes be replaced by an intense, gripping fear.

"You're not worthless, Mikey. You mean so much to all of us," Leo said. "I love you, little brother" he continued. Mikey could tell that wasn't all that was on his mind.

Leo paused a long time before finally speaking again.

"Mikey…you haven't ever thought of hurting yourself, have you?" Leo's voice was shaky and deeply sad. Even though Mikey had been crying, for some reason Leo sounded sadder than he was.

"No," Mikey answered quickly and with certainty. Truthfully, he had never even considered it, at least, not in any real way.

"Promise?"

"Promise." Mikey gave him a slight smile.

Leo pulled him into a second embrace, squeezing Mikey even harder than he did last time. This time, Mikey didn't pull away. He just stayed there, leaning against Leo's neck, feeling a million times lighter than before. The black expanse between the two brothers had vanished, and he felt closer to Leo than he ever did.

"Mikey…" Leo started, and then paused. Mikey could tell by the strained choke of his words that Leo had started crying.

"Mikey," Leo began again, "If anything ever happened to you, I would miss you for the rest of my life."

[macgyvermedical]

Soup: a “Tesla + Bell + Edison + Mac” Medical Review

“You have a perfectly functional syringe pump with the PCA in the background, and you’re going to give him an injection with a metal needle? Also, if you’re gonna sedate him you might as well use the IV pump too??? Like, you have a whole ‘nother channel?? Most floor nurses would kill for that setup?” <--- From my notes on this ep.*

Awl - X-Ray + Penny - Duct Tape + Jack - CD + Hoagie Foil - Guts + Fuel + Hope - Wilderness + Training + Survival - Father + Bride + Betrayal - Lidar + Rogues + Duty - Nightmares - Seeds + Permafrost + Feather - Friends + Enemies + Border - Mason + Cable + Choices - Bitter Harvest - Kid + Plane + Cable + Truck -

In case you didn’t see it, the story went like this: After being knocked unconscious trying to prevent Codex from stealing an encoded map to a Tesla-era WMD, Mac wakes to find he’s lost certain memories of the event that are crucial to interpreting the weapon’s location. In order to recover the memories and stop Codex from getting there first, Matty calls on a friend at DARPA who studies experimental memory-recovery drugs. Drugged, Mac enters a dream state to track down the memories, where he encounters his mother, a man he recently chose to kill to save everyone in LA, his high-school bully, and a darker version of himself who thinks Codex’s directive to kill an eighth of the population to save the world might not be too far off the mark.

So there’s a lot to talk about here medically. For this post, I’ll go into the concussion and its aftermath, the drug and it’s administration, and the medical technology that the Phoenix infirmary seems to have at its disposal.

The Concussion/Amnesia:

Mac is knocked out by a blow to the head. He wakes up “a few hours” later in the Phoenix infirmary. I’ve talked about concussions before (see here, here, and here), so I’m not going to go into too much detail about them in this post, but essentially if someone’s out for that long, they’re in trouble.

It’s reasonably common to lose consciousness in a concussion, but it’s usually only for seconds to minutes, and if it occurs at all, that person needs prompt medical evaluation in an emergency room. Even if there ends up being no major complications, like bleeding in the brain or an increase in pressure in the skull, the recovery time for concussions with a loss of consciousness can be in the weeks or months range. Someone who’s out for “hours” is looking at a stay in a neuro ICU and probably severe and possibly permanent brain damage. Like, it’s a season-long arc at least.

Since we’re not seeing that level of medical need, I think it would probably be safe to assume that Mac wasn’t actually out for “hours” as stated. He could have been briefly unconscious, as shown in the house attack scene, but then had trouble forming memories after that, which caused him to not remember the ride back to Phoenix very well, if at all. These are still concerning enough symptoms that I would have taken him to an emergency department instead of to the infirmary, but at least with that scenario there’s a possibility what happened to him isn’t actively life threatening outside of a neuro ICU.

Unlike the extended period of unconsciousness, the portrayal of amnesia isn’t far off the mark for once. The amnesia that Mac suffers is actually pretty reasonable- trouble remembering the incident and the events just before it is common in head injuries, as is having trouble forming new memories after. Not only is accurate amnesia something that I didn’t expect out of Rob Pearlstein (writer of the infamous Guts + Fuel + Hope), but it’s something that fiction as a whole (including, I’ll admit, 1985 MacGyver**) tends to struggle with. So kudos for that specific part of this episode, Pearlstein.

The Drug:

Even if we assume Mac wasn’t unconscious that whole time, the brief unconsciousness and memory problems indicate that he still had a pretty significant concussion that needed medical care and monitoring. I’m guessing that as advanced as the Phoenix Infirmary is, it doesn’t have the capacity to do neurosurgery or intracranial pressure monitoring. That means the Phoenix medical team’s priority in this situation would essentially be to catch any major, life-threatening complication as early as possible, and if one happened, get Mac to a hospital quickly enough to save him.

The best and lowest-tech tool they have to this end is repeated mental status exams. Mental status exams have the patient answer a series of questions like “what’s your name?” “what day is it?” “where are you right now?” “what happened to you/why am I asking you these questions?”  followed up with a series of mental tasks like counting backwards from 100 by 7s or making a logical decision based on a given scenario. If Mac’s answers significantly change, from one assessment to the next, that could mean he’s in trouble. 

Because these assessments rely so heavily on Mac’s ability to answer questions and perform tasks accurately, and they’re really the only thing that’s going to catch a serious problem early enough to save Mac’s life, the last thing you’d want to do is give him a drug cocktail that would alter his perception of where he is and what’s going on around him. I’ll just… leave that there.

But let’s assume that for some reason they have a non-CT way of assessing whether Mac’s about to die from a brain bleed while in a drug-induced dream state (they do appear to have limited EEG capability- can anyone tell me if this would still be helpful in the context of the drugs?). I’m not going to talk too much about the drug cocktail itself, since it was stated as fictional (so, essentially, anything they say it does it can probably do), but since they do reference it as containing DMT, I invite you to check out the erowid experience vault for DMT for stories of other people’s experiences with it.  

I will, however, talk a little about the administration of the drug. In the episode, a syringe with a needle is used to deliver the medication. Though not explicitly shown, I assume Dr. Cheryl inserted the metal needle into one of Mac’s arm veins and injected the drug.

Something that fiction generally doesn’t understand is that inserting a metal needle into a vein in order to administer medication doesn’t happen in a medical setting. Ever. The ONLY way to administer a medication IV in a medical setting is through an IV cannula- a short, flexible plastic tube inserted into a vein, often just colloquially called an “IV”:

If Mac had one of these ^^^, the syringe could attach to one of the blue and white pieces and the medication could be injected without worrying that the needle could slip out of the vein (many IV medications must be injected slowly over several minutes, and that’s a long time to hold a needle still).

Before Dr. Cheryl gives him the drug, she takes his vitals and asks him some questions, namely whether he has ever had “a psychotic break”, then, without explaining further, asks if he thinks he will become violent.

Now, it does make sense to ask someone about their psych history when administering a drug known to have psych side effects, because those can be a lot worse or more likely for people with certain psych histories. Think about SSRIs and SNRIs- they’re good antidepressants, but when given to someone with bipolar disorder, they can greatly increase the risk of a manic episode, and that possibility has to be evaluated before the drug is prescribed.

The conversation should have started with Dr. Cheryl asking everyone else to leave the room. Asking if someone has ever experienced psychosis in front of their coworkers, is not only a serious breach of patient privacy, but could also be incredibly dangerous. If Mac had experienced psychosis, but didn’t want his coworkers to know, he’d either have to lie and risk side effects without being able to prepare, or feel pressured to release that medical information and possibly risk his job or reputation***.

Then she’d ask something to the effect of “have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness, been hospitalized for a mental health reason, or do you take any medications for a mental health problem?” And if the answer to that question was anything that would make the drug particularly dangerous to him, she’d probably tell him the risks and her assessment that it was a bad idea to proceed.

If there was no other option for some reason (I’d argue not the case in this situation), she’d tell him what the risks were, and only then would she possibly have to ask if he knew he might become aggressive, at which point they’d come up with how he’d like her to handle that possibility.

I know it’s not quite as snappy, but I would have really liked to see it.

Plus, unless it’s been asked off screen, Dr. Cheryl hasn’t asked him if he has any other health problems, if he takes any medications, or if he has any allergies, all of which could significantly impact how safe this drug could be for Mac.

Phoenix Infirmary Medical Tech

Now let’s look at some of the bits and pieces in the background of the episode. Particularly, I wanna talk about that chair, the IV pump, and the monitor.

So, chair first- it’s a dentist’s chair. It’s good for dental things and maybe some minor procedures (we have a slightly different chair in a doctor’s office I work at- we use it for things like implanting birth control, removing warts and moles, and providing wound care), but it’s not great for anything else. It’s especially not great if you have to sit there longer than a half hour. Considering we know from previous episodes that they have a full-on hospital bed somewhere at their disposal and possibly a couple of carts (narrower beds you see in the emergency department), I gotta say it makes literally no sense to put the guy who’s unconscious from a head injury in the procedure chair.

Next, the IV pump

We talked above about administering medications “IV push”- a medication “pushed” through an IV by a syringe, one dose at a time. Another way to give IV medication or fluids is via an IV drip or “piggyback”- the medication is diluted in a bag of saline or other IV fluid, and set to continuously run into a person’s IV. These are nice for doses of IV medication that have a lot of volume (like IV antibiotics) medication that wears off quickly and may need constant adjustment (like some kinds of sedation or some types of pain medication or medications that counteract shock), or just straight up IV fluids.

IV pumps control how fast the medication or fluid goes from the bag into the person. You can vaguely control this without a pump using gravity, a drip chamber, and a roller clamp, but if you need to know precisely how many milliliters of medication/fluid per hour is getting into a person, and you didn’t start your nursing career in the 1970s, you need a pump.

The one pictured above specifically consists of a central computer box (colloquially called a “brain”) where the pump rate can be programmed, flanked by interchangeable modules that each do a slightly different thing. The modules on the pump in the episode include an infusion pump, which essentially just pumps fluid from a bag hanging above it into a person, and a PCA pump. A PCA pump holds a syringe of medication (usually pain medication) and delivers a dose of it when the patient presses a button.

Honestly I think the whole things is just chillin’ in the background making the room look medical-y, but they really could have used it to continuously administer the drug or the sedation if they’d really wanted to incorporate it.

Side note, the modules are actually kind of heavy, so you have to balance them a little or the whole thing kinda tilts (see the screenshot from the episode). Also, for some reason if you stick an infusion module on the same side as a PCA module, the brain won’t recognize it half the time. Not sure if it’s a feature or a bug. Below is how someone who has ever once used one of these things would have set it up:

The other thing they have in the episode, and the last thing I’ll talk about before I let you get back to your life (I’m sure your cat misses you by now, mine sure does), is the monitor. 

I read several user manuals for this (real) monitor system in preparation for this post. I’ve concluded that it’s way, way above my med-surg pay grade, and usually used in operating rooms by anesthesiologists to monitor sedation level (so at least in theory they could be using it correctly? I’m as shocked as you are, really). I don’t even know what half those numbers mean (beyond the SpO2, heart rate, and respiratory rate), more than just being able to say they (surprisingly) do actually reflect real monitoring options on this thing. This leads me to believe this may be some kind of weird product placement thing? As if the gratuitous use of the Toyota backup cameras weren’t oddly forced enough.

Now, beyond the fact that this is a wildly high-tech, completely overkill machine for what is happening in the episode, the thing I would like to impress upon you is that regardless of the high tech-ness, every line on a monitor requires at least some attachment to the patient. Something measuring an EKG requires at least 3 leads on the patient. Something measuring oxygen saturation and pulse requires a clip on an ear or finger. Something measuring blood pressure requires a blood pressure cuff. Something measuring temperature usually means a probe somewhere the sun don’t shine. Mac has two little leads on his forehead. That is actually hilarious. He’d be covered in wires. He would have so much adhesive stuck to him.

In case you’re wondering, the heart/lungs/brain/person outline picture on the monitor just tells you how each part of the body is doing- like, the brain will turn yellow and then red if something starts going weird with the brain-related monitoring, same with the heart and lungs. It took an insane amount of searching to figure that out. I’ve been writing this post for 4 days now.

 *I had a much longer and rant-ier intro to this but I feel like I’ve complained enough on main about how the reboot dumbed down and politically neutralized an extremely opinionated and hardline character. I do really like this show, and the storylines are really interesting, but I need you all to understand how science-based and politically charged the original one was, especially in later seasons. You had such a platform for good here, CBS, and I’m hoping against hope the generic-action-show it’s become was some kind of weird, collective misunderstanding and not a censor problem. My main problem, having finished writing this post, is that he looks really weirdly good for someone who was unconscious with a head injury and then subjected to what was another few hours unconscious and hallucinating. Like, his shirt is still tucked in. Great update to the theme song, though.

**Twice. They played the bourne-style-amnesia storyline twice.

***At this point I can only recommend you watch the 1985 MacGyver Season 7 episode “Obsessed”- it’s a ridiculous-criminal-plot episode but the undertones are all anti-ableist (both criticizing the Phoenix Foundation board of directors’ ableism in assuming Pete is no longer fit to do his (desk) job after he loses his sight, and the pressure Pete himself is under to let MacGyver go because of mental health symptoms).

[xxx-cat-xxx]

All my Marvel fanfiction

Happy end-of-the-year season! I thought this is a good occasion to compile all the stuff I’ve written to date and spam your dash with my MCU hurt/comfort fics. This is probably the last time I’m gonna put all the fics on one list, because there’s just so freaking many of them now.

I´d be incredibly happy about a reblog to make this blog reach a few more potential readers. Thank you all for sticking around with me so far!

P.S. If you don´t know where to start, the ones I like most are bolded.

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Whumping both Tony and Peter

What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood - The universe is saved, Thanos is defeated, the Vanished are returned, and Tony has survived (though with severe radiation burns and one less arm). Everything should be good now - except that it isn’t. (My big 2019 Irondad project - 13.5k words, holy shit!)

One of These Days - Tony gets injured, and a guilt-stricken Peter runs away. Luckily, there´s people looking after both of them.

Away from the Sun - Peter gets injured, and Tony gets injured, and neither of them are quite over Titan yet.

Shadow of the Day - Tony and Peter are stranded in the desert after a plane crash.

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Whumping Tony Stark

Thougher Than The Rest - A Pepperony h/c fic that takes place just after the final battle in Iron Man 3.

Just a Bend in the Road - A post-Endgame sickfic with the whole Iron Fam (in the AU where Tony is alive, of course).

Peter Parker and Bruce Banner’s Guide on How To Make Iron Man Sleep - When Tony and Bruce both get a cold, Peter is there to look after his favourite superhero couple. Fluff.

When All is Said and Done - My 4.5th Tony vs. Migraine fic, this time featuring Bruce as caretaker. Science Boyfriends.

Stairway to Heaven (almost) - When the Hulk breaks the elevators in Stark Tower, Peter and Tony have to climb to the top in order to repair them. 93 floors shouldn’t be an issue, Tony tells himself, and completely ignores his heart condition. Turns out that was a bad idea.

When the Walls Come Down - After rescuing Iron Man from his latest kidnapping experience, Clint and Tony are stuck in a crappy motel room. Tony insists he is fine. Clint knows he’s not.

Going Out in Style - Here’s what happened the night after Tony’s disastrous birthday party in IM2.

Say When - Some angsty Endgame and Infinity War canon, including lots of Tony Whump and Irondad feels.

Told You So  - Three times Tony and Bruce take care of each other. Sweet hurt/comfort and Science Boyfriends.

New Beginning - While recovering from the injuries sustained during Civil War, Tony becomes addicted to morphine. In typical Stark fashion, he decides to quit cold turkey and deal with the withdrawal symptoms on his own. Fortunately, Bruce won’t let that happen.

The first time Tony tells Pepper he loves her - I promise, the content is a hundred times less cheesy than the title suggests. TWs for alcohol and drug abuse.

settle our bones (like wood) over time, over time - Tony is down with the flu, so Rhodey helps out by looking after Morgan (and her dad).

let our hearts (like doors) open wide, open wide - Pepper is pregnant, Tony freaks out, Bruce Banner is a good bro and Peter Parker the best Spider-son.

Endgame Drabble inspired by that Tony/Pepper hug

Leave out all the Rest - Irondad, Spiderson, and the rest of the family. This is long and a bit sad, but I´m proud of it. TWs for illness and death.

Not Us - Endgame trailer inspired Steve & Tony something where Tony has pneumonia and everyone is sad.

Sleeping at last - 5 times Tony couldn´t sleep (and the one time he could). Featuring a severely sleep-deprived Tony and various people (and AIs) looking after him.

Safe - Tony, Bruce and Clint are stuck in a “shithole of a safehouse”. Then Tony gets sick, and Clint gets two memorable photographs.

Lose another one - Tony´s arc reactor acts up, Peter worries and receives a sad hug.

Game Face - Tony & Migraine & Steve. This one is whump for whump´s sake, with detailed descriptions of vomiting.

Science Brothers Birthday Drabble - Tony gets carbon monoxide poisoning while preparing a surprise for Bruce.

Behind closed doors - After Ultron, Tony feels like the other Avengers are distancing from him. When he gets appendicitis, he tries to hide it from his teammates.

Just because I´m losing doesn´t mean I´m lost - Tony´s fever is so high that he becomes delirious, but that doesn´t stop him from trying to lead Peter and Clint on a mission - until they find out about it.

Tenderness - Tony with a bad migraine and Pepper looking after him.

Always Gold - Tony is injured while protecting Peter in a battle, but he has to pull through to get everyone to safety.

Devils and Dust - Steve witnesses Tony falling apart on Peter´s birthday party.

Lights and Sounds - Tony has a migraine while spending the day with Peter.

I don´t need to be the hero tonight - Tony attempts a picnic with Peter and May while being in a bad shape both physically and mentally due to a battle lost the day before.

And when it hits, it hits you hard. - Tony returns to earth after Infinity War.

Cracks in the surface - Tony is badly injured on a mission with only Peter there to take care of him.

Where my demons hide - Tony gets beaten down by fever and anxiety, and Peter is trying to be there for him despite Tony´s best attempts at keeping him away.

——————————————–

Whumping Peter Parker

spacesick - Peter and Bruce get motionsick while trying out Tony’s new spaceship. This is very crack and kind of gross.

Headlights on Dark Roads - When Peter is stranded in the middle of a forest at night with serious injuries after one hell of a week, he doesn’t call anyone for help. But Tony comes to his rescue nevertheless. 

Surprises - All Tony wanted was a peaceful night to work on Peter’s birthday gift. But his kids make sure that this doesn’t happen.

Too Close to Home - When Peter gets drunk at an Avengers party, he is not the only one to feel the consequences.

At least I didn’t puke on you - Peter accidently takes Steve’s emergency pills that are designed to make him sick in case he gets poisoned. Cue Tony and Steve spending a night on the bathroom floor with a very pukey Peter Parker.

When you fall like a statue - A worried and exasperated Irondad taking care of Peter and Cap, who both faint after forgetting to eat for 36 hours.

Spiderpox - Peter gets Chickenpox while staying with the Barton Fam. Tony and Clint test their parenting skills.

If you´re still bleeding - Peter is sick and emotionally affected by a movie he saw. Tony tries to figure out how to talk to him about being okay with his feelings despite not being okay with his own.

Blue skies fade to grey - Peter is sick at school with Ned, MJ and eventually Tony taking care of him (well, trying to…in their own particular ways).

Saltwater - Peter gets seasick on a cruise with the Avengers, who try their best to take care of him.

Seen the rain - After a mission, Peter battles sickness caused by motion and guilt. Tony, pretty worn out himself, tries his best to help him through it.

A hand upon my forehead - When Peter gets mildly sick after a mission, Tony discovers that human company isn´t necessarily a bad thing.

Thunder Road - Peter gets carsick around the Avengers and receives help from an unexpected caretaker.

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Other stuff with lots of feelings

Fixed It - In which Pepper faints for the first time in her life.

Asleep - A post-Iron Man 2 ficlet for the Pepperony Week prompt ‘Sharing a Bed’.

Hero - My one and probably only Stucky fic.

Lightning Crashes - Peter and Morgan meet after Tony’s funeral.

Human Touch - Tony and Peter take care of Bruce after a mission.

Spectacular - Peter has a special mission: buying reading glasses for Tony, who, of course, doesn´t need them at all.

Precious - Pregnant Tony/Pepper Christmas drabble.

When September ends - Tony, Peter and the old piano.

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Red in my Ledger (Natasha series)

Perfect Cuts - When a mission goes badly, Nat and Tony cope in not exactly healthy ways. TWs for self-harm, alcohol abuse.

Holding Water in your Hands - During the missing five years, Natasha is holding position at the empty Avengers compound and trying to hold herself together. Rhodey finds her on a bad day.

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OC Whump

Concussion Fic

[yawnjunie]

monster hunting for dummies (1)

chapter one: so far, so bad

Description: Being a gruff, angsty teenager without a filter, you were not expecting to make any friends at your new school. After your first day of school, you decided to stop by the town carnival and have some fun for a bit. But five very annoying honeybees seem to follow you everywhere you go. If your fate hadn’t already been unfortunately entangled with these boys, then the mysterious object the bunch of you found at the fortune teller’s sealed the deal. Little did you know, this was the beginning of a long journey full of all sorts of absurd twists and turns. Word count: 3.4k Warnings: profanity, gore, lethal cuteness/diabetes-inducing fluff a/n: 💡 tip // if you’re on pc, ctrl + “+” to enlarge the screen for a comfy reading mode! we’ve spent a long time planning this story, so please let us know how you think of it so far :) without further ado, buckle in for a wild ride!

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Wilson High. Probably the most dismal place on the planet. You stared straight ahead, lunch tray in hand. 

The cafeteria of the second best high school in the country lay right before your eyes, filled to the brim with top-notch jocks and nerdy A-holes. Someone behind you bumped into you, dangerously shaking the items on your tray. Feeling the weight of your backpack swing towards the right, you stumbled a little. So far, so bad.

You weaved your way through the masses of students walking to their usual seats, already busily chatting about their day. Of course, you kept your distance from the girls with the expensive backpacks and the newest cell phones. Not today, you thought, carefully balancing the food on your tray. Spotting an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria, you sat yourself down and started devouring your food without a second thought.

At least the food here is much better than anything from—

“Hey, you’re that new transfer, right?” A voice interrupted you mid-bite through your cajun pepper-seasoned chicken drumstick.

“Mmmfh, yeah,” you replied, wiping your greasy fingers on a cheap napkin. You looked up, straining your neck to meet the eyes of a boy who just spoke. Squinting from the fluorescent lights, you were only able to make out the looming shadow of the human skyscraper. He had a black backpack slung over his shoulder, and a basketball in the other hand. Who—

As you were sizing him up, his friends were already setting down their backpacks. “‘Bin, we’re going to grab lunch. Watch over our stuff.”

“Alright,” the boy said, awkwardly, seating himself across from you. 

“Oh, shoot, I didn’t mean to sit at your table.” You snatched up your napkin pile and picked up your tray. “Sorry.”

“Oh no it’s fine, you can sit here,” he replied, rubbing his ear sheepishly. “If you want.”

You sat back down, shoveling your food into your mouth as fast as you could without choking. This is so awkward. I might as well finish all this food and get out of here.

As you stuffed your face, you looked around at the noisy, yet dismal atmosphere of the room, filled with people you didn’t know and didn’t care about. New school, new air, yet nothing had changed. 

No matter where, school just sucked. It was a prison—better described as a hellhole— where bullies and other dull people turned the rest of the barrel rotten. Mental illness was a pandemic; everyone contracted it eventually, either from the schoolwork or from inhaling all the smoke coming from inside the bathroom.

The stuffy confinement of the walls could drive anyone insane. You felt the cool, smooth wall behind you with the back of your hand. This school could seriously be made into a mental ward, if it wasn’t already one. No remodeling required. 

Your gaze shifted to the boy in front of you. Of course, every place had its own share of the socially awkward. You, for one, had stopped caring. About nearly everything. In fact, you wouldn’t bat an eye if you failed all your classes; you’d probably end up being a farmer, either way. At best, you’d be a farmer with rudimentary knowledge of chemistry.

Sighing, you ripped another bite of your bread. Shit’s drier than Brandonbury’s humor, and that’s saying something. There was a long period of silence, which the boy in front of you filled by knocking his knees together and picking his fingernails.

Suddenly, you heard a slurred murmur coming from the space in front of you. “Um, wheredidyouusedtogo?”

“What?” Oh, right. There was a person there.

“Like, where did you go, before you came here.” He cleared his throat.

“Oh, yeah. I just went here and there.” You downed an entire carton of milk, wiping the milk mustache off your face with the back of your hand. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just… you know, we’re in the same English class.”

“Okay, and?” You were about to say, but you stopped yourself. Is that too cold? It was an astonishing act, for someone as insensitive as you to think about your words before you spoke. Not that you wanted to come off that way, you just, somehow, didn’t have a built-in thought filter like everyone else. But this time, you didn’t want to sound like a mean person to the first person to strike up a conversation with you in this shitty place.

“...Right. Your name is...” You studied his face. His friend just called him ‘Bin. Does he look more like a Woobin? Or a Yoobin? Changbin? Leebin? You furrowed your brow as you racked up more names. Trash bin, maybe? Haha.

“Soobin.” Close enough.

“Oh, yeah.” You chewed your food slowly, then swallowed. “Cool.”

The boy reached his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

There was a moment of awkward silence when you didn’t shake his hand. Retracting it, he cleared his throat and looked away in embarrassment.

“Sorry. My hands are greasy,” you said with a shrug. You were wiping them on your last napkin when out of the corner of your eye, you saw his friends walking back with their first rate cafeteria food. Guess that’s my cue. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you announced as you gathered your trash, preparing to take your leave. “Bye.”

“W-wait,” Soobin cut, making you turn around.

“Here,” you said, wrapping your uneaten bread roll in a grease-spotted napkin and handing it to him, although it was quite non sequitur. 

He looked like he wanted those bread rolls. He was staring at them, for like, the entire time I was eating. Kind of creepy, but he’s probably hungry.

“T-thanks. See you around… Wyann, was it?” the boy stuttered, head bowed in embarrassment as he accepted the bread.

Did he pick it up during roll call? People with good memory are creepy. You wondered why anyone would bother to remember your name. It wasn’t like you stood out or anything. Just another face in the crowd.  

“What are you, an elephant?”

“What?” His cheeks flushed tomato red. “Are my ears too big for you?” 

I didn’t say anything about your ears, but sure. 

“Bye-bye.” You rolled your eyes a little. Weirdo.

You walked out the cafeteria and ambled aimlessly down the hallway, figuring that you’d find the bathroom eventually if you kept walking. How did the saying go again? Elephants don’t forget? It’d suck ass to be an elephant, then. Some things are better off forgotten, you thought, shaking off your awkward experience.

It took an eternity of walking, but you found the bathroom. After relieving your pea-sized bladder, you flushed the toilet with your heel and reached down to grab your backpack. 

To your horror, there was no backpack to grab. 

Being the health-conscious girl you were, you ran your hands under the water for half a second (without soap), then kicked the door open and rushed down in the direction you came. Back in the cafeteria, you scanned the place you’d been sitting at. Sure enough, your backpack was right where you left it, but it was now surrounded by 4 new faces.

I change my mind. I’d rather be an elephant than be in this situation. With a dreadful sigh, you walked up to the table.

“Didn’t you say she called you an elephant?” One of the boys snickered, before being elbowed in the stomach by a taller boy. Seeing you walking to the table, they all ceased their not-so-secretive giggling and cleared their throats, unnaturally leaning against the lunch table.

“Sorry to interrupt, just forgot my backpack.” Avoiding eye contact, you snatched your backpack and started to back away, but as always, the universe didn’t like making things easy.

“Your backpack? When’d that get there?” a boy with dark, curly hair remarked. 

“We talked while you guys were getting lunch. This is Wyann, she’s new here. And Wyann, these are the 4 biggest idiots you’ll ever meet.” Soobin explained.

“Okay.” You silently looked the four idiots up and down and they just stared back, both sides at a loss for words. With your eyebrow raised and them frowning back at you, this scenario was straight out of some Disney Channel show. Guess this bread boy isn’t very good at introductions. 

“So, Wyann, you’re a transfer? Where from?” Idiot #2 was a boy with wavy blue hair. 

“Here and there.” 

“Hmmm… do you–” 

“Dude, don’t you think you should be the one doing the talking?” Soobin interjected, eyeing his friend awkwardly.

“Oh, right, my name is Yeonjun. I’m just a dude. A really handsome dude. So yeah, you gotta stick around to find out more~”

And if I don’t want to? You thought it’d be pretty funny to say that out loud, but from past experience, you’d found that people didn’t tend to share your sense of humor. Boy, were they missing out.

“Okay.” You simply said.

Just finish saying your names! You guys have one job! Soobin prompted his friends to his left with his eyes.

“Uh, hi! My name is Huening Kai, but you can call me Kai. Nice to meet you. Umm, yeah.” He finished his sentence with a small nod, his curly hair bouncing a little.

“Okay.” 

“Well, uh, what is your name?” The boy asked after a moment of silence. He bottled his emotions up really well for someone who looked like he was going to burst from embarrassment the next moment. 

“I think you should have your ears cleaned out,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Oh… sorry, I’ll shower when I get home.” It would’ve been a funny comeback if he hadn’t meant it so literally.

Soobin violently facepalmed himself, turning around in embarrassment. When the silence ensued, you answered his question with a heavy sigh.

“You can call me Wyann, but really, my name’s Jared, 19, and I never f*ckin’ learned how to read,” you replied sarcastically. “Between the lines, that is. So I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to get going before lunch ends so I can find my next class, not that you care anyway.” 

Turning around to find your next class, you fetched your crumpled campus map from your skirt. Screw school uniforms. If I’m going to be suffering in this hellhole, I’m going to do it in a t-shirt and jeans, starting tomorrow.

You were about to turn a corner in the hallway when a hand stopped you.

“What is it.”

“The social science department’s that way.” A boy with scraggly blonde hair and round eyes flashed a friendly smile at you. Who is this again?

“And how do you know my next class is econ?”

“It’s ‘cuz I’m psychic. And also because all seniors take econ, which only has two classes, and since you weren’t in the first one, you must be in the second one. Here, I’ll help you find the classroom.”

“Cool.” People like this were the type that would get away with murder, and that was cool. But most people found your run-of-the-mill answers off-putting, even when you meant them. And so the rest of the walk took place in silence; for you, a peaceful one, but for him, an awkward one.

–––––––

Tick, tick, tick. 

Seconds seemed to slow into minutes. Rather than listen to the monotonous drone of your trig teacher, which was about as interesting as watching sandpaper dry, you turned your attention to your classmates’ side conversations. Not much of an upgrade, but it beat trig.

“Did you catch the latest episode of TEOTFW?”

“Dude, I nearly shit my pants at the part where–” 

You tuned the rest out to avoid potential spoilers, making a mental note to watch it later.

“Hey, doing anything this weekend?” 

“Don’t tell me you’re throwing another party.”

“Haha, you already know.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of partying, Jackson?”

You didn’t think you and Jackson would get along very well. You had zero interest in parties.

“Wanna go to that carnival after school?”

“What? Since when was it in town?” 

“They were setting it up yesterday, so it should be open today.” 

“Oh my gosh, I’m gonna buy 50 corndogs.” 

At the thought of 50 freshly-fried heavenly-smelling corn dogs, you started to salivate. Sounds like fun. I think I’ll go check it out. After a few minutes of fiddling with your phone under the desk, you pinpointed the location, conveniently just ten minutes away. 

When the last bell rang after what felt like an eternity, you were the first one out the door. Your backpack had already been zipped and slung over your shoulder for the past 15 minutes now. Running across the asphalt of the school grounds, you bounded out the gates to sweet, sweet freedom.

On the bus, you took your usual seat: 7th row down, left side, aisle seat. Window seats weren’t your thing; no space to breathe. But then again, that was public transportation for you.

Ten minutes down the road from hell, you could practically smell the corn dogs. The venue was less than a block from the bus stop. It was impossible to miss the flashing lights, the bright colors, and the lighthearted carnival tunes. Instead of hopping off the bus at your usual stop, you jumped right off at the corner of the usually isolated street. And before your very eyes, what was usually a patch of empty grass was now bustling with people and fair booths.

Alright, let’s go get some corn dogs.

––––

Straight away, you ran into a dilemma. Right at the entrance of the place was a towering rocking Viking boat, your favorite type of ride. There was something strangely appealing about feeling your stomach was going to fly out of your body, almost as appealing as stuffing yourself to the brim with oily sausages. Now that you thought about it, you really like abusing your stomach. 

Okay, maybe a quick ride wouldn’t hurt.

Being the first person in the queue was among the greatest privileges of mankind. Of course, you went straight to the end of the boat for the maximum thrill. You swung your feet aimlessly, patiently waiting for the ride to start. Most of the riders were parents with their small children, who filed into the middle rows. I’m never having kids. Still, you were grateful for them, because they gave you the whole back row to yourself. 

The ride was about to start when a voice interrupted: “Wait, wait! Hold up, we’re coming– oh wow, I’m out of breath.” “Haha, you gotta get out more, ‘Bin.” 

Oh dear lord, please no. Not here.

“Or maybe you should quit eating so much bread.” 

“Say what you want about my physique, but you’ll never take away my bread rights.” 

Please don’t come over here, please don’t come over here. 

To your horror, you realized that there was only one empty row left and they were heading straight for it. In a frantic last-ditch attempt, you pulled your hood over your head and turned the other way in hopes that they wouldn’t recognize you. The wooden bench creaked under the weight of five new butts. And it was just your luck that Bread Boy happened to sit closest to you.

“Lucky there was enough room left,” the blue-haired idiot remarked. “Thought we weren’t gonna make it.”

“I’ll say. Maybe if you stopped eating so much bread–” 

“Stop teasing me about my bread already. Who are you to talk, anyways? All your nicknames are about food!”

“Well, at least I–” 

You rolled your eyes and filtered out the rest of their bickering. What are they, a married couple? Better dynamic than my parents, at least. God, I hope I never get mar–

The ship lurched, jolting you out of your thoughts, and nearly your seat too. For the first time in a long time, you felt a wide grin spreading across your cheeks. With the breeze gusting through your hair, the sensation of thrill in your stomach, and the view from the top of the boat, you felt alive for the first time in a while. At least, until the screams started.

They literally sounded like dying goats. They were hitting notes even you couldn’t hit, and you were a soprano. Not that you knew how to sing, but you could break glass when you stubbed your toe. 

The rest of the ride was not a pleasant one. Between the screeching and the obnoxious hyena laughter that followed, you were about ready to jam your fist down their windpipes. Luckily for them, the ride ended and they were spared from your wrath.

“Haha, that was so fun! We should go again!” 

Fun, you say? You might have laughed if you weren’t so angry.

“Actually, I think we should dip soon. I dunno why, but I’m getting the heebie jeebies.” Who was that again? Narrowing your eyes, you tried to pin a name on the boy. Oh, never mind. He’s one of the guys who didn’t introduce himself.

“Sure, Tae. You and your spidey sense have gotten us out of trouble too many times to count. But before we go, let’s grab some corn dogs.” The other four followed Tae’s suit and left the boat. It struck you as odd how they trusted his word so easily. What could he have sensed, anyways? Your bloodlust?

Whatever. Now that they’re gone, I’d like to actually enjoy the ride this time. 

Finally, you had the back row to yourself again, and you savored every moment of it.

––––

“Hey guys, can we not go in?” Soobin clutched his queasy stomach at the sight of the waterpark installment, shuddering as he recalled his near-death encounter in deep water as a kid.

“Are you scared because you almost drowned in the kiddie pool when you were five because your safety float deflated?” Taehyun asked, a little too loudly. It earned him a few glances from other people in the queue.

“Shut up! That did not happen!”

“Okay, but aren’t you kinda too old to be scared of water? To be fair, you’re over 180cm and the water here is barely a meter high.”

“Still! I don’t like cold water.” He frowned. “Can we please go somewhere else?”

“Like where?”

“We-we could go watch the circus performances!”

“No thank you. Animals in cages make me sad, and I didn’t come here to be sad,” Tae replied. “We could go watch that magic show at 7 o’clock if you want.”

“But that’s at seven!”

“You can wait for us if you want, grab an ice cream while you wait.” Kai suggested, at a crossroads between going on the waterslide and keeping his friend company. Luckily for Soobin, Kai being the good kid he was, he chose friendship. “I could stay with you if you want to go somewhere else, we’ll have them give us a call when they’re done over here.”

“Okay!” the aquaphobic replied immediately, shooting dirty looks at the three boys that chose to stay in line. Linking arms, the two set off to find the ice cream stand. 

After picking up their ice creams, they wandered through the fairground without any particular destination. After a while of “Oooh, let’s go into the Mirror Maze!” “No, that one has a shorter line!” and “Oh, look! A bread stand!”, the two boys had worn themselves out with their own antics. Or maybe it was just Kai who felt drained, because his counterpart seemed perky as ever, now munching on his fifth carbohydrate snack. The boy sighed wearily as he reclined in a rickety plastic chair, taking a sip of his overly sweet lemonade. 

Staring off into the distance, he suddenly noticed a young boy sitting on a haystack staring him dead in the eyes. The child looked about seven years old, his curly brown hair parted in the middle. Slowly, the corners of his mouth turned upwards without the slightest twitch in the rest of his expression. His eyes didn’t match his smile. Kind of creepy, but then again, kids are weird. Yet something felt off.

“Bro, these nachos are so good! I’m too full to finish it, you want the rest?”

“Psst!” Huening Kai tapped his hyung’s arm quickly and nodded in the direction of the boy. “Look at that kid. Don’t you think he looks kinda cree—”

“Hmm?”

“Wait– where’d he go?” The haystack the boy had been sitting on appeared untouched; not even the slightest buttprint remained. It was as if he’d disapparated. “That’s weird.”

“Oh, right! Tae just texted me saying that they were done over there. We’re going back to meet with them. Let’s go!”

“Alright,” Kai responded, sparing a few last glances before leaving. Call it a gut feeling, but something told him that this wasn’t the last time he’d see this child.

———

chapter one finally out! the original chapter was supposed to be around 7.6k words, but we had to cut it because it was too long 😬😬😬 thank you for reading :)

hmm, i wonder who that mysterious child is?

[writers-block246]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - The Light Amidst my Darkness

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Warning: Mentions of mental illness. I tried to present Bucky’s challenges as accurately as possible. However, if anyone has some suggestions as to better portray his illness and resulting therapy, please lmk! (I researched to depict his struggle with mental illness and the type of therapy he would recieve as accurately as I could). Curse words are also included.

Notes: Italics are thoughts and emphasis. Set before Infinity War and Endgame. Slow burn. Slight angst in this chapter.

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Chapter 3:

Your day had been, to put it simply, Hell. You had been plagued by nightmares the night before, the images consisting of subjects you could no longer remember once the drowsiness seeped from your skin. Thus, you had awoken on the wrong side of the bed (quite literally), and your mood hadn’t improved since. You weren’t going to lie: you were irritable and tired, and frankly? You just wanted some sleep.

On top of your sleepiness, your boss had you in meetings (discussing unimportant topics, in your opinion) all morning. There was not a moment to think, let alone catch up on some much-needed rest.

To make matters worse, your first session consisted of a whirlwind of emotions from your patient; ranging from solemn to outraged to cheerful. Normally, you could handle the situation just fine. However, your restless night made it nearly impossible.

You sighed. You just really wanted to get this day over with.

One last session and then I can go home and sleep forever.

Your last session of the day was with James Barnes. While the man still hadn’t said anything since your last conclave where he cracked and asked you about your motives, he had become noticeably less hesitant when entering your office. And dare you say, more comfortable. You had high hopes that he would continue to progress. However, you expected his silence would persist for a few more sessions, at the least. You definitely pegged him as a stubborn and determined man.

He wouldn’t give up easily.

Or so you thought.

The usual time of 2:30 struck and you settled in your seat, awaiting James’s punctual arrival.

As per usual, the soldier knocked, waited for your invitation to enter, and then opened the door quietly. After, he made his way to his seat and settled comfortably. You noticed there was only trace amount of tension in his shoulders. Still evident, but it was clear that he was more secure in this space. He no longer appeared ready to bolt at a moments notice.

Giving him your typical smile, you greeted him.

Instead of nodding however, he responded with a greeting of his own: “Hello.”

Simple, you knew, but this meant everything for James. You knew he had probably been preparing himself for this moment for days, trying to convince himself that you were at least somewhat trustworthy.

You really couldn’t help the smile that lit up your entire face.

He trusted you, at least a little. But, you refused to push him. Greeting you probably took a large toll on him. And so, the rest of your session was as quiet as a sleeping viper.

It was funny, really, how one little greeting from the man made your mood improve exponentially.

But it meant you had done something. As insignificant as it appeared to the human eye, you had, some way or another, helped James Buchanan Barnes. It was a small step, but it still meant progression. And in this case, any advancement was good. Plus, from the information in his files, you made the conclusion that no one had truly benefitted or assisted the ex-assassin. So, the fact that you, out of all the highly regarded medical professionals that he had dealt with, aided him in any way, was mind blowing. Of course, you were determined to see it done, but to actually have it happen was shocking.

What wasn’t shocking, however, was the smile that remained on your face for the rest of the session.

I can’t believe I actually made progress with him today. Me! Of all people!

Your plan, so far, was working.

Caught up in your pride at your accomplishment, you hadn’t even realized the session had ended. Realizing you were late to give your usual ‘goodbye,’ you went to open your mouth when Mr. Barnes beat you to it: “Goodbye. Have a nice day.”

And with that, he had crossed the room and exited before you could utter a response.

He truly outdid himself today. Not only did he greet me, but he also wished me a good day! Progress, indeed.

You grinned, perhaps the day wasn’t so bad after all.

And so, the following sessions occurred in similar fashion. Although, each time he greeted you, you tried to appear less surprised (it was up for debate if you succeeded). At the end of the session, like clockwork, he would say his goodbye and hasten out the door. (The previous session, however, he had seemed to wait a little longer before leaving the room, giving you just enough time to return his ‘goodbye.’ You still weren’t sure whether or not this was done on purpose, though. But you told yourself it was).

The change in him was small, but if you looked closely, it was clear to see that he was becoming more familiar with you. The thought left a little strand of hope in your stomach. Hope that you could truly help this traumatized and hurting man.

Thursday morning, as you strolled to the Tower’s coffee stand, you mumbled to yourself. “First I’ve got to turn in those reports, and then I need to update the information in my files. I also should probably-“

“Overworking yourself again?”

You jumped at the sound, turning to give whoever had the audacity to scare you a piece of your mind.

The blue eyes and blonde hair gave him away immediately.

Steve Rogers.

You smiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Captain.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure. But seriously, you need to cut yourself some slack, you know.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re such a great role model in that subject,” you said teasingly.

He gave a bashful smile. “Touché.” He cleared his throat, “so, how’s it going with your new patient?”

You couldn’t help but smile. He was always so worried about James, so protective of him.

“Steve, you know that’s confidential.”

His face fell a little. “Yeah, yeah I know. I just worry about him sometimes.”

You sighed, feeling bad for the Captain. “Well, I can’t tell you much, but what I can tell you is that he is behaving quite well. Better than expected actually.”

At that, Steve’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? Is he improving?” he asked excitedly.

“Steve.....” you warned.

He coughed, embarrassed. “Right, right. Confidentiality.”

You smiled warmly. “Exactly.” Looking up at him, you playfully asked: “So, the only reason you decided to give me a heart attack was to ask about Mr. Barnes?”

Steve blushed and rushed to correct you. “No. No. Of course not. I just haven’t seen you in awhile.”

You laughed at his cute reaction. “Yeah, I’ve been super busy as of lately. I’ve been trying to stay on top of it, but I’m not sure if I’m succeeding.”

Placing a hand on your shoulder, he confidently told you: “I’m sure you’ve got it handled. You’re always so put together. Makes me a little jealous.”

You both laughed.

“Thanks, Steve. So, what about you, Mr. Captain America? What have you been up to?”

“Same old, same old, to tell you the truth.”

“Sooooo, saving the world?”

“Pretty much,” he laughed shyly.

Suddenly, a loud beeping noise interrupted your conversation. Checking your phone, you realized you had a session with Mr. Barnes in ten minutes. “Damn, looks like I’m not getting any coffee today.”

He nodded understandingly. “Work?”

“Our infamous Mr. Barnes, actually.”

He smiled. “Well, I hope it goes well.”

Grinning back, you said: “Me too. I’ll see you around, Cap.”

“See you later, Y/N.”

After exchanging promises to meet up and talk, you turned and headed back to your office. You were only a little disappointed in your lack of coffee.

If I had to give up my caffeine, at least it was replaced by some good company.

Finally reaching your office, you took a seat and began preparing for your next session with James.

The minutes slipped past, and you heard your phone ding. Still no James. Fifteen minutes passed and he still hadn’t arrived.

Where is he?

A knock then came at your door. After calling for them to enter, James strode in and settled in his seat.

“Hello. It wasn’t a good day for me.”

Holy shit. Did he just start a session? Like an actual session with talking? What the hell do I do now??

When you gave no response, he continued on: “I know that therapists usually ask you about your day, so.” He nervously avoided your eyes, remaining tense in his seat.

Recovering, you gave a slight cough. “Okay. What made it a bad day?”

Keeping his eyes rooted firmly at the side of your face, he said: “I’m tired. And angry. And normally, I can suppress the negative emotions, but it was too much today.”

You nodded. “That makes sense. Is there a reason it was too much?

He sighed. “Someone told me that they hoped I ‘got well soon.’ And I know, I know, they were just trying to be nice. But it just reminded me that I’m still so fucked up. Even months after I got rid of Hydra’s brainwash.”

You sighed. “Look, Mr. Barnes. I’m not going to sit here and feed you the same shit your previous psychiatrists have. I told myself on day one that I wasn’t going to treat you like some kid. So, there’s no point in lying to you. You’ve been through a lot of shit, and that’s going to take some time to work through. But Mr. Barnes, I don’t think you’re as broken as you think you are. As other people have made you think you are.”

“You—you don’t?” he asked hesitantly.

“No. In fact, you’ve made considerable progress.”

He looked confused. “I’ve hardly talked.”

“But you went from not talking at all, to talking a little. You also seem noticeably less tense. In quite a short time span, I might add.”

“I would hardly call that progress,” he scoffed.

“I would,” you stated strongly. “I know it’s hard to refrain from beating yourself up, because you want to go back to normal, to be the person you once were. Honestly though? Being the person you used to be is overrated, as there’s always room for self-improvement. After all, don’t you want to become a better version of who you were? Even before the whole ‘Winter Soldier’ thing?

He thought for a moment. “Yes.”

You smiled. “I want to be a better person than who I was years ago, too. So, I strive for it everyday.”

“You do?

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed. “I’ve done things I wish I could take back. But, the past is the past, and I can only move forward.”

He seemed to contemplate that last sentence, almost as if he didn’t agree. You made sure to take note of that.

You continued: “Plus, you’re on no set schedule. There’s no expectation that you improve by a certain date. So try not to push yourself, okay? I realize it’s hard, but we’ve got all the time in the world. Plus, you’re not too bad of company, Mr. Barnes.”

You saw the corners of his lips quirk up at that.

Clearing his throat, he said: “Thank you. I really appreciate you being honest with me. I get sick of hearing the same shit from doctors.”

You smiled. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

A chirping noise signaled the end of your session.

“And that’s that, Mr. Barnes. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

He nodded. “Have a good day.”

With a smile in your voice, you said: “You too.”

As he exited your office, he couldn’t help but feel a little better about himself.

Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing after all, he thought.

-Admin Cheyenne

More to come!! Lmk what you think!

[probskay]

434 Usher Lane, Appt. 6

A reimagining of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. Back when I first read the story, I found Poe’s version to be held down by the language of his day, but thought the concept was earnestly terrifying. As a result, I wrote a modern version of the story. The original story has been transcribed below.

As I stepped toward the apartment, I felt a very particular sense of sadness. It was a dilapidated and weary building, one that had seen the sorrows of a dozen years and never spoken of a single one of them. The rain gutters were falling off, a few of the windows were boarded up, and there was evidence of re-plastering in some places. There were 6 mailboxes out by the door, hanging on the wall. Apparently, anyway. Numbers 1 and 4 had fallen off, and it was clear no one was going to put them back on.

To make matters worse for this already wretched building, it was essentially isolated. Any other buildings that used to be nearby seemed to have been leveled, for something to be built in their places. Nothing was ever erected, and odds have it nothing ever will be. The closest building to this apartment is at least a block away. Why Roderick chose to keep living here despite how terrible the place is made no sense to me.

The porch of this particular building had two doors. One of those doors led into a small hallway, visible from a small window in the door, and the other led to a stairway that went up, also visible from a small window in the door. The hallway contained apartments 2, 4, and 6, leading me to believe apartments 1, 3, and 5 were upstairs. A cold breeze blew through my jacket, making it clear that I should head inside.

The small hallway was still chilly, but it at least protected me from the breeze, which was a gift. However, the air was musty and filled with dust, which couldn’t have been good for my lungs. Thus I elected to get into Rod’s home as quickly as possible.

I walked down the end of the hall to the door labelled 6. I knocked on the door and waited for Rod to answer. I held my jacket up to my face while I waited, to keep the dust out. However, after a couple minutes and two more knocks, there was no answer.

I went to the other doors and knocked on them, too, but they threw up dust as if protesting my hand rapping against them. Obviously no one had used those doors in a long while, and the rooms were unoccupied. I sighed behind my jacket, and returned to Rod’s door. I knocked on it once more, louder than before, and waited.

Moments later, Rod opened the door up.

“Ah, you’re here!” he exclaimed.

“I am,” I replied.

“Come in, come in,” he said. “God, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. High school sure has been a long time ago, huh? Even college, as a matter of fact.”

Rod led me into his house. His front room was poorly adorned, filled only with a blue love seat and a small desk with an old computer and some other device I was unfamiliar with. It must have been providing him with internet. The desk had a wooden chair seated at it.

He walked into the kitchen, which was cleaner and better furnished than the rest of the home. For one thing, there was a dining table there with 3 chairs, matching that of the one by the desk, as well as a proper refrigerator, stove, oven, and various cupboards.

“Rod, what’s up with this apartment? It’s empty and abandoned except for you. I’m honestly surprised the place hasn’t been torn down yet,” I said.

“Take a seat,” Rod said, pulling a chair out for me. “And yeah, that’s true. I’m basically squatting here. The landlord died, and the city is still looking for his most recent relatives. Or were, anyway. It’s been 4 years and they haven’t found anyone, or they gave up and haven’t bothered the place. Either way, home sweet home. This place provides for all we need, free of charge. Electricity, water, and heat. The only thing I have to get myself is food and a stable internet connection. Food is fine, I just walk up the street with a shopping cart I keep hidden behind the apartment and head to the local superstore. There’s also a prescription place in there so that I can keep Maddy medicated.” Roderick paused and looked wistful. “Or, well, so I could keep Maddy medicated.”

Madeline was Roderick’s twin sister. They were only fraternal twins, so they didn’t look too similar, but they had always been by each other’s sides. Their family was very wealthy, and the two of them lived through all of high school without either parent after they died. Rather simply, they’ve been independent for basically all of their lives.

“What happened to Maddy?” I asked.

“She got sick,” Rod began. “She has some sort of heart condition. I can’t leave her alone for too long or she might do something drastic. You know what I mean.”

I shook my head. “I’ve never heard of a heart condition that would make someone,” I put up my hands to make air quotes, “‘do something drastic.’” I cocked my head at Rod. “Are you sure she isn’t just depressed? Or anxious? There are plenty of therapists she could talk to about this. Keeping her isolated in a place like this can’t be good for her.”

Rod shook his head, looking somber again. “No, she had a heart condition. She’s dead.”

“Oh,” I responded. We both sat in silence for a few moments, heads hung low. Eventually I spoke up again. “What should we do with her?”

Rod looked back up. “Well, I tried talking to her about a last will and testament, but all she ever told me was that she never wanted to go anywhere. Now that she’s dead, I have to interpret what that means myself, and I think she wants to be buried in this house. I prepared a place a little bit in the basement, but I’ll need your help actually putting her to rest.”

I stood up in indignation. “You want to bury your sister in this abandoned old apartment? No, she deserves a proper burial, or at least to be cremated. Maddy shouldn’t just be thrown into a basement and forgotten. She was a good girl, you know this.”

Rod sighed. “She told me what she wanted.”

“She’s mentally unwell, Roderick. You can’t just take her word like that.”

“You know the ill still have will. We’re obligated to fulfill her request, even if it doesn’t make sense.”

I stepped backward, once. “I’m not following through with this.”

Rod sighed. “You can either help me with this and stay the night, catch up with me a bit, or you can just go. I don’t care which you do. To be honest, I can bury her myself. I called you here because I’ve been feeling lonely.”

I clenched my fists and stared Rod down. He made no motion to move. I sighed and let go of my hands. “Fine, Rod. I’ll help you. It’s… unfortunate that this happened. I feel awful.”

Rod stood up and put his hand on my shoulder. “Me too. Hopefully things will get better once this is all said and down. I’ll probably leave after tonight, anyway. Too many painful memories in these halls.”

I nodded.

Rod walked further into the apartment, and I followed him. He led me into a bedroom, where his sister laid on her bed, over the blankets. She was utterly still, and her cheeks were still flush with blood.

“My. She died recently, hasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Rod answered. “I called you just after I heard her last breath. I cried for a good while too. My tears are dry now, though. I just want to see this through to the end.”

I nodded. We walked over to her, and I picked her up, cradling her in my arms. She was still warm, too.

“It’s unfortunate that death plays these tricks, isn’t it? She still feels so lively.”

Rod nodded vigorously. “If I hadn’t heard her stop breathing, I would have thought she was still alive. Death isn’t kind to us.”

Rod led me out of the bedroom and into a hallway. There were two other doors and a stairway leading down. Rod went down the stairs, and I followed him. Downstairs, I saw a washing and drying machine, but not before I noticed a huge section of the wall had been pulled aside, revealing a hole behind it.

“You built Madeline a tomb,” I stated, aghast.

“Well, digging into the floor wasn’t going to work. At least this way I can seal the wall back up.” Rod pointed to a bucket of plaster he had next to the wall. “Just lean her into there, and then help me push the wall back.

I gently laid Maddy into the tomb. It felt as if she had sighed as I put her down. I shuddered at the thought. It must have been her body settling and releasing gasses from when she was alive.

I helped Roderick shove the wall back into the slot where it was meant to be. There were thin cracks on either side, and Rod took to filling them in with the plaster rather quickly.

“Plaster doesn’t seem like the right solution for this stony basement wall,” I said.

“Likely not,” Rod replied, “But it’s the best I’ve got. This place is abandoned anyway. I doubt anyone will notice or care.” Rod sniffled. “It’s what she wanted,” he finished.

He finished sealing up the wall, and kneeled in front of it for a while, silently. “I’m sorry, but could you give me a few moments alone?” He asked.

“Yes,” I replied. I walked back upstairs, and returned to sitting at the kitchen table. He returned after a few minutes as well.

“It’s going to be a night before I’ll be able to sleep again,” Rod said.

“Maybe we could pass the time watching a movie?” I suggested.

“I don’t know. I just feel awful. I don’t know if anything can really help me.”

“Let’s give it a shot anyway,” I said. I pulled out my phone and started looking through a couple apps for a suitable movie.

I found something. “Have you seen this movie?” I asked.

Rod shook his head. “I haven’t been watching many films.”

“Perfect,” I said. I turned the movie on and set my phone up so that we could watch it together.

Not even after the opening credits had finished did I hear a loud sound coming from downstairs. “Did you hear that?”

Rod chuckled to himself. “We made a mistake, friend.” He said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’ve heard those pounds many times before.” Another pound. “She’s been pounding at the door of this place for months now, desperate to escape. She’s wanted out more than you or I could ever understand, but I was scared.” The pounds continued in earnest. “I didn’t want Her to leave me alone in this wretched place. You see, it wasn’t Her who held me here, but the other way around.” Every time he referred to her, I could feel some sort of intensity behind the words. “I gave Her pills to reduce Her will to fight me and to break out of here. I had been drugging Her to keep Her in a nearly infantile state so that She may never leave me, and now I’ve done something much worse. I’ve buried Her alive in that basement. If I couldn’t have Her, no one could. Now here we are, and She rattles in Her grave to escape.”

I heard one final, deafening pound from below. I stood up in shock. “You mean to tell me that you knew she wasn’t dead, and you had me bury her anyway?”

“She’ll be here any moment now,” he replied.

I picked up my phone and stepped away from him, and toward the exit. “You mean she’s-” I didn’t finish my thought, as she was standing in the doorway. Her clothing was bloodied and covered in stone and dust, as were her arms similarly bruised and bloodied. Stone jutted out of various wounds in her body, but she simply stared at us with an intensity I never knew nor could ever know. There were bags under her eyes and bruises on her nose and forehead that made me shiver in their utter grotesqueness.

I stumbled backward as Roderick laughed, his mind broken, and Madeline jumped atop of him and began to strangle him with her beaten and broken arms. His cackling was replaced by death rattles as she crushed his windpipe with her bare hands.

I turned heel and fled that building, plowing through doors and rushing back to my car.

I jammed my keys into the ignition and turned them. The car failed to start twice, during which I heard a scream so inhuman that I could never attempt to describe it again. On the third attempt, my car started and I sped away from there faster than I had ever driven before.

[snaamagica]

mala’s OCs pt 1: zetta intro

i’m preparing to do an aesthetics board for the magical girl AU for one of my OCs, and i’m making myself emotional thinking about her. i’ll do a nice writeup for her to go along with the board, but here’s a less fancy but still tl;dr summary of her:

zetta contracts when she’s about thirteen years old, but survives many years, becoming a veteran in her area. i’m going to be making a new city setting for my OCs to roam around in, but if this was kamihama, she’d be from mizuna, i think. her parents are well off, though i don’t think i’ve... ever? decided what it is specifically they do? (and if this was set in kamihama, then they would have moved to japan at some point when zetta was young.) her very best friend and most important person in her entire world is riley, a boy she grew up with practically from birth. riley and zetta’s parents are longtime friends, and that’s why the two of them grew up together

zetta’s wish is “no one will ever hurt us again.” they have struggles with their families (and riley with bullies), and zetta is very protective — just as a person, in general, but especially of riley. (i’ll get into all of this below.) i waffle back and forth about how exactly it goes down, but i do know that zetta blows kyubey off at first. but, honestly, all he has to do is wait, because it’s only a matter of time before zetta would cave. she will do anything — anything — to keep riley safe. (in their original versions, they get married the second they’re old enough)

the way that her wish works is very on-the-nose, though; while she and riley are protected from things like someone causing direct physical harm, someone could still do something like, say, push them off of something high, and they would still get hurt. after all, physics is the cause of injury there...

she’s very scientific-minded, specifically mechanically-minded. she’s very into robots and the like, too. so her magical girl shtick is all very sci fi... actually, more accurately, i’m feeling cyberpunk for her design! her weapons are floating gears, which she manipulates using controls on her gauntlets. her unique ability is to create magical force fields. her element is light and manifests as electricity and storms. (i haven’t made decisions on any of her move names or her witch yet, but her design is going to have a focus on asymmetrical and androgynous styles. i think it’ll be a lot of monotones, white / gray / silver / black, but also with a bright neon green as the primary accent? maybe a darker, stormy blue-green instead of black?)

as a magical girl, she’s VERY interested in how magic works. she ends up having elements of mami, hinano, and even mitama and perenelle — she studies magic extensively and experiments with it, trying to figure out the limits of what she can do. zetta ends up being especially fond of imbuing items with magic. she’s a tinker, through and through! her protective streak combines well with her veteran status, too, and she ends up granting other magical girls the items she tinkers with to help them out. the item she makes the most use out of personally are a pair of magically imbued glasses that scans and displays information about familiars and witches

alright, this is already long enough, so personality, background, and the complex shit is all under the cut!

personality-wise, zetta and riley are opposites. riley is naturally quiet and shy, more prone to withdrawing under stress. zetta, on the other hand, externalizes. constantly. she’s very vocal, very assertive, and often converts vulnerable feelings into anger, which makes her feel like she has more control over herself, and more safe. but it’s very important to note that zetta’s anger is not a bad thing. part of what makes her so important to me is that she’s an exploration for me of anger being good, instead of something poisonous. i feel like it’s especially important to explore in the context of a girl being angry, too. on the flipside, riley has more of my personality traits in him, just some shuffled around and exaggerated to also explore the combination of passivity, trauma, and moral drive... but we’re not here to talk about him, lol

(i’m thinking he definitely knows about magical girls, though. zetta wouldn’t hide it from him, but he would want to support and help however much he can... while she tries hard to keep him on the sidelines and safe)

zetta has a very bad relationship with her mom, and that informs... everything about her. her mom wanted to treat zetta like an accessory to show off more than an actual daughter, and tried to mold her into the things she wanted her to be, which included very socially-typical feminine things. but zetta has a lot in common with her mom personality-wise, and rebelled from very early on. meanwhile, riley’s parents weren’t entirely... prepared? to be parents? tbh? both of them came from abusive backgrounds themselves and naturally had a lot of baggage from it, and weren’t sure how to handle being parents themselves. add in the presence of riley’s maternal grandfather, one of those said abusive forces, and bullies who took advantage of riley’s doormat nature, and zetta’s dad dying from sudden illness when she’s sixteen... zetta and riley both had rough times growing up

(i have a decent amount developed for their parents and why they’re like that and what their dynamics are like, but i won’t go into it here...)

but — as riley withdraws into himself, zetta steps up to the plate, coming in hot and heavy as his defender. zetta quickly comes to a point where she doesnt tolerate boundary crossing. and she reacts very strongly when those boundaries are crossed, because she refuses to let herself or anyone she cares about be stepped on ever again. she also develops a distinct “us vs them” mentality, where “they” are potential threats and she is willing to do anything to protect “us.” initially, her “us” is very small: just herself and riley. but over time, in all of her stories, she comes to expand that “us,” and becomes a uniting and protective force

i especially enjoy the idea of zetta in the context of the puella universe. i think she suits the thematics very well. she just... slots right in? i think her default story point would be at about 17 or 18, so definitely similar to hinano, yachiyo, and kanagi. i’m honestly very much looking forward to exploring her younger mindset, because i’m used to writing her when she’s over double her veteran magical girl age...

i think there’s a real possibility that zetta’s soul gem gets tainted a lot, and quickly. between her magical experiments and her tinkering, and how volatile she can be emotionally... she’d probably go through a lot of grief seeds, which means she’d need to really be on the ball with her witch hunting. i haven’t thought of any team members or anything yet, but i think it’d be a lot of fun to play with the dichotomy of some girls looking up to her, while she clashes badly with others due to her combative personality...

[jamiebluewind]

Character Descriptions for Fantasy High 2.9!

***

As always, let me know if I need to edit or add anything and tag/ask/PM me about art and stories so I can check them out!

Warning: trauma, abuse, mental abuse, neglect, starvation, manipulation, memory loss mention, dark themes, isolation, imprisonment, fantasy racism, vomit mention (please let me know if I missed any)

All pronounciations typed out have a rolled R.

***

Facts

The party is currently at 44,100 exp. each. Next level is at 48,000 (which will probably take 3 more big battles, 2 if Brennan is super generous with RP awards).

Abernant family had all their land and wealth reclaimed by The Court of Stars for their treachery and failure to prevent a war with Solace. Elianwyn committed treason and betrayal as well.

To save Adaine, the group decided to break up into 3 teams: Pylon 1 (Ragh, Tracker, Cathilda, and Sandra Lynn), Pylon 2 (Gorgug, Fabian, and Riz), and Recovery (Ayda, Fig, and Kristen). Team 1 and 2 would simultaneously take out the pylons. Then, the recovery team would go in (invisible and/or disguised) and gets Adaine and Aelwyn. They would all meet back at Van where they would most likely use Ayda's teleport to leave Fallinel (or regroup to plan their next move).

***

New Characters

Tell-ah-mine Low-men-el-da

Fabian's grandpapa

Tall elf with regal green robes, a silver circlet, long platinum white blond hair with a widows peak, and shimmering blue eyes

Crinkle in the corners of his eyes shows his age in sort of an Elrond way. He look of a dude in his late 40s/early 50s who took excellent care of his body and kept it tight

Moves with supernatural grace

Can turn into silver sand and float away

Has no concept of what time means

Obsessed with the fact that his grandson will die before him (Your human blood has brought mortality to this family. You will one day die.)

Offers to send word to an elf who is a fabled eye smith who lives on the high mountains at the heart of Fallinel that can craft a working eye (from songs, whispers, beams of moonlight, jeweled edges of the blue of the sea, and shimmering poems pulled from the ether itself) for Fabian, but has no clue how long it will take (a moment, a year, or a hundred years).

Can't pronounce words in common very well, especially words he's never heard before (which delights Fabian and pisses off Gorgug)

Calls Fabian Aramais Seacaster fa-bee-ahn ah-rye-ah-my-ess Seacaster (which might actually be the proper pronouncations of his name in that region as "Seacaster" was said correctly and that's how all the other elves say his name as well) and calls Hallariel ha-lair-ee-el

Weeps without moving his face, but also sometimes makes a soft eeehhhh sound when he cries (at one point he cried over a drop of water)

Gifted stewardship of Khy-low Meh-new-rah 3000 years ago after he crafted The Sword of the North Star (he was the smith of fung-dran-ghoor) for the ancient king of Fallinel Th-wrist-win Eversong.

"Without the Elven Oracle, we are lost."

Saw the Abernants as power hungry and cruel and can't understand why they would leave Fallinel. He found Anguin in particular to be a crass and small man with no nobility, only a thirst for power.

Thinks Riz has a harsh energy, is "a little dick", and calls him "a strange green mouse thing"

Got physically ill when a gun was explained to him, calling it gross and some dwarven kind of thing before vomiting which he turns into a flock of white crows

Vhan-lair-ee-el

Fabian's aunt

Tried to heal Fabian's pneumonia with elvan singing

Said "I have failed" when her singing doesn't work before she fades into starlight and vanishes

Hal-door-in and [unnamed youth]

Elven teens in white linen shorts arguing because [unnamed] believes Hal-door-in took his lute.

Calmed by a distant song which stopped their fight.

Faf-threth-riel

Lithe elven youth (around 17 or 18 years old) with a blond mop of hair covering one eye

Bakes elven whey bread

Lived a sheltered life

Ragh was the first half-orc he met

Mostly into Ragh due to Ragh being half orc, excessively talking about his green skin (like the boughs of a tree leafy, my leafy man), being big and beefy (your legs are like the mighty trunks of trees), was really into rage (like when Ragh punched a seat cushion) to the point of it making Ragh uncomfortable

Sang in bed

Treth-thren-ren

Elven youth who does morning dance yoga

Tried to get Fabian to eat a grape

Oak Warriors

Elemental plant based automaton soldiers made of pure magic

Look like 8 foot tall green men with leaves coming from their faces

***

Changes to Established Characters

Aelwyn

Matted long blond hair

Dry skin, chapped colorless lips, and thick bags under her eyes

Severely dehydrated and trance deprived (probably hasn't been allowed to trance for nearly a year)

5 points of exhaustion. Only magic is keeping her from going to the 6th level and dying.

Her "room" is a large large beautiful elven chamber with silver and marble. Ambiant light glows from the white stone.

Trapped inside a 15 foot diameter orb that's constantly turning so she can't trance

Crawling on hands and knees while trapped, shaking with the effort

Doesn't give Adaine up to Kear

Can still remember how to cast the message cantrip

Feels strange and addled (unable to think clearly; confused), can't remember what's real or imagined anymore, doesn't clearly remember what happened in her past (including what she did to get imprisoned), and forgets what she and Adaine have already talked about (causing a lot of reputation).

Thinks her parents "tried their best they could" and that "they expected quite a lot of us, but isn't that what- doesn't that... didn't that make us great?" (possibly due to something her father said or did since her imprisonment as it echoes a few things he's said)

Gilear

Looks scruffy (from not shaving), dirty, and has pit stains

Somehow didn't mess up being diplomatic with Fabian's grandpapa

Unbuttons the top button on his shirt when he "lets loose"

To Fig about Sandra Lynn and Garthy: Are you aware of such... hanky panky?

Learning of Sandra Lynn's infidelity with Garthy "Honestly? Perhaps this is... fucked up. It makes me feel... like there wasn't something uniquely wrong with me. Maybe a tiny little w for Gilear."

Spent the night walking through the forest with Hallariel's father, reciting poetry (badly)

To Fabian after Hallariel's father threw up "You're low and he's low. It's Gilear's day baby! It's Gilear's day."

Tried to ask Hallariel's father for her hand, but even though Fig gave him bardic inspiration and Riz helped by covering Fabian's mouth, he failed... so much. ("Lord Tell-ah-mine of Khy-low Meh-new-rah I like you am-" *makes himself throw up* "We get it. We both get it. We... We're the throw up boys." *passes out*)

Ayda

Hid in the van the entire visit

Might have rejection sensitive dysphoria (which is common in those with autism or ADHD)

Did a sending spell to Zelda for Gorgug for 150 gold (after reminding him that she very much does not like anyone in her debt or visa versa)

Offered to exact vengeance on Zelda for Gorgug

Is powerful enough to know teleport and learn plane shift (so level 13 or higher)

Stated that Adaine is her best friend and decides that since Fig is also Adaine's best friend, by the transitive property she is best friends with Fig as well (and Fig agreed). Learning this, she says "Fantastic. I grow richer by the day. I'm emotional." before starting to cry fire "I'm emotional. I'm gonna fly away." She then flew away, returning after she had calmed down.

Ragh

Ate grapes and started burping musical notes after he left Khy-low Meh-new-rah.

Lost his virginity to Faf-threth-riel who then got creepy and kinda racist, making Ragh very uncomfortable (and want to get out of there asap)

Fabian

Lost both points of exhaustion thanks to the 8000 thread count elven sheets (did they get to keep the sheets or at least one sheet for help with exhaustion?)

Felt really good when he tried out dance yoga, even wondering if he should be some kind of yoga dancer instead of a fighter (how about a whirling dervish dancer like Cathilda?)

The grapes he put in his pocket (after refusing to eat them) turned into song

Indifferent towards saving Aelwyn and doesn't want to be on the retrieval team

When he started feeling anxious about the Aelwyn stuff, Riz told him to lose himself in dancing again to feel free (Riz: You are the only one that I wanna see dancing right now.) It made him feel much better.

***

Other Characters

Adaine

Taken by Court of Stars

Her jacket and spellbook were taken

Trapped in an orb which is soft and doesn't hurt her, but the constant movement of its slow turning doesn't allow her to be still or trance

The walls of her room glow with runes and there are many perminant magical effects, making her captors capable of some crazy things (like prepared directional counter spells), but the setup wouldn't counter cantrips

Escaped the orb with dispel magic (dc 15) which makes a couple counter spells go off and an alarm sound

Hid in Aelwyn's room. The sister's spoke before she was recaptured and placed back in her orb. Adaine told Aelwyn that she was going to get her out

Discovered that her room was close enough to Aelwyn to talk to her via the message cantrip

Repeatedly cast Ray of Frost to turn her orb into a slip and slide to stay entertained

Instead of speaking to her father in elvish, she responded in common. Also cast Tasha's Hideous Laughter on him.

Anguin and Kear said she would be executed for treason for staying in Solace and refusing to cooperate. She demanded a lawyer and then the Ambassador to Solace, citing her age and being a student at Augefort Adventuring Academy which summoned a recorded hologram of Arthur Augefort.

Arthur Augefort

Has a recorded hologram that is activated when a student claims the need of his diplomatic help in foreign affairs.

It threatens the listeners with graphic and terrifying violence and doom, giving them the options of either rectify the actions that summoned him (Yes) or refuse and welcome the aforementioned punishment for their actions (No).

Gorgug

Fabian's grandfather called him Jhor-judge

Finally got a message to Zelda via Ayda using her sending spell (Zelda. Safe in Fallinel. Gonna finish cell tower soon. Sorry about everything, but hope your break is going well in spite of this. Miss you.) and got a reply the next morning a little while after waking up (Sorry. Was at a party. You don't have to build a cell tower. That's crazy. It's all whatever Gorgug. I don't blame you.)

Didn't sleep well, but still got the benefit of a full night's sleep due to elven sheets.

Kristen

Got in a fight with Tracker and then got 3 nat 1s on persuasion checks when she tried to make up with her.

Slept in Adaine's room

Doesn't know how to make a cell tower

Took one of the 40 to 50 foot long diaphanous silk scarves with her

Gave (inspiring?) speech ending with "Friendship is thinker than water and we need water to live." which gave everyone 11 temp hit points

Accidentally called Pok a "smiling elf" and then blew it off as being due to her being human

Can now see Shadow Cat in the picture (along with Tracker, Sandra Lynn, Garthy, Riz, and Sklonda and possibly the dead cambian, Pok, Jace, and Adaine's mom) and reacted by saying "Was I spooning the cat all night in the milk!?"

Sandra Lynn

Dropped out senior year and got her diploma after the fact to join an adventuring party

Joined as a replacement member for an existing adventuring party that was already active in the world and included an older much more powerful married couple.

Fresh out of high school, fell in love with one person from the couple (nonbinary or gender intentionally hidden) who "did not treat her very kindly"

When it all came out, she was ejected from the adventuring party, her romantic partner took great pains to smear her name (so no one would accept her), no other party would take her as a replacement, and she was forced to become a Celesian Ranger

Gilear knows who the couple were, but doesn't want to tell Fig (could she know the people involved?)

Key-heir/Khear

Child-like elven maiden with long brown braided hair, a white gown, and a large staff.

When confronted by Arthur Augefort's hologram, she chose to not heed his warnings.

***

More from 2.9!

***

Previous

[tiny-maus-boots]

Queen of Hearts pt 4

A/N: sorry it took so long. pneumonia is a bitch. i’m better now.

A/N 2: thank you to my beta and bestie for doing the thing and posting for me. ilyan @chloes-yellow-cup

04. Playing Loose

Six minutes wasn’t a whole lot of time to get dressed let alone anything else no matter how her body throbbed uncomfortably. Aubrey buttoned a fresh pale lavender shirt and tucked it into her slacks with crisp movements. She couldn’t help the way her gaze kept drifting to Stacie even though she had pressing concerns she needed to be focusing on. Aubrey opted to forgo the vest and tie and shrugged on a navy blue jacket so dark it almost looked black. She could have gone for casual being that she was in her own home but her suits were her uniform and her armor. Aubrey was a different woman under the mantle of expensive Italian tailoring and she needed to be that person when facing federal agents.

“Is Beca going to get in trouble?” Aubrey blinked and raised a questioning gaze at Stacie. “Because right now it looks like she tipped you off about the federal agents coming here.”

The question pulled her attention away from the length of Stacie’s long toned leg and she sighed as she slipped into a pair of wingtip heels. “It doesn’t look great, no. Knowing Mitchell the way I do I would guess she has an answer for any question that comes up, though.”

Stacie pulled on a warm cashmere sweater over her leggings before frowning at Aubrey. “How do you know that?”

“Because she always does. That kid could lie her way out of the devil’s basement.” She had never met anyone that could be bullshit the way Beca Mitchell could. It made her dangerous to bet against and more often than not Aubrey would fold rather than call the detective’s bluff. She reached out and took Stacie’s hand as they wandered from the closet to bedroom and out into the hall. “Listen, Stace. I don’t want you to worry. They’re gonna ask me some questions, go through my things maybe, and leave. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. Just be ready to call my lawyer for me just in case.”

They were halfway down the stairs when the knock on the front door came. It was forceful and demanding in the way all cops knocked. Detective Mitchell pushed off from the wall she was leaning against. Their eyes met and Aubrey gave the other woman a brief nod before closing the distance to the door and pulling it open. She had been prepared for feds, had even been prepared for a lot of them, but she hadn’t been prepared for this particular federal agent standing on her front step.

The pinched faced brunette in an off the rack and ill-fitting women’s pant suit and matronly black pumps gave her a smugly superior look at the surprised look on her face. They stared at each other for a long moment before the politely smiling man at her side cleared his throat. Aubrey took in everything about him, from the boyishly innocent smile to the slight apologetic roll of his shoulders. The air of innocence was such a strong contrast to the woman’s pugnacious energy that it threw Aubrey off balance for a moment.

The blonde recovered quickly and let the familiar cool mask of her poker face slide into place. ”More uninvited guests, must be my lucky night.”

The other woman’s face twisted and she pushed past Aubrey into the house with an air of aggressive authority. She stepped back gestured inside as if she’d actually invited the agents in instead of letting them force their way in. Both agents stopped short when they caught sight of Detective Mitchell, each of them raising suspicious brows at her presence.

“Detective Mitchell, I wish I could say I’m surprised to see you here. Let me guess, you were just in the neighborhood? Thought you’d give your pal Posen the heads up about the agents headed her way?”

Beca rolled her eyes and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. Every small gesture was laced with barely contained irritation and utter disdain. “Actually I was conducting an interview for my murder investigation. Which you are now impeding and obstructing.”

“Right, because your little case outweighs federal jurisdiction?”  

“Yeah I dunno that I’d call MURDER a little case but okay. Go off then.”

It was just enough of a clue for Aubrey to go on and she shut the door firmly to get everyone’s attention. “Does someone want to tell me why a homicide detective and two federal agents are having a pissing contest in my foyer?”

“We’re sorry. Uh we, I uh apologize Miss Posen. I’m Agent Applebaum and this is Agent…”

“Alice Esposito. I know who she is. We go way back, you and me, don’t we Ali-cat?”

“Agent Esposito.”

Aubrey smirked at getting a rise out of the other woman but gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Okay Agent, what the hell do you want from me?”

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions, but we can make this a more formal interview downtown if you like.”

Aubrey didn’t like the glimmer of glee in Alice’s eyes. It was the idea of marching the blonde into the station after all these years that had her riding in on her high horse and it made Aubrey want to knock her down a peg or two. “Sure we can go downtown. If you have a warrant.” The corner of her mouth pulled slightly in a mocking smirk. “Do you have a warrant for my arrest? You know those are tricky things to get. Being that they require proof of wrongdoing so you don’t finger the wrong man. So to speak.”

Agent Esposito’s eyes narrowed and it only made Aubrey’s smirk grow. Truthfully she was hoping that Alice would lose her temper and say or do something she would regret in front of so many witnesses but the other woman seemed to sense her endgame and clenched her jaw tight to keep from saying anything else. The other agent gave a brief smile but it wavered with uncertainty under the weight of the tension between his partner and her.

“There’s no need for lawyers, we’re here to talk nothing more.” His tone was soft, conciliatory even but there was something under the words that made her re-evaluate him. Yes he was green and inexperienced, yes he seemed surprisingly honest despite the viper pit he worked in, and yes he even seemed to be as boyishly innocent as he looked. But there was something there, something more. She made a mental note to have Happy look into him in the morning before giving him a slight jerk of her head.

“Fine, let’s make this quick. I have plans.”

Aubrey turned slightly and caught sight of Stacie eyeing her curiously, her fiancée’s gaze drifting over to Alice with an unreadable expression. There was a flash of something possessive in Stacie’s eyes before she smiled graciously and stepped forward to slip her arm into Aubrey’s. “Why don’t we all have a seat in the living room?” It might have been phrased as a question with perfect and polite intonation but it definitely was a command and Aubrey felt like the fly in the spider’s parlor as she followed at Stacie’s side to lead the agents and Detective Mitchell further into the house.

Beca had remained quiet so far but Aubrey didn’t trust it. Just like she didn’t trust the amused grin plastered on the smaller woman’s face as she plopped herself down on the couch and gazed back and forth between Alice and Aubrey. It was clear she was content watching the show and for a second Aubrey kind of hated her for it.

Alice perched on the very edge of the sofa as if allowing herself the luxury of sitting fully on it was somehow too much association with Aubrey. The offense at the disrespect it showed warred with the amusement of watching Alice trying to maintain her composure. Her attention was pulled away from Agent Esposito when Stacie’s warm weight settled in at her side, leaning into her body casually.

Aubrey turned her head slightly to watch Stacie cross one leg over the other gracefully before taking her hand. She had never been one for physical demonstrations of affection outside the bedroom, though in all fairness it was probably because she had never really been in love before. Now however, it came so easily she didn’t realize she was doing it.

Agent Applebaum pulled out a notebook and a pen and glanced to Beca. “Detective, you were here when we arrived, would you like to interview Miss Posen first?”

Beca shook her head with a barely contained snort of amusement and leaned further back on the couch, reclining with her hands behind her head. “Nah I’m good.”

He blinked at her for a moment then nodded and glanced to his partner. Alice had her eyes pinned to Stacie and Aubrey linked hands, her focus unnerving in its intensity. “Right. I’ll just…start.” He was uncomfortable but soldiered on bravely. “Miss Posen, do you own a small yacht?”

She had expected a soft question to warm up but he went right for the meat of the visit and it took her a second to consider her answer. “I do.” It wasn’t something she could hide, the yacht was registered in her name and she paid the dock fees from her personal bank account. It wasn’t a secret so she didn’t see the harm in answering in the affirmative. “Why?”

“We have reason to believe it may have been used in the commission of a crime.” Alice pinned Aubrey with a stare and raised her brow. Her tone clipped and a hair too loud where Applebaum’s had been easy and quiet. “When was the last time you took her out?”

Stacie shifted slightly in her spot, more of her body leaning into Aubrey. The blonde gave them a challenging stare. “Last weekend. Is that suddenly against the law?”

It wasn’t the answer they were looking for and her ricocheted question put them on the defensive but Alice pressed on. “How about a few months ago? Say maybe…8 or 9 months. You take your boat out then?”

Aubrey gave a scoffing laugh and shook her head. “Maybe but unless you’re asking something real specific…I just can’t bring anything to mind. Sorry.”

The agents looked at each other, silently communicating their next step before they turned back to her. Alice couldn’t quite keep the sneer off her face when she spoke. “How about the morning of May 17th? You remember taking your boat out then?”

She didn’t give either of them the satisfaction of flinching but her stomach sank. They were nosing around a case that was supposed to be closed already. Beca stirred on the couch and sat up with an interested cant to her head as she eyed the federal agents. Stacie’s fingers flexed in hers.

“I tell you what Posen, you don’t have to think too hard on it. I have an eye witness that can place you and your boat at the scene that day.”

The scene. Aubrey narrowed her eyes at the phrasing of the statement. She hadn’t said ‘at the marina’ or ‘on your boat’. She had said ‘at the scene’. There was only one person that could place her at the scene of anything. Except he was supposed to be dead.

Stacie sat up straighter and sighed. “This is an interrogation and I’ll tell you what Agent Esposito, if you really want to continue this I suggest you set up an interview with our attorney. In the meantime…get the hell out.”

The corner of her lips quirked when Alice frowned in mild confusion. The other woman’s muddy brown eyes drifted over Stacie, taking her in with a critical glance. But her assessment stopped at the glinting diamond on the taller woman’s finger. Several emotions twitched over the agent’s face but she gathered her composure and stood when her partner did.

Detective Mitchell didn’t have to be told to leave, it wouldn’t look good if she stayed. Almost as if she read Aubrey’s mind the homicide detective looked over her shoulder as she retrieved her motorcycle helmet from the front hall.

“This isn’t over Posen, I’ll be back and next time I’ll be picking this place through. Hear me?”

“Don’t make me have to put a restraining order on you, Mitchell.”

Applebaum and Esposito turned to see Beca whirl, her back to them as she stalked forward dangerously. The menace of the moment was ruined by the barely contained laugh on the cop’s face. Aubrey had to hand it to her, Beca’s tone didn’t belie the humor in her expression.

“Let me make this real clear Posen, nothing, not one goddamned thing, is going to stop me from continuing my investigation. I don’t let anyone bully me and I’m not scared of you.”

The Detective turned on a heel and stomped out the front door, brushing past the two agents watching them. It had all been for show, a misdirection to keep the feds guessing. But it rang true and Aubrey wondered if it was because nothing Beca had said had actually been a lie. It was a skilled bluff and she admired the play and the way it was delivered. She really had to give that kid a raise.

Aubrey leaned against the edge of the open door, one hand in the pocket of her slacks, everything about her posture indicating that she wasn’t threatened in the slightest. “See ya around Alicat.” A tremor of repressed rage ran through the short woman and she turned to toss Aubrey an ugly glare before she yanked open the door to a black SUV and shoved herself inside of it.

She gave a snort of amusement and pulled back to shut the door. Aubrey threw the lock and set the alarm quickly, sealing them off from the rest of the world. When she turned around Stacie was standing by table in the center of the large foyer, her expression unreadable. Something felt wrong and she raised her brow in question.

“What?”

“You want to tell me what that was all about?”

Oh. The blonde hung her head and let out a breath. It wasn’t going to be an easy conversation and she wondered how Stacie would look at her after she explained herself. It had been a long time ago but she didn’t feel badly about any of it.

“I knew her from before. We went to the same Catholic school back East. We were friends until I moved to California when I was fourteen. Figured I’d never see her again and honestly I hadn’t thought much about her. Then awhile back, when I was starting to make a name for myself, she walks back into my life. Right into the Dirty Bird.”

It had been clumsy and heavy handed. They should have drawn it out, had them bump into each other casually in a neutral location. They should have made it look like a chance meeting rather than a blunt attempt to force a reunion. It had made Aubrey suspicious immediately but she played the game as expected. Reminiscing and flirting the night away as if she had actually took Alice at face value.

“I had some of my people look into her, her jacket came back exactly what she’d told me. Petty theft, ran with a rough crowd, couple of arrests for prostitution. It was too manufactured, didn’t feel right. So I tapped a different network to get more information.”

Stacie crossed her arms and raised both brows, voice hushed. “The mob?”

“Nah, the vecchie signore at Saint Sebastian’s. Those old birds know everything and all it cost me was a box of cannoli and an afternoon dodging blind dates with grandsons and great nephews.”

She could tell the answer amused Stacie but the other woman wasn’t quite ready to let go of her anger just yet. Her arms did uncross and the frown smoothed out from her brow. “So? What’d you find out?” Stacie was curious as much about Alice as the agent was likely to be about her. “We’re going to come back to this afternoon of old lady gossip later by the way.”

“I found out she was a fed working white collar. I figured she was on to me for laundering, I was getting a little too loose with my game. But I knew what she wanted and I knew if I didn’t give her something I wasn’t going to have time to extricate myself from everything. So I pursued her. Aggressively. We dated and I let her hear just enough to make her think I trusted her.”

“You fucked her.”

She had hoped that she could gloss right past that point but it was clear Stacie wasn’t going to let that happen. Aubrey hadn’t been proud of herself, it wasn’t some fucking game. It was survival. She had done it because it was necessary.

“Look, it was business. It had to look real, Stacie.”

“Her? Really?? What else did you do Aubrey? Might as well get it all out now.”

Whatever goodwill she had bought herself earlier vanished as Stacie bristled with jealousy. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly trying to remain calm. Stacie had questions and Aubrey wanted to be honest with her because she trusted her and didn’t want to start a life together built on lies.

“I fed her misinformation, implicated a well-known councilman that had absolutely nothing to do with the business. I dropped hints and fed her lies for months.”

“Months? You were fucking her for months?” Stacie gave a short unhappy chuckle. “How long were you together?”

“About a year. It took them a long time to build a case and Alice was starting to chomp at the bit. This was gonna make her career if she pulled me and my entire network down. She got too eager and managed to get a warrant for the councilman. It was…highly publicized.”

“But she had the wrong guy.”

Aubrey nodded and shrugged. “By the time she recovered from that misstep I had shut the operation down. I walked away clean and she had nothing. I fucked her career and now she’s trying to get back at me.”

“Jesus Aubrey.” Stacie threw her hands up and paced away from the table. “A fucking year. Did you have feelings for her?”

The idea of it was so foreign that Aubrey could only shake her head for a second. “No!”

“Really? Because I’m not so sure “Ali-cat” got the fucking memo. Seriously? Fingering the wrong man? What the fuck Aubrey?”

Okay. She had to admit that maybe she shouldn’t have poked the bear in front of Stacie. But Aubrey honestly wasn’t flirting. Maybe digging the knife in would be a better way to describe it.

“Stace I swear…I was just fucking with her. I wanted to get under her skin.”

The tall brunette pulled her forward by the lapels of her jacket until they were nose to nose, anger sparking in the depths of her green eyes. “That better be the only thing you want to get under. If you’re with me, you’re with only me.”

Stacie pushed her away and took a step back but Aubrey reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. “I could be in a room full of people but all I see is you. You got me Stace and I got you.” Aubrey brought their lips together in a searing kiss. There was only one person for her and that was Stacie, she couldn’t give a fuck about Alice Esposito and never really had. “Whatever that was before…it’s done.”

“It better be.” She was pushing Aubrey on purpose to get a reaction out of her. She wanted to be sure she had the blonde’s full attention. “I’m not fucking around.”

Aubrey growled and pressed forward making Stacie back into the table. The vase on top with fresh flowers wobbled slightly at the impact but she didn’t care. Long legs wrapped themselves around her waist as she lifted Stacie onto the table. She swept her arm out to knock the vase out of the way to give them room. It toppled to the floor with a crash but she didn’t care, she’d get another one.

Stacie pushed the jacket off her shoulders and yanked open her shirt to send buttons flying in different directions. Hands already roaming every inch of bare skin they could find. There was a desperate urgency in their kisses, the dull throb of their previous desire roaring to life like a wildfire. She was only too happy to claim and be claimed by Stacie, as many times as it took to hammer the point home. Stacie’s body rolled against hers in a slow undulating wave and she smiled. And she was betting that would be an all night affair. 

[erinelizabethh]

it’s your world, not mine | The Umbrella Academy (6/?)

You are Number Eight, the epitome of extraordinary in a crowd of the mundane. So is Number One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and… maybe not Seven. The more you remain aligned with the Hargreeves name, the more you wish you weren’t.

Reality is what grounds you to this fact, although you can’t help but like your siblings… just a bit.

Chapter One: An Unfortunate Beginning , Chapter Two: Diego , Chapter Three: Our Guilty Pleasures , Chapter Four: Monochrome, Chapter Five: Run Boy Run

Chapter Six: Time Slip

Summary: “Seventeen years later, the world forgets you exist.”

Seventeen years later, the world forgets you exist. One of the only memories of you in the eyes of any human with a desire for more in life is in the form of a chapter inside a book, Extra-Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven, which can no longer retain its impact despite the attention to detail. Chapter Eight, affectionately titled “It’s Your World, Not Mine,” begins with Vanya’s impressions of you upon your first meeting, a paragraph that ends with the echo of your mother lugging around that same unicorn backpack over her shoulder, your life ending while hers was to commence without you. Your siblings flocked towards the stairs, eyeing the piles of cash inside the clear bookbag weighing at your mother’s frail body—shoulders hunched as if prepared to lighten a load years in the making. Grace and Sir Reginald Hargreeves stood beside you, a frown complementing the smile never wiping off the face of the former, neither one of them providing the comfort a child longs for when a parent leaves them. Vanya’s musings regarding your abrupt insert into the family finally shift their focus on you, your gaze fixated on the entrance as you stood at the center of the carpet awaiting your mother’s return… or perhaps awaiting a sign that someone in this world loved you.

Pitiable you were as a child; your powers were at first not worthy of combat or media attention. The ability to transfer your subconscious, as well as the subconscious of those you merely brushed against provided your mind was tranquil was heeded as trivial by your father and your siblings. Yet, not even Vanya could ever harness the courage to close the distance between the two of you, as those who haven’t bothered to do so, those born lucky like you, were meant to be followed. Regardless, she notes in twelve-point, Times New Roman font that Diego Hargreeves was once inclined to trail beside you on most days, perhaps remaining at your side as a result of your lack of reaction towards his speech impediment. Prior to his teenage years, the child thought nodding and shaking his head would suffice as it avoided the judgmental, inquiring gazes of his siblings who proved more than capable of pronouncing words never seen before; to this day, Vanya concludes Diego’s attraction towards you to this: you were the noise to his silence, the talkative to his taciturn.

Ironic, considering silence was a significant factor in your powers unleashing, your father soon coming to this realization upon forcing Pogo years ago to entwine his furry digits with your own soft ones. Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ breath was held in his throat, perhaps in awe of the connection between the two of you, with no interruptions to be heeded by those in contact save for the vibration of a handclap centimeters from your ear, as you were ever still with no consciousness to tether you to this world. Vanya’s recollection of those events on the bottom of the page is especially significant to any reader, as it becomes a reminder of how pathetic and minuscule her existence was, and how frightened she was of the growing possibilities of your powers. Perhaps her own jealousy was to blame, Vanya writes, that she was forced to sit atop bleachers while you lived up to your code name, The Illusion, out in the field where you and your six siblings gained recognition and admiration from people like her. The envy lingers throughout the chapter—your chapter—as it ends with gratitude that, unlike you, she is gifted with the ability to hear the impending disapproval of her siblings, gifted with a destiny that allows her to respond.

Ben slides next to you, his body sinking into the mattress as his elbows press against his thighs, a thick paperback in his hands the source of his scowl. “Can you believe this?” is what breaks the ice, chipping at the wall you built around yourself, except what your sibling once expected as a reply is nowhere to be found. Your gaze does not avert from the rain drops trailing down the glass of your windows, the clouds beyond your bedroom an ominous purple before the weather threatens to prod at your surroundings, causing slight tremors among light objects inside. The hues of the furniture that inhabit the room with you lack that individuality one hopes to decorate their house with, instead mirroring a mood that takes ahold of you and vows to drag you down under for eternity. Nothing inside the room your soul latches onto has any resemblance of you, in fact, as your burst of creativity reflecting your growth towards maturity and understanding of the world left you on your sixteenth birthday. To conjure up a spring breeze, or perhaps a bird—alive, preferably, as you feel you might as well be dead and Ben’s just dead—existing to appease your reality is beyond your mental capacity. Judging by how a room shrouded in darkness becomes the same sight your eyes flutter open to every day, the same strike of thunder slithering across the top right corner of your window, there isn’t much more you can do. No matter how many books Ben attempts to search for in hopes of communicating with you, there isn’t much more he can do.

In fact, the only answer, the only probable one, is to share gazes at one another and wonder where time had gone. With a clench of his jaw, your sibling’s hands are fished from the pockets of his leather jacket, instead resting on his knees as his eyes trail down the tufts of hair trailing past your hips, brittle to the touch. The knots tangle up in your strands of hair like clockwork, pulling at the fragile pieces as if spitting on any effort put into dragging your fingers through them. A smile doesn’t surface in response to his, a demeanor once youthful upon first glance accepting its losses; adoptive siblings the two of you were, both reaching your thirties while simultaneously losing your late teens and your twenties. The moon could force its impact against the Earth and life would be no better, snatching your childhood and the better part of your lives unapologetically, like it all meant nothing.

Seventeen years later, you begin to wonder if you would have preferred nothing. With a soft groan, your consciousness is pulled from your prison, instead dragged into the prison of those society deems insane, or abnormal. Upon your feet touching the white marble tiles decorating your room, you’re met with a wall—no window for you to look out of, save for one high above your stature that provides you a glimpse of daffodils and green leaves brushing against one another in a slow dance. This room is unlike the one you made no use of in your world. The thought behind the confining space is vague, leaving little room for comfort, yet the sight of the furniture exactly how you left it the day prior becomes familiar. No aspect of your childhood comes to haunt you inside these walls, save for the visits you rejected from your siblings throughout your time here, and you want less and less of your life to catch up to you as the days go by without you noticing.

Then Diego visits. “Eight, long time no see.” He enters your line of vision, his fingers the only voice you can interpret from him.

You shake your head, mouth pulling at the cap of a blue marker found in your drawer as your arm cradles a clipboard. Your palm wraps around the thick marker, pressing hard on the surface as you scribble out your answer: “I can read your lips.”

He scoffs, except there is no ill will behind it. “You look like shit.” Meant for laughs, you suppose, except his eyes follow the bags under your eyes, down the sleeves of your sweater that trail too far past your hands. Then, the pity behind his gaze is revealed, and it humiliates you; it was never in his nature to pity anyone, much less you, since you were the one he often trailed behind during your adventures as an outwardly decent, normal family that gave a shit about each other. Regardless, he too ponders of the years you missed, musing of the years the two of you spent naïve to your impending disaster.

You can’t help but envy him, envy that he moves as the world does. Diego, as once mentioned by Pogo, lost his stutter as he grew from a quiet boy to a man in his thirties confident in his ability to discern right from wrong. Of course, that was evident the more your favorite sibling visited, as you witnessed him do away with the hesitation that plagued him in his interactions with others. The air surrounding his stature grew steadfast, much like it was when he was out representing the Umbrella Academy, and looking back you wonder if that much was obvious. One fact that is obvious is that the man towers over you, his arms usually crossed unless he’s already occupied in tugging at the fingers of his gloves. The front strands of his hair are held up by gel, few out of place, a trait about him quick to be ignored once catching sight of the scar that traces past his right temple. Every feature, every distinction of his that you latched onto for some semblance of consistency diminished along with his boyhood, and you’re just now realizing that there was no catching up to him.

Your attention was no longer on him, instead finding the tiny cracks embedded in your wall near hypnotic. The man is quick to forget you can’t hear his calls of your name, your code name, your given name, so seconds pass before he approaches you and taps at the clipboard in your grasp. “There’s something you, uh… need to know.”

“Dad’s dead.”

You pause, and then you grin.

Tags (idk if you still read but HERE YA GO): @woohoney, @not-so-epic-iii

[demethinkstoomuch]

Learning To Read, Pt 6: F is for Faerghus

Chapters: 6/26 (7/26 on AO3) Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro, Gustave Dominic, Original Characters, Rufus Blaiddyd Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Grief, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Tragedy of Duscur, Racism, Developing Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Blue-Lions Typical Mental Illness

Summary:

A series of 26 alphabetically-titled vignettes examining the period where, in the wake of The Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri taught Dedue to read: a time in which they learned about each other, and the rules of their relationship, perhaps more than about books.

Read on AO3!

A is For Ambiguity

B is for Book

C is for Commendation

D is for Dining

F is for Faerghus

The woman who called herself Cornelia Arnim considered this whole affair to be something of a fiasco, even if the potential for instability from the regency council was immense . But the council was giving her a headache. It was just a cold room full of sycophantic pigs snorting the air at the smell of fresh slop. They weren’t terribly interesting as puppets or tools, the newly-minted regent and his collection of cronies. They couldn’t even recognize that they were pigs, and wasn’t that just sad? None of them were grand noblemen; the room didn’t have a Fraldarius or a Gautier, or even just an equal in terms of clout. Also, at least one of them — one of the regent’s drinking buddies (which described about 2/3rds of the room), a minor noble who’d run in Rufus’ circle since his own academy days — seemed unaware of the fact that she was not there for his personal amusement.

But she smiled sweetly at him from across the table, and tried to think of how best to use him. Cornelia Arnim’s body had its advantages as a lure, at least, even if the fish weren’t the ones she was hoping for. If she needed to get anyone that way, it’d be the man himself. She’d been planning that the Agarthans would have owned Faerghus by now, using the dear ickle prince’s secret stepmother, wise and noble, stepping into the limelight for the first time. Obviously not the real thing, she was much too whiny and sentimental, depressing and depressed — and this was Cornelia’s opinion as the woman who had had to lure in Patricia. It had been stunningly easy, which had made the plan seem viable. Patricia had wanted so terribly to see her little girl again; she’d offered that wish for Cornelia to use however she liked. They’d spoken with other nobles, ones who were so wildly ambitious that they dreamt of freezing time so their precious kingdom would always be theirs. Ones so hungry they wanted to devour the land. They’d promised Patrcia she’d get what she really wanted, if she was only willing to take a little risk.

The plan had been, obviously, that Patricia would never see her little girl again. Or anyone else, for that matter. The attack from the nobles’ henchmen went off without a hitch. They’d even kept the prince alive, if only just, which would have made things easier. (Now, she wasn’t sure if it was something she wanted. He might have to be neutralized somehow, was the thing.) But after they’d walked Patricia away from the carnage and killed her in secret, that was where things went wrong. Because those moronic soldiers showed up, some detached battalion catching up a little too late. Their absurd vengeance culture rearing its head like a bunch of sharks smelling blood in the water. That pathetic Gustave had arrived too early. They hadn’t had time to get their Patricia ready for her miraculous survival, and so, Patricia simply had not survived in any form. All they had to show for it was the slaughter of an entire town and a sizable power vacuum currently being stuffed with hot air. Which wasn’t bad, necessarily, there was some quality chaos and a lot of raw material, but it was second place. But there were advantages.

Such as the scene playing out before her right now — once you tossed out the more worthless parts, like 90% of the animals littering this room. One of the more studious members of the council — it paid for anyone important to have at his command some little man with nervous energy, bookish disposition, and the patience for paperwork, and Rufus for the time being had this one — was explaining a situation. The son of a minor nobleman had been, according to contacts with official church messengers sent to observe and aid while the kingdom was in this transitional stage, found to be involved as a conspirator in the Tragedy. This was, and about half the room knew it, not remotely true.

“Your Highness,” asked the obligatory bookish man to the regent, “What would you like to do concerning Lord Lonato’s son?”

“...They say he was involved in the king, my brother’s, murder, do they?” asked Rufus, lifting his head from his hand, and sitting back upright in his chair. He was popular with women for a reason, besides his loose spending — the Blaiddyd men bred tall and prone to tapering appealingly from strong shoulder to toned waist, and Rufus had kept himself in that same shape as he’d entered into his early 40s — his face was lined slightly, marked at his eyes and the corners of his mouth with the careless smiles of an adult life lived with abandon. His hair was warmer than his brother’s or nephew’s, not cool blond that had darkened from an infant ice-white, but a vividly red-gold color that blazed thick and sunny all throughout his life. 

“That’s as they report,” answered the man. “They are, of course, offering themselves as aid in the matter of capturing him, while we’re so short-handed.”

“Let them, then. I’m sure their information is accurate.” Rufus brought his chin back down onto his hand. Of course, Cristophe Gaspard had nothing to do with any of this. About half the room knew it, and some of them were so faint of heart they looked shocked or appalled. What precious little cowards. Cornelia made a note about them for later. 

“My lord,” said one, tentatively. “Lord Lonato was once a knight in your service, was he not? As his lord...” 

The other half of the room, the half that didn’t know, looked righteous, and one of them answered first in defense of his lord.

“If Lord Lonato allowed his son to contemplate such monstrosity, then he has betrayed both his lord the archduke and his lord the king; what he ought to do is take revenge into his own hands!”

“I intend to. But not concerning Christophe.” Rufus looked only like he was shoving away a boring chore. As it was: this would let the church think they were busy with something, that was all. “We have more significant action that must be taken than to concern ourselves with him.”

“Ah, yes. Lord Kleinman has a report, Your Highness. It appears emissaries from Duscur’s council of aldermen have come to him seeking peace terms.”

“He should have sent them on to me, not a report.” Rufus glowered. “I am regent.”

“He already knows your answer though, right?” said one man with too much of a smile. He chuckled. “He’s the one dishing out the punishment. You can’t possibly go and fight yourself.”

“I can!” Rufus snarled, pounding the table with his fist. Papers and mugs of beer shook as the whole structure rattled. That was why they couldn’t just replace a Blaiddyd — even the crestless ones had surprising strength. And the ones with crests were beyond even that, monsters in human skin. Their experiments, Solon had told her, were showing real results now, but they weren’t going that well . Rufus’s strength bristled under his shirt-sleeves as the old nerve in him, one she’d have thought killed by drink and sex, reeled as it was struck. “I can, and so I must, or none will believe it of me!”

Everyone was silent until he sat back down, drained his beer and handed the tankard to a servant to have it filled again.

“His part in this measure may be great, but he must remember who has the crown’s authority if he is to receive the crown’s reward.” His cheeks were just the tiniest bit flush when he proclaimed that, the color fading slightly in the next moment.

“Ah, my lord…” said a secretary, who’d been standing by the door with a look of apprehension.”Prince Dimitri has been outside for some time now, demanding to see you. Again. Should I let him in?”

A few people made pitying noises. Rufus dug the heel of his palm into his forehead, preparing himself for what was to follow. He had been avoiding the prince’s efforts to speak to him seriously for some time now. Since the boy had gotten back up onto his feet, more or less. Cornelia had been politely helping him with that, citing the prince’s condition as a reason not to let them talk. ‘He’s been so traumatized after all, we don’t want to upset him further.’ That kind of thing.

“Very well, bring him in.” Rufus sighed. That story couldn’t go on forever, nice as it was for him not to deal with that child. His little brother’s son. 

There were probably people who hadn’t seen the prince properly since the tragedy, and they looked appalled when the drawn little figure entered the room — which was, in its own ways, comical. They had just casually tossed a young man to his death not a moment ago; now, one grave-looking boy was enough to tug at their heartstrings? He’s not even doing that badly anymore! He only trembled a little as he strode forward, as much anger as nerves. 

“Uncle, you must put a stop to this violence,” the prince proclaimed. Oh, yes. He needed to be handled, one way or another.

 ***

“You can’t do this!” “I know what I saw!” Those shouts, high and shattered with fury, had resounded from the walls behind Dedue for a long time, and more besides. Dimitri fought alone in a room where men too important to look at Dedue discussed whether Faerghus would end the retaliation against Duscur now or throw the full weight of the crown’s knights into it. Eventually, there came a wooden cracking noise like a tree collapsing and a great clatter from inside — metal, glass, wood tumbling down onto the stone. The regent’s council shouted in frustration and disgust, their words muffled until only tone remained.

The lady Cornelia had seen Dimitri out after that sound, with Dimitri clutching his left arm as a nasty bruise welled up through it, still shouting. She’d handed Dimitri over with a reminder not to get too worked up; if the arm continued to hurt, she’d have to check it for re-fracturing. 

“I understand you’re upset, Your Highness, but you will have to apologize for the table when you calm down, okay?” She’d said, patting him on the shoulder. She glanced at Dedue, cold and dismissive. Dedue glared back, but she tossed out her order without regard. “You. Keep an eye on him.”

 Dimitri hadn’t responded sensibly. He’d cried and he’d shouted, still carrying out his arguments. His apologies and shouts had given Dedue time to sit them both down on the steps, try and recover his own wits. He felt at once stunned and a gnawing cold misery: He should have known.

 Dimitri’s words had been barely coherent enough for Dedue to assemble what had gone on. They’d said Dimitri was confused. That he hadn’t seen what he said he’d seen — he hadn’t seen his father’s killers the way he thought he had. Not if he said they weren’t from Duscur. The king’s life must be paid for. So the war would not be postponed, would not be stopped, not if he could not produce names for the regent that showed the people of Duscur innocent. 

But he could not produce names. So all he could do was insist and shout and plead until he was like this, his voice worn to shreds, his arm aching, his whole being unfocused and unraveled. The blood would be spilled. That was all there was to it: what other price for a king was there?

“I don’t know who they were... Father, how can this be for you, when it has nothing to do with your killers?! How can you want innocent people to die?!” Dimitri muttered into the echoing expanse. The stairway stretched out before them, descending away from the formal council room into an open hall. The sounds of people were distant, muffled by stone walls. Dedue didn’t attempt to answer him yet. He wasn’t sure he could have. And so Dimitri went on. “...I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll get it right. I will. I’m....” He shut his eyes, lowering his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Dedue.”

This was the first time Dimitri had acknowledged him, and so Dedue had to finally try and find something to say. Everything in him was squeezed tense — his shoulders, his gut, his jaw were all tight, and it was hard to find a way around it.

“It is not your war,” he answered, eventually. A sigh parted his lips. Dedue could only stare upwards at the great, vaulted ceiling. He was not used to feeling small.

 “If I’d only been calmer, would they have believed me?” Dimitri asked, the fury of his voice inward. Dedue was not sure if he entirely believed Dimitri, either. He would have liked to, but Dedue wasn’t entirely sure how to trust his mind; in moments like these, when everything was so close to the surface, it seemed like a ship tossed on the waves. Everything that day had been so confused. Instead, he shrugged. His feet descended down another step, his long legs slipping from their fold. The floor was a great way down.

“Not if they would not think about you when you are...hurt,” is what he said, his voice deliberate, stiff, quiet. He couldn’t say what he was feeling; he didn’t want to. Just let it flatten like a plain until he could build something useful on it. “Perhaps once they have had a battle, they will be tired of it. It will stop.”

“It shouldn’t be happening at all!” Dimitri answered. Obviously, but that wasn’t helpful, save spiritually. “If we could stop it before a true war breaks out, then it’d be OK!” He lifted himself back up to his feet, wincing from his arm. Dedue half-turned to watch the prince pace.”What if I ran away?”

“Where?” Dedue raised an eyebrow.

“To the border, of course! My uncle might be in charge here, but I am the crown prince… And the common soldiers and knights agitate for my father’s sake. The fools,” Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, bitter words breaking through his clenched jaw. His footfalls bounced off the stone. “But surely, they’d listen?” 

The idea had allure; it shimmered between them as a gossamer dream, intangible as light, but just as real. 

“Perhaps…” Their eyes met and held one another, hope sparking for a moment; they’d pack in the dead of night. They’d hurry there, as swiftly as they could, carried on the wind; speak with passion and valor; be heard by people who must have been, in their own ways, simply trying to do what seemed just. 

Dedue tore his eyes away from it. It hurt more than he wanted it to.

“No, you should not.” It stung to say, but the truth had sunk in.

“Why not?” Dimitri’s voice lifted, his footsteps coming to a halt.

“You are not well enough to travel alone. We would be slow and caught together.” Dimitri was much recovered now, at least physically, but a country away was too far. Dimitri knew that and sagged with a shake of his head. 

“...If we were caught, you would certainly bear the brunt of consequences as if you’d kidnapped me,” he said, to Dedue’s surprise. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him . “I don’t want to imagine what would happen to you, or to everyone else as a result.”

“Hm. Second, even if you managed to move the soldiers and knights… If you cannot move their leaders, they will find more soldiers,” Faerghus was a rack of swords; Faerghus was a place where they said children of their high families learned to fight from the time they were born. The leaders themselves could fight best of all. So there would always be more until there was no one left. 

 “I hate this.” Dimitri’s gaze eventually broke, and he dropped himself back down onto the steps next to Dedue. It should have been a relief to hear — it prickled up against him instead, like a leg half-asleep. Tears weren’t dripping down Dimitri’s face, but they bubbled through as he spoke, his hands covering his face. When his hands dropped, slowly, they left red, scratchy trails. “I hate being so weak. People are going to die — not just soldiers, but fathers and mothers and —! Doesn’t anyone care?”

Part of Dedue was glad Dimitri cared, even if it meant watching him tearing himself to pieces like this. Part of Dedue felt Dimitri’s hands, only closing on air, grabbing him and pulling his heart, and he didn’t want that. He wanted nothing. Dedue’s teeth found his inner lip and bit down on it, unsure which part should win. It was a tiring battle. 

“You do,” he answered, unable to catch what feeling with which he meant it. The feeling in his voice wasn’t relieved, but he went on, “And I need this of you.” He reached out to grab Dimitri’s hands, take them back from the edge before they did more damage. 

“Of course,” Dimitri’s answer was more confused than confident. The hands in Dedue’s grip went slack, stopped resisting. They were limp and lost and defeated. Dedue let them retreat back to Dimitri’s lap. Dimitri had turned to watch Dedue’s face. His eyes looked clearer than they had since he’d gone in the other room — clear enough to see the way Dedue’s jaw was clenched tight and how Dedue hated it, clear enough to see the way his eyelids trembled with what he could not keep holding back. Things clicked, it seemed, and Dedue was surprised to hear Dimitri sniffle back a tear. “I’m sorry; it’s selfish of me to go on like this, when it’s so hard on you. But I refuse to surrender, and neither should you.”

“So what will you do? Will you continue to ask?” He tried to ignore the matter of himself, of how hard it was . He rested his hand on the stone, shutting his eyes and feeling its polished surface under his hand. His fingertips brushed over little pits and light flecks marring the darker shades. Dedue envied it — cold and quiet and stable; it hadn’t so much as warmed under him. It endured everything, and it felt nothing. It didn’t wonder if that place was home, even with nothing left for him but memories that toyed with comforting and hurting him. It didn’t have to remember. It didn’t clench itself, toes to teeth, when the memories of swords and fire still echoed, summoned by the flames burning miles away, summoned by the sound of knights, summoned by the knowledge that right behind him, at that moment, were men who would toss a world into that fire if it only satisfied their blood. It could simply not have those feelings when it couldn’t do anything about them. 

“If I can start by clearing the names of the people of Duscur…  Then there surely everyone will see sense. I know there are people who don’t want this — they can’t . But everyone is hurt and frightened. If they understand, then we can make peace and make things right!” He insisted, clenching his hands over the air. But he didn’t begin to scratch himself again. “I owe it to you, and everyone who died, and everyone who will die. I will… try to remember anything that could point to their true identities. I know it might not be heard at all. Fools. Fools.” Dimitri shook his head, his eyes tightening. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists, tremors running through them. Dedue pressed his hand harder onto the stone, trying to block out what was creeping in him like the first freeze. How hopeless it all was — someone who had actual courage, trying to plead for human lives with men like that.  “But I can’t stand for Faerghus’ justice to be used as nothing but a cudgel.”

And Dedue’s hand slipped off the step. His knuckles, so tense they could have burst through his skin, scraped against it. The tendons in his neck froze into place, wound like a clock whose springs went tighter and tighter, until finally — he snapped. 

“That is what it is,” he said, voice plain and simple, and finally dropping a weight. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Why was he saying this? It would be easier if he didn’t. His throat tightened like it might choke him. “They do not want your words to matter, and so, they will not work. What they wish for is battle. What happens next is of no consequence to them. 

“Perhaps some it is just.” He almost tossed the words at Dimitri, whose eyes were wide and staring, wounded at not being believed even by Dedue. Then they drew nearly to a close, softly, which was worse. He must have seen how misty Dedue looked. He felt like an avalanche, moving downhill — his words came with a building momentum, inexorable.“I cannot judge. I know that Duscur is like anywhere, maybe even here… There are good and bad people. Murderers. Children. But it is all the same to them. How could it ever stop?”

 He took a long breath, found it harder than he expected; it sputtered and broke before becoming deep enough. He was not yet crying — but he understood, he would. He couldn’t stop anymore; he’d broken at last, and now he could simply keep sliding down into his own depths. Part of him wanted to stop. To keep going on with the life he’d found worth living after the people who’d made his life before were gone, pretending he’d never felt like this. He shut his hands tight. They were shaking with bottled-up feeling.

“I truly...hate it. All of it. I hate knowing what Faerghus can do, will do, has done . I hate being looked at the same as if I had killed your father myself.” But going on as if it weren’t true wouldn’t make it untrue — still. He felt like as he pulled and pulled, it just went deeper. Feelings dark as night he hadn’t named , had put aside. It wasn’t hot — it was cold, so cold. It was drowning and freezing at once. He envied the stones, he really did: stones didn’t turn themselves over and see something they hated. “I hate the way I am spoken of… They way only I could not be let by your side when you were hurt, because of them… And —”  His eyes fell on Dimitri, then, and he understood. There was nothing that feeling did not touch. He recalled the way Dimitri’s feelings could drag his own out of him, and now — now that face, lips tense, eyebrows set gravely, and eyes red-rimmed and so, so sad for him — so uninjured by all Dedue had said, save that he didn’t believe. So undefended, like Dedue could plunge in a knife.

 “...I hate how ugly I am, to feel the way I do,” Dedue croaked, unable to look at that gods-cursed face a moment longer. He couldn’t change how he felt, not anymore, but he could stop. He could turn away; it would just have to be bolted up inside of him, turning his innards black with frostbite. 

“I think you’re right to be angry,” Dimitri answered, which made it all worse. “You’re right to hate all of this...What happened that day, what’s happened since, is monstrous, and nothing else. Even if no one else sees that right now, I…” His voice was shaking. Still somehow, Dedue was the one with the knife in him when Dimitri said, “feel like that, too. I don’t mean to say they compare, but… I think your fury just.”

“Dimitri, you do not understand.” He was unable to bolt it in if Dimitri kept dragging it out — stop, just stop. “It is still uglier than that… To hate all that I hate.”

“Oh.” Dimitri’s face briefly slackened, until it somehow — worse than anything — masked itself in a bland little smile, the smile of the Prince of Faerghus. Even if it collapsed almost instantly, it had been placed. The eyebrows drawn sadly together, the smile reaching his eyes not happily, but with soft self-deprecation. ”Me.”

“...I do not know if it is hate. I do not know the right word.” He knew just the right word in his own language, and said it aloud then — a word that meant something that ground you like wheat in a mill until you were bitter and tired.

 It hung there in the air, waiting for something, but all Dimitri could do was shake his head. He couldn’t translate that one, either. Before Dimitri could say anything, Dedue held up his hand. The feeling was awake, alive, trapped under his ribs and locked up in his lungs, his neck, his closed-off teeth. The borrowed tongue fell away from him, then he returned to his own. Dimitri would have to keep up, to guess over gaps in his knowledge of the language, as Dedue so often had to with him. He couldn’t say it any other way. 

“<I am… mad at you, sometimes. Something like that, anyway. I’m mad at who you are and what you mean.

“<You are the ‘prince’ of Faerghus. And this is so important that I’m unworthy of you to everyone . You bear their name! They kill for that name, for your father’s name, for that title I barely understand! Your good name is… so precious to them. But when the time comes…>” Turning this on Dimitri hurt. But that truth also hounded him — it leapt up his closed-off throat.  He hurried over the words, not looking to see if he was understood. Dimitri did not try to stop him — good enough. “<It’s all meaningless. It’s all useless . It’s cruel to ask you to carry this, but if you can’t, then no one will. I see that, now. It’s cruel that you’re the only one there is to ask.

“<And…Sometimes, I’m mad at you because I think…>”Dedue’s feelings crested, swelling up in his chest until they pounded against him, and came out the only way they could. Hot tears pooled in his eyes and dropped smoothly down. His voice was small and hoarse, a pained whisper. “<Why me, Dimitri? Why not save someone else?>” 

The bit of Dedue that pounded against his breastbone like a maddened, captured bird wanted Dimitri to not understand. Or more; say Dedue had no right to feel that way about his savior, or to say he did the best he could, or to say there was some reason for it to be him — some divine reason, some calculated reason, some reason less or more than that even the life of a stranger could be precious. Then Dedue could be truly mad at him, truly angry, then he could admire Dimitri a little less, care for him a little less, cut Faerghus into one great bloody clump and hate it all with a chill he’d hardly known was there until this moment, when he looked it in that hollow-eyed face. 

And when the hate had wrung out of him like tears, he really could turn his heart into stone.

But Dimitri didn’t say that. Not a word of it. Instead, he frowned, his eyes gone soft teardrop blue. He almost reached out a hand, but though it hovered in the space between them for a moment, it retreated to fall back onto his lap.

“I know that, for everyone I could not save then and cannot save now, there is neither excuse nor forgiveness. It would be mad, not to hate me after how much we’ve hurt you...There’s nothing ugly about it.” Dimitri stared at the hand he had almost reached out, his expression still somewhere far away from it. The silence stretched until he looked Dedue head-on again, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he whispered, small and hoarse,  “It’s OK.”

 Something thawed out inside him at those words, easing into the shelter they gave him.  It was OK. Nothing could make its way out of Dedue save tears. Silent, marked only by the faintest tremor that ran through him. It was OK. That black frost was still somewhere inside of him, and that was OK. Dimitri’s answer took him by the hand and warmed him, piece by piece, massaging his jaw until it let go, until his fingers and toes unclenched, until that feeling had surrendered him. All the things he’d gambled on Dimitri’s answer, all the things he’d considering throwing aside, all the rest of him came back to meet him, shocking as a spring flood — his heart, his hope, his life. 

His shoulders shook; his throat worked to make a breathless whine. Dimitri’s hand reached for him, and Dedue slumped into the touch wordlessly. Stone could never be warmed like this, not if it sat in the sun a million years.

“I won’t give up. I swear. I swear. I...I’m sorry you have to ask that. I’m so sorry.” Dimitri murmured, voice bare. And this, too, was a hurt stone couldn’t know. He had survived. They had survived, and this was all the reason that there was for it. Dimitri’s body heat was added to Dedue’s side as he, all the parts of the Prince of Faerghus that were simply Dimitri, leaned his head against Dedue’s shoulders. When Dedue didn’t shift away, a sob tore from him. He looked up through lashes only a little darker gold than the rest of him, blue summer skies streaked through with cloudy tears. He whispered something from the back of his throat. . “It really is a painful thing to wonder, isn’t it?”

 All Dedue could say for his understanding was in the way he leaned his own weight against Dimitri’s side. The smaller boy didn’t fold or crumple, but stayed, their figures leaned close to one another. His tears fell onto Dimitri’s hair as they slid down his face; Dimitri’s tears pooled against Dedue’s neck. It was regret and hurt in them, hate and frustration. They were surprisingly warm. The boys huddled on each other’s shoulder, there on the steps before the regent’s council chamber. When the adults exited, they would have to go around. The two of them wouldn’t be moved just yet. He didn’t have to move. He didn’t have to attempt to stop. For a long time, they simply wept for a world they could not change. They didn’t speak another word until all the tears had been wrung out from the bottom of Dedue’s heart, from Dimitri’s heart, from the burning plains of Duscur, miles and miles away.